David Wisehart: Blood Alley

“That guy was crazy,” Dakota said.

“Possessed,” said Trevor, clearing his throat.

Dakota looked back and saw the semi truck pull onto the highway.

“Claire, he’s following us.”

“I know.”

Dakota said to Trevor, “What do we do now?”

“Go faster.”

Claire accelerated. Wind whistled through the sunroof and the broken glass of the back window. Dakota couldn’t see the speedometer, but she knew they must be going 100 miles an hour, at least. Claire seemed tense.

She’s never driven this fast before.

Trevor put on his seat belt.

Dakota did too.

“You’re doing great,” Trevor said to Claire. “Just keep driving. Keep your eyes on the road ahead and don’t slow down.”

Claire nodded.

Glancing back again, Dakota saw the truck’s headlights fading far behind. The semi couldn’t match their speed.

They zoomed past a parked car. Dakota saw it out of the corner of her eye. It was black and white. She knew what that meant.

Trevor said, “Cop.”

Dakota felt the Hummer slowing as Claire eased up on the gas.

“Don’t slow down,” Trevor said. “We have to get to the tunnel.”

“But I’m going to get a ticket!”

“Yes, you’re going to get a ticket. And if you slow down, you’re gonna get us killed.”

The police lights came on. The siren gave a short burst.

“I’m driving without a license!”

“And you’re doing a great job, Sweetie. Push the gas pedal down all the way, and keep your eyes on the road.”

Dakota saw the patrol car drive behind them, getting closer.

“What do I say when he pulls me over?” Claire asked.

“He’s not going to pull you over. Not yet.”

The police car caught up with them, and gave another siren burst. Over the loudspeaker: “ Slow down now and pull over to the curb! ”

“Ohmigod,” Claire said.

Trevor put a reassuring hand on Clair’s shoulder. “Just get us through the tunnel, and this will all be over.”

Dakota saw the headlights of the semi truck coming up behind the patrol car.

Claire said, “He’s going to throw us in jail.”

“No, he’s not,” Trevor said. “Not after we tell him what happened. We’ll tell him the truth, and it’ll be okay. He’s not the enemy, Claire. The enemy’s driving that truck. He’s a supernatural maniac with a big-ass truck who wants to fucking kill us. And we just got ourselves a police escort.”

“ Pull over now! ”

The policeman accelerated. Rode close to bumper of the H3. Party lights flashing red and blue. Through the broken back window, Dakota could see the policeman’s face. He didn’t look happy.

“ This is your last warning. Pull over now, or— ”

The semi truck rammed the patrol car from behind.

The patrol car knocked into the back of the Hummer.

Dakota felt the sharp jolt and heard the policeman scream into his handset, “…pursuit of suspects… need assistance… send all units—”

He was hit again, and the policeman lost control.

The semi truck forced the patrol car off the road, onto the shoulder, and straight into a Joshua tree. The car exploded in a fireball.

And the possessed trucker kept on coming.

Trevor saw the fireball rise above the desert.

Oh, man.

“What just happened?” Claire asked.

Dakota screamed, “He killed that cop!”

“What?”

“They’re gonna think we did it.”

Trevor saw Claire check her rearview mirror.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” he said.

She looked straight ahead.

Trevor looked back. The semi truck had fallen further away, slowed by collision with the highway patrol car. But it was accelerating again. Trevor had never seen a big rig move so fast on a straightaway. It didn’t seem possible.

“Go faster!” he said.

“I can’t.”

Trevor checked the speedometer. They were already redlined, going more than 110 miles per hour.

Jesus.

Claire wasn’t ready for this. None of them were.

I should be driving.

He knew it. They all knew it. No one knew it more than Claire, sitting there terrified behind the wheel. But there hadn’t been time to change seats—and at this speed it was suicide. Slowing down wasn’t an option.

Trevor felt trapped. He needed to do something, anything.

I have stop him now, before he kills us all.

The speeding truck closed the gap, and was nearly on their bumper. He was going to do to them what he’d just done to that cop.

I can’t let that happen.

Bright light from the truck’s headlamps flooded the car.

Trevor shielded his eyes. He could see the truck driver over the grille. The man was clearly possessed, his eyes glowing green.

“He’s too fast,” Claire said.

Dakota let out a whimper. “What do we do?”

An idea occurred to Trevor. He knew what he had to do.

I have to go out there.

He unbuckled his seat belt and climbed to the far back of the Hummer.

Claire said, “What the hell are you doing?”

Trevor was determined, committed, ready fore action.

Even if it kills me.

“He started this fight,” Trevor said. “I’m gonna end it.”

“Trevor, no—”

He opened the back door and braced himself as the truck came closer. He stood on the bumper, waiting for the grille of the semi truck to come within reach.

Almost there…

Almost there…

Come closer, you sonofabitch—

He jumped.

Trevor landed on the front bumper of the truck and caught hold of the grille. He clung tightly as the fierce wind whipped all around him.

The truck swerved left and right, trying to shake Trevor, but he hung tough.

Nice try, asshole.

Trevor edged along the bumper to the passenger side, then pulled himself around to see the cab door. The window was rolled down.

He planted one foot on the corner of the bumper and swung the other leg over the fender of the wheel well.

The mirror brace offered a handhold, but it was too far to reach.

Have to chance it.

He let go of the grille—

Pushed off the front bumper—

Slid over the wheel well—

And grabbed the mirror mount.

His foot found the running board below the passenger door. He grabbed the door handle and gave it a pull.

Locked.

The window was open. He reached through. The glass pane rolled up. He grabbed the top of the glass. It kept rising, digging into the palm of his hand and lifting him off the running board.

With his other hand he punched the glass. It shattered. Glass rained down, and Trevor fell, but he caught his hand on the door. Broken glass bit into his palm.

Ouch.

He reached in, unlocked the passenger door, opened it, climbed in, and dove for the steering wheel. He grabbed it and gave it a quick turn. The truck swerved onto the dirt shoulder.

The driver shoved him back.

Trevor punched the driver in the face. Again and again.

He doesn’t feel pain.

The truck driver elbowed Trevor in the jaw.

Trevor wrapped his arm around the driver’s neck, cutting off his windpipe.

The driver grabbed Trevor’s arm and wrenched it hard, dislocating it from his shoulder socket. Pain screamed through Trevor’s body. The driver slammed Trevor’s arm down on the steering wheel, breaking it at the elbow, then pushed the boy away.

Trevor’s broken right arm dangled at his side. He tried to move it, tried to make a fist, but nothing happened.

He saw a hammer on the passenger seat, grabbed it with his left hand, and swung it at the driver’s head. He missed the first time, striking the man’s shoulder. Then swung at the man’s head again and again.