Ryan Westfield - Final Chaos

From where Aly sat, caddy-corner and to the rear of her husband, she saw him swiftly draw his revolver from his holster.

The window was already down.

Jim pointed the gun at the truck, his eyes off the road for a few brief seconds.

He fired.

The sound echoed through the Subaru, causing an intense ringing in Aly’s ears.

Aly’s anxiety had never been higher. She felt the panic coming on.

She shouted, something meaningless. She didn’t even know what it was.

Glancing over, the two men in the Nissan were still alive. Jim had missed.

There was a car stopped in their lane up ahead.

Jim slowed the Subaru down, his head moving as he tried to find a path for them to continue.

The Nissan took the opportunity. Suddenly it sped up and swerved aggressively, coming right into the path of the Subaru.

Jim jerked the wheel, but there wasn’t enough time or space to get out of the way.

He slammed on the brakes.

The Subaru jerked to a sudden stop.

The Nissan was stopped in front of them, the passenger side closest to the Subaru’s front.

The passenger door of the Nissan was thrown open. The passenger stepped out, looking tall and imposing. He had his gun in hand.

Jim threw the car into reverse, hit the accelerator, and the engine started whining as the Subaru rocketed backwards.

Aly let out an anxious cry halfway between a scream and something else.

The young woman next to her sat, petrified, like a deer in the headlights.

Rob was completely quiet.

Through the windshield, the man in the checkered shirt raised his gun. His hand was straight out, and he pointed the gun directly at the Subaru.

A thought hit Ally like a ton of bricks: the world had changed.

The Subaru engine was whining as they sped backwards.

Jim had the accelerator all the way to the floor. They were going as fast as they could.

The man in front of them fired two shots.

“He’s trying to kill us!” shouted Rob.

As if that was any help.

Jim didn’t know what the man was aiming for. Maybe the tire, or maybe Jim himself.

Both shots missed.

A third shot.

The bullet struck the corner of the windshield on Jim’s side, sending a spider web of cracks through it.

Aly cried out after the bullet struck the windshield.

Jim’s mind was racing through the possibilities.

Behind them lay the crashed plane. There was no cross street that would lead them to Aly’s mother’s house. Not for miles and miles.

He could keep going in reverse, turn around, and head a different way.

That was the safest course.

But it would cost them time.

And if they took another route, who could say that they wouldn’t run into another situation like this one?

The men in the Nissan clearly wanted the Subaru. Somehow, like Jim, they recognized the gravity of the situation. And they were acting early, trying to secure another moving vehicle. For whatever reason.

Not that their reasoning mattered much.

They were clearly willing to go beyond the law to achieve their ends. They were willing to kill.

The Nissan sat up ahead. It hadn’t moved. The man in the checkered shirt looked smaller now because of the distance.

There was a good possibility that if Jim turned around, the Nissan would just follow them. Wherever they went.

In an instant, he’d made up his mind.

“All right everyone,” said Jim. “We’re not going to turn around.”

They were far enough away now, out of range of the man’s handgun.

Jim stopped the car and put it into neutral.

“But they’re shooting at us,” said Aly.

“You can’t just drive by, Jim,” said Rob, sounding just as worried as Aly. “They’re going to blast us to bits.”

“Not if we put on an offensive,” said Jim. “Turning around is just as risky. We need to get to Judy’s house and out of here. We’re already losing time.”

Jim glanced down at his watch for a moment. It was already past twelve.

Turning around in his seat, Jim looked at the young woman that he’d hit with his car. “How are you feeling?” he said.

“OK,” she muttered.

“You still don’t remember anything?”

“I know who I am and everything, but I don’t know how I got here, other than from what you told me.”

“You still think we’re a danger to you?”

She shook her head. “No,” she said.

“Jim, what the hell are you doing?” said Aly. “Why are you harassing her?”

“I’m not harassing her. We need her help.” Jim continued to look directly into the eyes of the young woman. “What’s your name?”

“Jessica.”

“OK, Jessica. Are you feeling OK? Mentally speaking.”

She nodded.

“Do you know how to use that gun that you had on you?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve taken courses and everything.”

“OK, good.”

“Jim,” said Rob. “The guy’s getting back in that truck. I think they’re going to come after us.”

Jim didn’t even look.

“Are you crazy, Jim? She was pointing that at us! No offense, Jessica.” She added the last part hastily, as if she was worried she’d offend the woman.

“We need her help,” said Jim.

He took the woman’s Glock and handed it back to her, being sure to keep his finger outside of the trigger guard, with the handle facing the woman.

He watched her as she took it back in her hands.

She checked it over, checking to make sure it was still loaded.

“OK,” said Jim. “Now I’m going to drive by them. You’re going to switch places with my wife here, get the window down, and fire at them. You’re going to give us the cover we need to get past. Otherwise, they’ll shoot us as we drive by. You OK with shooting to kill?”

“Jim!” said his wife, her voice high and concerned.

“They were shooting at us, Aly,” said Rob.

Jim raised his hand for them to quiet down. “This is a life or death situation,” he said. He didn’t take his eyes off Jessica. “Are you OK with that?”

She nodded.

“OK, then switch seats. Aly, come on.”

Begrudgingly, Aly undid her seatbelt and started to squish herself up against the front seats, making room for Jessica to slide over.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea, Jim. This isn’t the Wild West. Maybe we should just turn around.”

Jim shook his head. “Ready?” he said, taking one last look at Jessica.

She gave him a nod.

He didn’t bother to hope that they’d make it, that the plan would work. The only thing to do was try it. The only thing to do was to make it work.

“The rest of you, get your heads down,” said Jim, as he pressed his foot against the clutch and got the car into first.

He jammed down on the accelerator and the engine whined.

Up ahead, the pickup was still in place. The man in the checkered shirt glanced back at the driver, and shifted his weight, as if he was unsure what to do.

The Subaru was moving.

Fast.

Jim shifted into second.

Now third.

They were close now.

“Wait until you have a clear shot,” shouted Jim.

The man in the checkered shirt had his gun raised.

Before Jim could even shout, “Now,” Jessica had fired.

Two quick shots. Two bursts of sound that echoed throughout the interior of the Subaru.

The man in the checkered shirt collapsed to the ground before he could get off a shot.

Jim didn’t slow down. He was about to pass the pickup.

Suddenly, the pickup lurched forward, driving directly into the path of the Subaru.

Jim slammed on the brakes.

But it was too late.

He only succeeded in slowing down slightly.