Whiteout - Ken Follett [137]
He depressed the clutch and shoved the gearshift into reverse. It was never easy, with the Ferrari’s six-speed box. The stick resisted his push, and there was a grinding of cogs; then something slipped into place.
Daisy ran across the front of the car and came to the driver’s side. Her tan glove closed on the door handle.
The garage door was not yet fully open, but Craig could wait no longer. Just as Daisy opened the car door, he released the clutch and trod on the accelerator pedal.
The car leaped backwards as if fired from a catapult. Its roof struck the lower edge of the aluminum garage door with a clang. Sophie gave a yell of fear.
The car flew out of the garage like a champagne cork. Craig stamped on the brake. The snowplow had cleared the thick overnight layer of snow from in front of the garage, but more had fallen since, and the concrete apron was slippery. The Ferrari went into a backwards skid and stopped with a bump against a bank of snow.
Daisy came out of the garage. Craig could see her clearly in the gray dawn light. She hesitated.
The car phone suddenly spoke in a female voice. “You have one new message.”
Craig pushed the gearshift into what he hoped was first. He eased the clutch out and, to his relief, the tires found purchase and the car moved forward. He turned the wheel, heading for the way out. If only he could make it onto the drive, he could get away from here with Sophie and summon help.
Daisy must have had the same thought, for she fumbled in the pocket of her jacket and brought out a gun.
“Get down!” Craig yelled at Sophie. “She’s going to shoot!”
As Daisy leveled the gun, he stamped on the accelerator and swung the steering wheel, desperate to get away.
The car went into a skid, slipping across the icy concrete. Alongside his fear and panic, Craig had the feeling of déjà vu: he had skidded this car, in this place, only yesterday, a lifetime ago. Now he struggled to control the vehicle, but the ground was even more slippery after a night of steady snow and freezing temperatures.
He turned into the skid, and for a moment the tires gripped again, but he overdid it, and the car skidded in the opposite direction and spun around in a half circle. Sophie was flung from side to side in the passenger seat. He kept waiting for the bang of a gunshot, but none came yet. The only good thing, a part of Craig’s terrified mind told him, was that it was impossible for Daisy to take steady aim at a vehicle that was being driven so erratically.
The car stopped, with great good luck, in the middle of the drive, facing directly away from the house and toward the lane. The path in front of Craig had obviously been swept by the snowplow. He had a clear road to freedom.
He pressed on the accelerator pedal, but nothing happened. The engine had stalled.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daisy raise the gun and take careful aim at him.
He turned the key, and the car jerked forward: he had forgotten to take it out of gear. The mistake saved his life for, in the same instant, he heard the unmistakable firecracker bang of a gun, only slightly deadened by the soft snow covering everything; then the side window of the car shattered. Sophie screamed.
Craig knocked the stick into neutral and turned the key again. The throaty roar filled his ears. He could see Daisy taking aim again as he pressed the clutch and found first gear. He ducked involuntarily as he pulled away, and it was lucky that he did, for this time his side window smashed.
The bullet also went through the windshield, making a small round hole and causing the entire pane of glass to craze over. Now he could see nothing ahead but blurred shapes of darkness and light. Nevertheless he kept the accelerator depressed, doing his best to stay on the driveway, knowing he would die if he did not get away from Daisy and her gun. Beside him, Sophie was curled up in a ball on the passenger seat, hands covering her head.