Page 71 of Mountain Defender

Another glance in the rearview mirror shows an expanse of shining gray hood. And above it, a dark figure behind the windshield.

I slow down, letting my right wheels drift onto the shoulder.

The engine roars again. It’s loud. Threatening.

I do a quick mental calculation. I can’t be more than a few minutes from the road that turns into the GMG property. This jerk can either pass me or wait until I turn off.

A second later, he crashes into me.

My head jerks forward. I bite my tongue, filling my mouth with a rush of coppery blood.

I clutch the steering wheel, trying to hold the car steady.

Then the truck rams into me again.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Fear chokes my breath.

It can’t be more than another mile. I just have to get?—

In a bone-jarring thud, the truck slams into me a third time.

My car starts to spin.

I’m wrestling with the steering wheel, but it doesn’t want to obey.

Then another crash, the hardest one yet.

In horror, I watch as the trees to the side of the road come flying up on me.

I scream as the wheels leave the road. My hands fly in front of my face instinctively.

Time slows. But I can’t move. I’m frozen. As my car hurtles towards the trees, horrifying possibilities fly through my head in a blink.

Scarred. Broken neck. Internal injuries. Killed.

No. This can’t be. It’s supposed to be over.

As the tree line approaches, time speeds up again.

The car bucks and thuds across dirt and shrubs before slamming into a large maple.

My head bounces off the side window, turning everything fuzzy for a second.

A moment later, the airbag inflates, smashing into my face, stunning me.

A distant part of my brain shouts at me to do something. Call for help. Get my phone.Something.

Why did this person hit me? Is he drunk? Or?—

Oh, God.

I see him.

In the rearview mirror. The gray truck is on the side of the road, idling. Its front bumper is dented, but surprisingly, it doesn’t look that bad. Not compared to the crumpled hood I can barely see above the now-deflating air bag.

But I don’t care about the truck. It’s the man I’m afraid of. The man jogging towards me, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. I can’t recognize him from here, not with my head spinning and pain radiating in waves from the spot where I hit the window.