Page 114 of Silas

The next several seconds are filled with a weird, tense space of nothing. Then, her voice, very quiet, with a faint trace of a Hispanic accent that wasn’t there before. “I was born in Venezuela. I had a mother, a father, a brother, and a sister. I was happy. And then…the cartel came, and I became property of the cartel.”

“Property of a cartel doesn’t sound good.”

“It was not. It was very, very, very bad for a very long time.”

“How did you get away?”

“That is a story for another time,” she says. When she speaks again, the trace of accent is gone once more, leaving only the smooth, neutral tone. “Is anyone behind you?”

“No,” I answer, after checking. “I’m the only one on the road.”

“Good,” she answers. “That’s good.”

“Inez?”

“Yes, Naomi.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“Thank me when you get here. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

A pair of headlights approach from the other direction—two pairs. Three. I tell myself to stay calm, it’s probably just random people driving by.

They’re closer. About to pass me, now.

One of them shines a blinding spotlight at me, illuminating me. A moment later, all three trucks have slewed around to follow me.

“They’ve found me,” I say, panic surging through me. “Three trucks. They’re behind me.”

“Put the phone on the seat beside you, use both hands on the wheel, and drive as fast as you can.”

I do as she says; on the screen, there’s a button that says ‘speaker’, and I press it, then put the phone on the seat next to me, and floor the accelerator. The truck rockets forward, and for a moment, the headlights fall behind.

Not for long. They gain on me.

“They’re catching up, Inez,” I say, my voice tight.

“Stay calm. Keep driving.”

“Where? What do I do when they catch up?”

“Don’t talk, just drive.”

It’s a weird chase—they can’t gain on me steadily, since it seems the trucks are all about equal in terms of power. It’s terrifying driving this fast—the engine roars, and the steering wheel shakes. I don’t feel like I’m in control. One wrong twitch, and I’ll crash.

“In about half a mile, there will be a cross street. A dirt road like the one you were on before. Turn right. Hit the brakes hard at the very last second, crank the wheel over, and once you’re facing the road, floor it. Just don’t roll the truck.”

“Um…okay?”

I see the intersection ahead. I have no clue how long I should wait to brake, so I wait till I’m almost to the intersection, and then slam my foot down on the brake pedal as hard as I can. The tires squeal and the back end fishtails wildly from side to side. I can’t help a scream as the whole truck starts to slew around, tipping precariously on two wheels for a moment before settling back down with a rocking bounce. The instant the nose of the truck is facing down the narrow dirt road and all four tires are on the pavement, I floor the accelerator. The back end fishtails once more as the powerful engine howls like a wounded beast and the tires squeal, the whole back end bouncing and juddering as the tires fail to catch for a moment—and then they do, and I rocket forward. I hit the gravel road, and fishtail again.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod,” I chant, “That was so scary. I almost flipped.”

The taillights are behind me, still, but a good ways back—my little move put me ahead. “Did you lose them?” Inez asks.

“Not so lucky, no. But I did pull ahead a little.”

“Drive fast. Just go straight.”