Page 49 of Code Violation

The truck had slowed down but not enough. Not nearly enough.

The engine was screaming under the strain of being forced to slow down without help from the brakes, and they were about to reach a part of the road that had a notorious curve. After that, the highway flattened and straightened out again, shooting past Levi’s place.

He’d steer the truck into Levi’s fence. If they survived the curve, he’d pay Levi for a new one. And if all Forrest needed after today was a new transmission and not new knees, he would be happy.

“Shift down again,” Nero ordered.

Gritting his teeth, Forrest forced the truck into second gear. The engine screamed even louder but slowed further. Forrest continued to uselessly stomp on the brake pedal—as if they would magically start working again.

The truck sped past several white roadside crosses, a testament to those who’d failed to navigate this tricky stretch of highway. Forrest hadn’t paid much attention to them before today, but now they seemed like neon signs.

Ahead was a stand of Douglas fir trees, their trunks battered from catching vehicles that missed this last turn. There were three more of the damn crosses in quick succession. With white knuckles and aching hands, Forrest guided the truck into the S-curve, giving the trees a mental middle finger.

Not this day. Not if Forrest could help it.

They were still going too fast. Smoke billowed out from underneath the hood.

“You’ve got this,” Nero said, his voice barely audible over the vibration of the truck barreling along the road.

How could the man sound so calm?

They made it though, and the highway ahead was straight as an arrow. Forrest sucked in a breath and started to think they might be okay when an RV pulled out in front of them.

“Motherfucker.”

The beast was going the same direction they were, probably heading up toward Forks or Port Angeles. On either side of the highway was old pasture land owned by a trust. Levi’s driveway was less than a quarter mile away.

Forrest gripped the steering wheel hard enough that he thought it might crack as the truck drew closer and closer to the back end of the brown RV. He glanced at the speedometer.

“It’s the fucking pedal on the right, old man,” he ground out.

Nero was silent. Forrest kind of wished he’d scream.

“Pull off. Do it now.”

Nero was right; there was no more time.

“Hold the fuck on.”

Forrest didn’t need anyone to tell him this was gonna hurt. His poor truck. He jerked the steering wheel to the right to avoid hitting the camper and the truck careened off the road, rising into the air for a millisecond before hitting the side of a drainage ditch. The shriek of shredding metal was deafening.

The hiss of disconnected hoses and smoke billowing from the engine brought Forrest back to his senses. With a groan, he opened his eyes. He hadn’t realized that he’d shut them. Something dripped down his cheek and he raised a hand to swipe at it. His fingers came away red.

“Shit. Nero.” Forrest twisted around to check on his passenger.

Nero stared out the shattered windshield, blood dripping down the side of his head. He was alive anyway.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Forrest chanted, struggling with his seat belt.

They had to get out of the truck. Forrest had a vision of the truck catching fire and bursting into flames. Too many action movies. That didn’t happen often in real life—right?

Forcing his body to move, Forrest shoulder-checked the door. It budged with a nasty creak but wouldn’t open all the way. Forrest was going to have to squeeze out.

Fuck, he couldn’t move.

He panicked before realizing he still hadn’t unclipped his seat belt. The adrenaline gave him the strength to unhook himself. With the safety belt open, Forrest forced himself shoulder first through the too small opening, ripping some of his shirt buttons off and tearing one sleeve. Shirts could be replaced.

Almost immediately, he fell to his knees.

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