Peter Grist - Flashback

Deputy Rosen felt dirt fall down the back of his collar. He swung around and looked up at the lip of the cellar to see if a rat or something had disturbed the dirt there. He was amazed to see the silhouette of a person looking down on him. With the bulb from the roof hanging almost directly above and behind whoever it was he couldn’t make out any details of the intruder, but it wasn’t a rat, it was a man for sure, a man he didn’t know, and who definitely shouldn’t be there.

“Son of a bitch!” he bellowed as he threw down the spade and started to climb the wooden steps out of the dig. Before he was even halfway up, the trap door slammed down on top of him almost hitting his head, quickly followed by the thud of something heavy being dumped on top. He put his shoulders into the trap door and pushed up. The door moved but dropped back. Pure fury gripped Rosen and through clenched teeth, he roared as he shoved with all his might. The door lifted enough that the bag of earth that had been dropped on top of it slid off and Rosen pushed it the rest of the way. He skittered up the remaining rungs of the ladder and ran the length of the barn. The intruder wasn’t in sight but he hollered after him “When I catch you, boy, I’m gonna’ whup you like a redheaded stepchild!” Seconds later he exploded out of the barn to see the man jumping into a black car on the other side of his drive. By the time he was halfway to it the car had roared into life and was spinning up dirt and dust as the be-finned tail flicked around. He ran on a few more paces but was quickly losing ground to the car with now only its rocket-like triple-tower tail-lights in view through the dust cloud. He veered left back towards his house and the patrol car sitting out front. His Ford was fitted with the supercharged 312 CI Thunderbird Special V8 motor that gave him at least 300 horses. But Rosen had had this engine modified and super-tuned so there wasn’t a bootlegger in the county that could outrun it. He turned the ignition, rammed the manual shifter into first and hit the gas.

Saunders was quite a way ahead and going fast. The powerful V8 motor was now roaring as he steered the big car along the narrow lanes heading for town. The torsion-bar suspension made the best of a bad job and helped to smooth out some of the smaller holes in the patchwork of blacktop and gravel. The tall trees either side formed a tunnel over the lane, causing the dappled sunlight to create pools of light and dark; hiding some big potholes and illuminating others but comfort wasn’t a concern for the driver right now. Getting away from Rosen and getting back to modern day was his priority now. He glanced every few seconds at the rear-view mirror screwed to the side of the dash but saw nothing so far. Then as if from nowhere, the big grinning chrome face of an old Ford came screaming up behind him. The speed at which it came on unnerved Ed quite a bit, he didn’t think cars in the 50s and 60s could go that fast. Visibly shaken, he looked down at his own speedo and saw the needle touching nearly 50mph, way too fast for a small lane like this, but he hit the gas harder and the big Mopar surged forward even faster. He checked behind him and saw that the Ford was gaining, quickly! It was now only about twenty yards behind and when the sun shot bars of light into the Police cruiser, the skeletal figure of Rosen could be seen hunched over the steering wheel, a manic grimace pasted to his face. Both the cars accelerated as they raced precariously towards the main road on that side of town. Up ahead the sun was being extinguished, brought on prematurely by the tumultuous black clouds rolling in from the west, obliterating the skyline. Ed didn’t hear the shot but he ducked instinctively when his left mirror exploded in a storm of shattered glass. Rosen had his service revolver out of the side window aiming for another shot. Ed twitched the car to the right a little as another shot sailed by. His speedo was creeping up to nearly 85mph and he was struggling to keep the car in a straight line.

