Page 7 of You'll Never Know

That’s all I can do. Focus. If I do anything else, I’ll wind up stranded on the side of the road or overturned in a ditch. And then I see it—a thin strip of gray asphalt curling through the trees like a miracle. It’s a sight that fills me with a desperate hope.

The highway.

I hammer the gas and push the Jeep faster, skidding around the corners, ignoring the gyrations in the steering wheel. The hood bucks up and down through the windshield, obscuring my view. It feels like I’m in the middle of a rodeo, doing everything I can to remain on top of the angry bull. The car won’t last much longer at this pace, but I don’t care. If I wreck, I’ll bail out and leave the thing behind. From here, I can run.

That’s the thought that barrels through my head—You made it down, you did it, Grant!—as I round the final corner, going so fast I don’t register the fact that the brakes are no longer working until it’s too late.

Chapter 4

GRANT

I rocket toward the highway—and the semi-truck that I can tell doesn’t see me yet.

It won’t see me until I clear the trees.Oh fuck, oh fuck,I think, slamming the brake pedal to the floor. It’s useless. I’ll be obliterated in another thirty feet. I need to find another way to slow down, I need to—

Down shift!

My hand hits the gearshift a millisecond after the thought. The engine whines as the RPMs kick higher. I shift again—from second gear to first. And then I’m ripping onto the asphalt and cranking the steering wheel right. The nose of the Jeep kicks two feet into the lane before I’m able to wrestle the vehicle onto the shoulder. A horn bellows as the semi roars past in a massive rush of wind, so close it leaves the vehicle shaking.

It’s shaking like I’m shaking.Holy shit.

The Jeep drifts to a stop, and I put it in park and sit there gripping the steering wheel so hard my fingers leave indents in the rubber. I nearly just died. But I didn’t. I’m somehow still alive, and I need to find a way back to the Airbnb ASAP. I need to get out and flag down a car for a ride. I’m about to do exactly that—my hand drifting towardthe door—when motion in the rearview mirror catches my attention. Relief pours through me.

Police lights. A cop. They can help—

The relief vanishes in an instant.Don’t contact the police.

Fuck!

I stare at the cruiser as the door cracks open and the cop gets out. He’s tall with brown hair and wide shoulders. He strolls my way, touching the Jeep’s trunk when he passes, taking note of the car. By the time he reaches me, I’ve already got my window down.

“Close call there,” he says, leaning in. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I manage, even though my heart is beating in my throat.

“You don’t look okay. You’re bleeding.”

“What? Where? I—”

“By your ear.”

I finger the spot and remember the warmth I felt dripping down my face after being pistol whipped.

“Oh that. Yeah, I … must have hit my head when I swerved out of the way of that semi. I didn’t realize it was bleeding, though. Must have hit it harder than I realized. But I’m okay.”

“You sure?” he asks, taking stock of me. “That’s a pretty decent cut.”

“Yeah, fine.”

“What happened there, anyway?” the cop asks.

“My front tire blew out.”

He glances at it, then looks back. “You hit a pothole or something?”

I run a hand over my face and try to swallow my anxiety. This is already taking way too long. “Honestly, I’m not sure. It was fine one minute, gone the next.”

“Yeah, that can happen sometimes. These mountain roads get hairy. Where you coming from?”