Chapter 5 - The Pursuit on Ridgecrest Road
"Is that your dad?" I asked, straining my eyes in the rearview mirror as the glaring high beams reflected off the interior glass, blinding me.
"No," Claire said, leaning close to the side mirror. "Your dad’s truck is red. That... that’s a Ford F-350. Heavy duty."
"Vance," I muttered under my breath.
The black truck didn't slow down. It rammed straight into the back bumper of my SUV with a loud, sickening CRUNCH of tearing plastic and metal.
The impact sent my vehicle sliding sideways across the ice-covered road. I wrestled with the steering wheel, turning into the skid as the SUV slammed hard into a snowbank on the shoulder, spraying white powder over the windows before bouncing back onto the lane.
"Shawn!" Claire shrieked, grabbing the dashboard.
"Hold on!" I slammed my foot on the gas, the four-wheel-drive system gripping the road as we accelerated down the winding descent of Ridgecrest Road.
The road was treacherous—a steep, two-lane ribbon of asphalt carved into the side of a mountain, with a sheer rock wall on the left and a two-hundred-foot drop into a frozen creek bed on the right, protected only by rusting metal guardrails.
The black truck surged after us, the roar of its modified V8 engine drowning out the howling wind. It pulled up alongside us on the left, filling the opposing lane.
Through the ice-crusted driver-side window, I caught a glimpse of the man behind the wheel. He was broad-shouldered, wearing a heavy black canvas jacket and a dark beanie, his jaw set in a cold, practiced sneer. Beside him in the passenger seat sat another man holding a heavy iron flashlight.
The truck veered sharply to the right, slamming its heavy steel snowplow directly into my driver’s side doors.
BANG!
Side curtain airbags didn't deploy, but the metal groaned as the driver's door buckled inward, shoving me an inch to the right. The steering wheel jerked violently in my hands.
"He’s trying to push us over the guardrail!" I yelled over the screeching of metal on metal.
"Shawn, there’s a runaway truck ramp two miles ahead!" Claire shouted, pointing through the snow-blind windshield. "Near the timber processing plant!"
"If I hit a truck ramp at forty miles an hour in this snow, we’ll flip!"
"It’s better than going over the edge!" she screamed.
The black truck rammed us again, harder this time. The rear of my SUV fishtailed, the back passenger wheel clipping the rusting guardrail. Sparks exploded into the night, bright orange against the blinding white snow.
I had to make a decision. I couldn't outrun a heavy-duty truck with a snowplow on an icy grade, and I couldn't fight him on his terms.
I looked ahead. The sign for the abandoned Pinewood Timber Mill flashed past in the blizzard—a rusty retro-reflective board hanging off one hinge. Just beyond it was a narrow dirt access road that led into the dense pine forest.
"Hold on to something!" I shouted.
Instead of hitting the brakes, I stomped on the accelerator, making Vance think I was trying to race him to the bottom of the hill. He accelerated alongside me, his snowplow positioning to deliver the final, fatal ram that would send us through the guardrail into the ravine.
At the exact moment his front bumper aligned with my rear quarter panel, I slammed my left foot onto the brake pedal and yanked the emergency handbrake with my right hand.
The SUV’s rear tires locked instantly. The vehicle executed a violent, three-hundred-sixty-degree spin on the ice.
Vance’s heavy truck, carrying too much momentum on the downhill slope, couldn't stop. His snowplow missed my front bumper by inches, plowing straight ahead into the deep snowdrift blocking the guardrail.
The massive Ford crashed through the rusting metal barrier with a deafening screech of tearing steel, disappearing nose-first over the embankment into the dark ravine below.
A heavy, explosive CRASH echoed up from the trees below, followed by the sound of snapping pine branches and then... silence.
My SUV came to a halt sideways across both lanes, the engine idling roughly, steam rising from the crushed front grill.
Claire and I sat in total, stunned silence, our breathing heavy in the cold air, watching the gap in the guardrail where tire tracks disappeared into the darkness.
"Is... are they dead?" Claire whispered, her voice trembling.
Before I could answer, headlights appeared at the top of the hill behind us.
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A red pickup truck emerged slowly through the snowstorm, its hazard lights blinking rhythmically.
My father’s truck pulled to a stop fifty feet away.
