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THE ESCAPE

Daxton

The car sputtered back to life, its engine coughing and wheezing, struggling to pull forward on the desolate road. Just a little farther, and he’d reach civilization. A few more miles, and his phone would pick up a signal.

Trees crowded both sides of the road, dense and impenetrable, with the moon glinting faintly behind the treetops. Only his headlights illuminated the road before him…and those behind.

With hands gripping the steering wheel hard, he pushed the pedal to the floor, begging the car to go faster—not to give up on him now, not in this critical moment. It was just past midnight when he crossed the bridge, slipping over the border into Sweden. He’d been driving for hours, heart lodged in his throat, paranoia seeping into his every bone and unraveling his sanity with each passing mile. No matter how long he spent on the road, the car stayed in his rearview—like a shadow.

Following.

Watching.

Days spent in the car, taking breaks to sleep on the side of the road, had taken its toll on him. His body was sore, muscles aching, and his head foggy from the switch of going from driving to the left side of the road to figuring out how to drive on the right side.

He’d been away from civilization for too fucking long, only adding to his paranoia.

As his car slowed, the engine nearly giving up, he cursed and slammed his hands on the wheel. Desperately, he turned the ignition again, coaxing the car to move. It lurched forward, but now the car behind was closer.

Its headlights flooded the cramped space, and sweat pooled at his hairline. He wiped it away, quickly gripping the wheel with both hands again.

Just a few more miles.

He saw the lights of houses illuminating the streets, even when it was late at night. The car behind crept closer. Closer. Panic rose, suffocating him from the inside out as it rooted itself deep within him.

He never should’ve stopped at the gas station—it was after that when someone started following him.

Without a second’s warning, the car rammed into his bumper, tires screeching on the asphalt as he slammed the pedal harder, praying the car would go faster.

Had they caught up to him? Someone was there, but he couldn’t tell who.

He rolled down the window, throwing his phone out the window. When he escaped, he didn’t want to risk being tracked.

Then another crash from behind sent him skidding as he fought to keep control until his car eventually spun out of control.

Lastly, it careened toward the edge of the road, the sound of glass shattering all too audible—then, nothing.

The End