The first fat drop of rain splashed heavily onto the DeSoto’s windshield, followed swiftly by another, and another. The storm had finally arrived and as if someone had turned on a faucet the downpour mixed with weeks of dust and dirt smeared the windscreen as the wipers did their best to clear Ed’s vision. Soon enough the dirt had gone but the wipers still struggled to keep the windscreen clear of rain. He turned his quad headlights to full beam, trying to pierce the gloom ahead, but it made little impact through the deluge. A jagged bolt of lightning ripped down from the heavens momentarily lighting the way, followed seconds later by the ferocious roar of thunder. In that split second he made out the center line road markings then they were gone again. A series of sharp bends were coming up which meant he was almost back to the main road. A reasonable speed would have been about 30mph but Ed took them at nearer 70, hardly slowing at all, slewing around from turn to turn. At last, he careered sideways on to the main drag, the rear of the DeSoto fishtailing dramatically until the rear tires finally found their grip in the wet. A semi-trailer hauling logs sounded his horns as Ed suddenly appeared in front of him but as the truck driver hit the brakes and created a cloud of blue smoke from the rubber of his tires, Ed was still accelerating and moved away from the wall of steel that was the trucks blunt grille. Rosen saw the truck pass so slowed down just a little more as he came out of his side road. He hit the gas as soon as he was on the two-lane blacktop but immediately hit the brakes as the rear of the logging trailer came upon him. He twitched the wheel to the left to go around but was stopped as an air force truck hammered towards him, sounding his horn. Rosen peeked out again, looking past the logger and saw an empty road. He switched on his siren and top light and hit the gas. The trucker was still cursing through his greying beard at the driver of the black DeSoto that had rushed out in front of him and was working his way back up through the gearbox of the cumbersome Peterbilt when he saw the cop car coming up to overtake. Again he hit the brakes and moved to the right to allow the officer to pass more easily. The patrol car shot past like a bullet from a gun, easily passing the logging truck, sending up a spray of water behind it. “Gonna be one o’ those nights I guess” he grumbled to himself as once again he started double de-clutching his way through the gearbox.

The souped-up patrol car quickly got up into the 90s and as another lightning bolt struck, Rosen could see already the tail of the black car not half a mile away. His foot was now hard down to the floor and the Ford kept on picking up speed, the noise of the engine roaring through the open window, the rain ignored as it splattered onto his face and torso. Rosen had about 5 miles to catch the son of a bitch before whoever it was got into town and he intended to take him on the blind bend before the road started to descend down into the valley. He didn’t know how much he had seen but it was already too much, that was for sure. Probably some private dick looking for one of the kids maybe, well he was just about to do a disappearing act too. Both cars raced towards the hairpin bend at the brow of the hill. Rosen knew the road very well having driven it pretty much every day for the last five years or more and knew the guy in front would have to slow down a lot to make the curve. That was his chance; he moved even closer to the car ahead and got right up behind it.

Ed glanced in the mirror and saw the patrol car bearing down on him through the pouring rain. The wipers thumped madly across the huge windscreen but made little difference to what he could see as he hurtled forward doing over 90 and the cop car was still gaining quickly, its light flashing and siren screaming. He was unsure of the road ahead but knew it was the way back to Ludlow as when he looked down to his left he could see the town lights coming on in the premature evening darkness. His knuckles were white as his hands gripped the wheel tightly and beads of sweat poured down his brow as he concentrated on not getting caught by Rosen. Ed’s shirt was soaked with sweat but he didn’t notice at all, he used a forearm to wipe away the stinging moisture from his eyes. With his vision now a little clearer, he could see the road was starting to climb with the brow of a hill coming up, he passed a sign but too quick to notice what it said, no passing maybe, or did it say bend? It was too late now, he was at the brow and the car left the road completely as it took off from the hill, going straight ahead at about one hundred miles per hour. The road had gone and there was now only fresh air as the 2-ton coupe flew clear across the other side of the road and over the steep embankment, easily clearing the metal protective barrier. All Ed could see was sky, clouds and raindrops and for just a moment it looked like the swept-back car had actually turned into a rocket and could fly. With nothing to slow the wheels down the engine screamed as Ed instinctively but pointlessly hit the gas pedal harder, praying that by some miracle the old DeSoto could actually fly, but gravity wrapped the car in its heavy embrace and started pulling down. As Ed stared wide-eyed out of the front windscreen all he could see now was trees and bushes and a long drop as the big DeSoto nose-dived down the side of the hill. He had less than two seconds to react before the car would become a crumpled mess of twisted steel and shattered glass. Fighting his instinct to grip the wheel even harder he wrenched opened his door and jumped into thin air, leaving the roar of the powerful V8 engine behind him.