Page 93 of Freshmeet
Grant, without missing a beat, doubled back and scooped him up, running with him safely in his arms.
Huffing and puffing, we managed to reach the unlocked car. Grant dropped Tom to the ground, Jamie handed Tom the cooler, and we all piled inside. Jamie gunned it, gravel spraying behind us, and we all cheered, slapping the inside of the car and whooping it up.
As we caught our breath, Jamie said, “We need some getaway music.” Without Bluetooth or any other modern musical choices, we were stuck with whatever radio stations you could get out there. He flipped past a couple of country songs and a station playing classical music. He stopped searching when we heard the chorus of “Come on Eileen”, and the guys in the back immediately sang along with Jamie as I stared out the window.
There was only one person this song made me think of, and she was responsible for one of the best nights of my life a few times over.
High beams came over the hill behind us. When they didn’t switch them off, Jamie cursed.
“What’s this guy’s problem?” Tom asked, looking out the back window.
The truck sped up, leaving just feet between its front bumper and the Lincoln. Jamie glanced in the rearview mirror as he hit the gas. “Asshole.”
As the words left his mouth, they tapped our bumper.
“What the fuck!” I yelled, gripping the oh-shit handle.
Another bump, and we all stared out the rear window.
“Do you recognize the truck?” Grant shouted, shielding his eyes to see farther.
Tom shook his head violently. “I can’t even see what kind of truck it is.”
The engine behind us rumbled loudly.
“Sixty-three is just over this hill. Maybe we can shake him.”
“Con, I’m going as fast as I?—”
The psycho behind us kissed our bumper, sending us into a fishtail. Jamie expertly corrected, changing lanes into oncoming traffic. The giant truck followed.
Ahead were a pair of dim headlights, and I nearly threw up all the trunk liquor I’d downed.
“Jamie, what are you doing?”
“I’m going to make a right up here.”
“What about them?” I jerked my hand toward the car coming right for us.
“I’m turning before they even reach us.”
A car horn blared, cutting through the upbeat pop song as we sped toward a head-on collision.
“Hold on to your asses!” Jamie yelled, then made a dangerous left-hand turn onto a private drive.
Blood whooshed in my ears, drowning out the panicked shouts of my friends. “You said right!”
“Is now really the time?” he screamed.
“Uh, guys. He’s still behind us,” Grant said, now turned fully in his seat.
Tom looked out his window and pointed to a far-off barn. “Go that way. Mr. McClusky always leaves his gate unlocked.”
Jamie gunned it, and we bounced along. My teeth rattled as he hit every hole on the dirt road. I swallowed back bile as I silently prayed for the lunatic behind us to leave us alone.
We rounded a sharp turn, and the truck rammed into the right side of the Lincoln’s rear bumper. In the time it took me to take a breath, we were flying over a ditch and crashing into the trunk of an enormous tree.
The cooler flew into the front seat, slamming into the back of Jamie’s head. Airbags exploded from the dashboard, hitting me in the face. My seatbelt cut into my chest, and pain exploded through my body.
