Rachelle McCalla - Survival Instinct

Abby jumped at the sound of Mitch pounding his fist against the table.

“Not until I call you,” Mitch insisted angrily. “I have to make sure he’s dead before you knock her off. He has to die first. ”

Much as she wanted to stay and hear the rest of Mitch’s conversation, Abby realized Scott’s life was in imminent danger. If Mitch had tampered with his brakes, then the winding road to Washburn was a death sentence. Abby had to get in touch with him immediately.

She leaped from the booth and headed toward the door, simultaneously pulling her cell phone from her purse as she went. In her haste, she knocked into a chair and it crashed to the floor. The last thing she heard before she dived out the door was Mitch’s loud voice carrying through the empty restaurant. “Wait a second, what was that?”

Abby ran to her car, starting the ignition and pulling on her seat belt while she hit the speed dial for Scott’s phone. As she pulled onto the road, she saw the rear backup lights illuminate on the Escalade. So he’d seen her.

“Hello?” Scott’s voice answered a moment later.

“Scott? Oh, thank God. How are your brakes?” Though Abby normally refused to talk on her phone while driving, under the circumstances, she considered not talking to be the more dangerous option.

“Now that you mention it, they felt a little soft earlier.” Scott paused. “They’re gone. My brakes are gone.”

“Where are you?”

“I just passed Port Superior.”

Abby could place the spot easily on her mental map of Highway Thirteen. For the next several miles, the highway was lined on either side by steep bluffs: to the right, sheer cliffs jutted upward in alternating steep slopes and sharp walls of brownstone; to the left, the land dropped off precipitously to the rocky shores of Lake Superior. She sucked in a worried breath but kept her voice calm. “Try to slow down. Whatever you do, don’t accelerate, and look for a spot to turn off if you can. I’m coming up behind you, but you’ve got a good lead on me. Are you still okay?”

“I’m fine,” Scott assured her. “But my parking brake isn’t working, either.”

“Yeah, Mitch probably took care of that, too.”

“Mitch?”

“Yes. I’ll explain later.” The bright flash of headlights in her rearview mirror told Abby that Mitch was still behind her-and closing in. “You just keep your car on the road. I’m going to call 911. Bye.”

Abby didn’t have time to wait for Scott’s goodbye. Instead, she ended the call and then, accelerating to stay ahead of Mitch as they left the town of Bayfield behind, she dialed the number for emergency assistance, quickly relaying her position and Scott’s before explaining, “My friend’s brakes have been tampered with, and the guy who did it is tailgating me.”

“One moment, please.” After a pause, the voice that had answered spoke again. “I don’t have an officer in the immediate area. Could you give me a description of your vehicles?”

Abby answered several questions, while at the same time continuing to accelerate to stay ahead of Mitch. The road began to wind around trees and bluffs, its smooth black surface slick from the spitting rain that was starting to crystallize and hit her windshield in filmy chunks of sleet, fogging over the inside. Mitch was so close now, his headlights lit up the interior of her car, making it even more difficult for her to see out.

“Sorry,” she said finally, cutting off the dispatcher mid-question. “I have to go. Please get somebody out here as soon as you can!” She closed the call and dropped the phone onto her lap before cranking up her defrost and pressing her foot down harder on the gas pedal. She had to get away from Mitch or she would lead him right to Scott. Worse yet, if Scott was going slowly enough on the road, she could end up ramming him and then being rammed by Mitch. She had to find out where Scott was-he was bound to be close. She picked up the phone and hit his speed dial again, then waited for him to answer. One ring. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Scott eyed the steep driveway as his car approached at a forty-mile-per-hour roll. The sound of the ringing phone barely penetrated his thoughts as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Could he take it? The drive was narrow and lined with brownstone boulders on the steep downhill side. With a quick prayer, he turned off the highway and felt his tires scramble to hold on the wet gravel.

The car eased up the hill, slowing steadily. Scott hoped he’d be able to shove the car into Park once it reached its nadir of speed. If not, once the car exhausted its forward momentum, he’d likely start sliding backward again. And once he slid backward, there was nowhere to go but back onto the slick highway-backward. He’d be in a more dangerous spot than before.

The ringing phone pierced his thoughts and he grabbed it. “Abby?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“On a driveway, about half a mile past that old abandoned house.”

“I just passed the house. I should be coming up on you shortly.”

“Good. I want you to drive up behind me and keep my car from rolling backward. Can you do that?”

Silence. Scott felt like kicking himself for trusting Mitch as much as he had. If the man was out to kill him, of course he’d resort to more desperate measures once his initial plan failed. And once again, he’d managed to get Abby caught between them. If something happened to her because of him, he didn’t know how he’d ever forgive himself.

“I-I think so.” Abby sounded scared. “Mitch is right behind me. We’re going really fast.”

Scott’s car crept to a crawl. He tried the parking brake again, but there was nothing there; no response when he pushed the brake to the floor, either.

“I see you!” Abby gasped into the phone. “Here I come!”

Scott looked in his mirror and saw Abby’s car hurtle off the highway. “Don’t hit your brakes until you’ve got traction!” he shouted into the phone, hoping she could still hear him.

Sure enough, her car fishtailed crazily before he saw the red of her brake lights reflected in the steam and spray they’d thrown up. Just beyond her, his mother’s red SUV streaked by before slamming on its brakes. Mitch apparently hadn’t expected her to turn off. The truck wheeled around and tore up the driveway, but Mitch’s miscalculation bought them time.

Abby’s brakes squealed as her car careened up the narrow road. Scott braced himself, preparing to escape by opening his door and unlatching his seat belt as his own car reached its zenith and began its backward descent. In another second, he lurched forward at the rough kiss of their bumpers and saw the fear on Abby’s face through the windshield.

Mitch was less than twenty yards away. Throwing himself out his open door, Scott ran toward Abby as she leaped from her own car. Just before the Escalade slammed into Abby’s car, Scott grabbed her by her shoulders and tugged her over the brownstone ledge into the leaves and underbrush of the sparse woods that tapered off rapidly down the edge of the bluff. They rolled for several yards until Scott felt his back slam into a thick sapling, which shuddered slightly at the impact of their bodies.

Above them, the sounds of crunching metal and shattering glass gave way to curses and growling, incomprehensible rage as Mitch jumped from the wrecked Escalade and snapped on a flashlight. The beam swept over their heads.

“Shh,” Scott whispered against Abby’s ear. “Mitch is looking for us. Lie absolutely still.” He held Abby tight to his chest and prayed silently. Though the falling rain and fallen leaves camouflaged their location, it would only be a matter of minutes, possibly seconds, before Mitch found them. Scott wasn’t terribly worried until he heard a distinctive click, which sounded for all the world like a gun’s safety being taken off.