Page 81 of Protected from Torment

“Hang on,” I tell Melissa, cutting her off. “I want to keep an eye on this guy.”

“What guy?” She glances in the side-view mirror, tensing as she sees the truck flying up behind us. “He’s going kind of fast, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” I let go of her hand so I can put both of mine on the wheel. “He is.”

And he—I’m assuming it’s a he, though I can’t see much of the driver through the sun reflecting on his windshield—is coming up on us even faster.

Far too fast for a road as winding as this, with unforgiving pines on both sides and the occasional ravine. And while he could pass on the double yellow, with the number of sharp turns ahead, it’s dangerous at best, and deadly at worst.

Melissa turns to look behind us. “Do you think he’s going to try to pass?”

The truck is less than a car length behind us now, and it’s showing no sign of slowing. Through the windshield, I catch a glimpse of sunglasses beneath a baseball cap. And in the passenger seat, there’s another person wearing the same.

“I hope so.” If it were just me in the car, I’d probably speed up to see if the truck would back off. Or I’d slow way down in hopes that he’d pass. But I don’t want to alarm Melissa by driving aggressively, so I keep my speed steady instead.

We come up on a sharp turn, so I’m forced to slow down. To my relief, the truck behind us does, too. Just some asshole who can’t drive, I tell myself, though my inner alarms are still chiming loudly.

But as soon as we come out of the curve, the truck’s on our ass again. Now less than a car’s length back, it’s driving dangerously close to us. It could be nothing more than an impatient asshole. But it could also be something much worse.

“Tyler?” Melissa’s voice has a small quiver to it. “I know some people are real jerks on the road. But what he’s doing… it doesn’t seem safe.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I tell her, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “As soon as the shoulder gets a little wider, I’ll pull over. Let them pass us.”

“You can drive faster,” she says. “I know you’re trying to be careful because I’m in the car. But if you think it’s better… it’s okay.”

The truck puts on another burst of speed, so it’s within kissing distance of my rear bumper.

My gut twists.

This isn’t some random asshole. I’m sure of it.

“I’m going to speed up,” I warn her. “Just to get some distance. Is your seatbelt on?”

Melissa nods. She’s pale. Her features are pinched. “Do whatever you need to do.”

So I speed up.

The pickup truck does, too.

When we round the next curve, I take it faster than I should, and the tires squeal. As soon as we’re out of it, I punch the gas, taking advantage of the brief stretch of straight road ahead of us.

But, dammit, the truck is still coming.

Then there’s a loud crack.

Glass shatters.

In the center of the windshield, a small hole appears.

Cool wind rushes into the car. In the rearview mirror, I can see a circular hole in the back window that matches the one in the windshield.

Fuck.

They fucking shot at us.

Fury surges. And on its heels, icy fear.

Instinctively, I put my hand on Melissa’s head and push her down. “Stay down,” I order. “Get as low as you can.”