Heather Woodhaven - Countdown

The driver and a passenger jumped out of the van and ran for the boys. Each man grabbed a kid off the bikes. The boys kicked wildly, but their fight didn’t slow the men down. They threw the boys through the side door of the van.

Rachel slammed on her brakes and stared, unsure of what to do. Her stomach twisted. Was she really witnessing a kidnapping?

One man bounded into the van right after the kids as the driver jumped in behind the wheel and took off. The van screeched and barreled toward her vehicle. Lord, give me wisdom.

The van would pass her in less than five seconds. Rachel pressed the call button on her steering wheel and hit the gas. She swung the car around, positioning it diagonally across the road in hopes she could block the van. They couldn’t pick up enough speed this close to cause real damage, could they?

“Call 9-1-1.” Her voice shook, but the ringing through the speakers bolstered her courage as she tensed every muscle in her body, preparing for impact.

The van honked loudly. Thoughts of the boys bouncing around in the cargo area of the van made her question the decision until she thought of kids on the news...kidnapped and gone forever.

She’d risk the boys getting banged up a little if it meant saving their lives. Though, if the men tried to drive through her blockade, she’d be the one in for a world of pain. Rachel tucked her chin to her chest, cringing. She focused on the ringing. Come on. Answer the phone.

She dared a peek out of her right eye. The van drew close enough that she could see through the approaching windshield, and for the briefest moment, the driver’s glare met hers. He wasn’t slowing down.

She pressed back into the seat, in the worst game of chicken she’d ever imagined. The van bounced up and over the curve and clipped the front of her car. Her spine jolted to the left. A searing pain rushed up into her neck. The impact spun her car in the opposite direction of her house as the van drove over a set of lavender bushes and smashed into a mailbox.

An airbag deployed from her passenger side, and a light powder misted over everything. She turned her head to the side, but nothing came out of her steering wheel, most likely because she hadn’t been in motion when the van hit that side of the car.

The van pressed onward and back onto the street.

In the rearview mirror her neighbor—James—sprinted down the street, yelling. She couldn’t let those boys be separated from their father. Coughing away the powder, Rachel stomped on the gas pedal.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“Two men kidnapped my neighbor’s boys.” Rachel rattled off the address as she pressed the gas pedal into the car’s flooring. If they took that long to answer the phone, could she really trust they’d stop the kidnappers in time? If she managed to get close enough to see the license plate, though, the likelihood the police would catch them increased.

Her fingers squeezed around the steering wheel, and she pressed her left heel into the car door for balance as she made the hairpin turn. Her heart seemed stuck in her throat, and her stomach lurched.

The dispatcher said something, but the words sounded like mumbling. It took all her focus to drive through the subdivision at as high of a speed as the turns allowed. She believed the real-estate agent about short streets stopping speeders now. The van’s left wheels lifted off the asphalt for the briefest of seconds on a sharp turn.

The voice coming through her speakers repeated something. Although Rachel’s listening skills sometimes proved lacking when she was focused, her mouth never failed to operate. She could always talk while she worked. Knowing the streets in the neighborhood by heart, she shouted out the name of each one at each turn.

So far all the trees and the green front yards were empty of little feet. Please keep the rest of the kids in the neighborhood inside, Lord. Hopefully most of them were at their after-school activities or already at home eating dinner.

Rachel gritted her teeth on the only straight stretch before the subdivision ended. If the kidnappers reached Overland Drive, a main city road, they’d only need to go a few blocks before hitting the freeway.

If they succeeded, the van could easily hide in the traffic or take one of the many exits available to escape. The odds of bringing the boys back home would drop, and she couldn’t bear to tell James, who had already lost his wife tragically, that his sons might not ever come home.

The whir of her engine grew louder at the increased speed. Ten feet away. She pressed her toe harder into the pedal. She pulled close enough only to see...nothing. No license plate. A weight dropped into her gut. “No, no, no.”

She should’ve known.

Sirens wailed, growing louder. Rachel braced herself for the final turn out of the subdivision. The white van squealed to a halt, sliding sideways. She gasped as she flew at high speed toward it. She slammed her foot on the brake, her body thrown back into her seat. Please don’t let me hit the boys.

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced the brake to the floor. A high-pitched squeal preceded a sudden stop. The momentum flung her torso toward the steering wheel. Searing pain rushed up through her ribs from the impact. She opened one eye and judged the remaining distance between her bumper and the white van—eight feet to spare. The car choked and died.

She exhaled.

A man with shaggy brown hair shot out of the passenger door and scowled at her. Her heart stopped as he ran toward her, his hands in fists. She slapped the lock button three times—just to be sure. The car locks clicked each time, as if attempting to reassure her.

The man slammed a fist into the hood and pulled out a gun from his jacket. She flinched. Her eyes flitted around the car for a possible weapon. She could throw the nacho dip in his face, but how much time would that buy? Why weren’t the cops running around the van to help her?

The back of one cruiser and the top of another were barely visible due to the dip in the road at the front of the subdivision. More “speed control” at work. The driver still sat in the white van. The officers probably had their sights and, hopefully, their weapons, trained on him. So they were clueless about this guy on the loose.

The man walked around the front of her car. He stared at her with calculating eyes. He pointed the weapon at her and made a come-hither hand signal. Rachel gasped. He wasn’t looking to exact revenge. He wanted to use her as a hostage. To get away or to get the boys again? Or both? She inhaled sharply. The dispatcher. “Are you still there?” Her voice squeaked.

No one responded. She turned the ignition. It released an awful grinding noise as if telling her it wouldn’t take any more of her abuse today. With one hand, she flipped open the console between the seats and felt for the hard plastic handle of her emergency escape tool.

On one end, the pointed steel hammer ensured she’d be able to shatter the vehicle windows if needed. She imagined it’d pack a potent punch against an attacker, as well. She shoved it into her jacket pocket on the remote chance she was put in a hostage situation.

Lord, bring help. She forced a façade of bravery and returned the man’s glare. The kidnapper seemed unfazed as he approached. She needed to get the police’s attention before he succeeded, but how?

* * *

James McGuire slapped the steering wheel. He’d lost sight of the back of Rachel’s maroon SUV. He couldn’t see where they’d gone. “Don’t take them away from me, too. I can’t—” The words stuck in his throat. The unbidden memory of being told his wife had been killed rushed to the forefront of his mind.

He gritted his teeth and didn’t let up as the Dodge Charger jumped over a curb. He took each curve at a diagonal. He jerked his gaze from north to south at each side street as he barreled toward the east exit of the subdivision.