Chapter 3 - The Highway Hunt
"You crazy old bitch!" Adrian screamed, slamming the tire iron against the iron bars of the gate. Sparks flew into the cold air. "Unlocks this gate! Unlock it right now!"
I stood six inches away from him, separated only by the heavy iron bars. I pulled myself up to my full height, resting both hands on the brass top of my oak cane.
"You have spent three years intimidating a girl half your size, Adrian," I said, my voice dangerously calm, loud enough for a passing pedestrian to hear. "You think you're a strong man. But behind that iron bar, you look like what you truly are: a small, weak coward."
He struck the gate again, but the heavy wrought iron didn't budge. Realizing he was trapped in the dead-end alley, he spat on the ground, turned around, and began sprinting back up the alley toward the building's front entrance. He was going for his vehicle.
"Mrs. Carmen, come on!" Lucy begged, grabbing my arm, pulling me down the sidewalk.
A yellow taxi was idling near the bus stop fifty yards away, its exhaust forming thick white plumes in the morning air. I summoned every ounce of strength left in my aching legs and limped heavily toward it.
"Get in!" I shouted, tearing open the back door.
Lucy scrambled inside with Emiliano, pulling the baby deep into her lap. I climbed in after her, slamming the door just as the driver—a middle-aged man with graying hair and thick glasses—turned around in surprise.
"Where to, ma'am?"
"The Greyhound Bus Station on 8th Street," I ordered sharply, throwing a fifty-dollar bill onto the front passenger seat. "And step on it. Do not stop for traffic lights if you can avoid them."
The driver looked at the money, then at Lucy’s swollen lip and panic-stricken eyes, and finally at me. He didn't ask a single question. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, and the cab lurched forward into the morning traffic.
Through the rear window, I watched our apartment building shrink into the distance. But five blocks later, my heart sank.
Roaring out from the side street behind us was a dark grey pickup truck—modified with heavy steel bull bars on the front grill and tinted windows. Adrian's truck.
"He's behind us," Lucy whimpered, looking back, her body shaking so violently that Emiliano started crying out loud. "He's going to ram us! He doesn't care if he kills us, Mrs. Carmen! If he can't have me, he won't let anyone have me!"
"Driver," I said, leaning forward, my voice dripping with cold authority. "The dark truck behind us is tailing us. The man inside is dangerous. Get us to the highway or a crowded police zone."
"I see him," the driver muttered, his eyes narrowing in the rearview mirror. "Hang on."
The taxi swerved sharply onto the entrance ramp of the elevated highway, tires squealing against the asphalt. The dark pickup truck accelerated aggressively, weaving through morning commuters, cutting off delivery vans, closing the gap between us with terrifying speed.
BAM!
A violent shockwave rattled through the taxi as the truck's front steel bumper clipped our rear quarter panel. Lucy shrieked, ducking low and covering Emiliano with her entire body.
"He's crazy!" the taxi driver yelled, wrestling with the steering wheel as the cab fishtailed across two lanes before regaining balance.
"Keep driving!" I shouted, holding tightly to the overhead handle with one hand and clutching my cane with the other.
The pickup truck pulled up right beside us in the left lane. Through the heavily tinted glass of his passenger window, I could see Adrian’s shadow. He rolled down the window slightly, his face pale with fury, gesturing wildly for the taxi to pull over to the shoulder. When the taxi driver ignored him, Adrian swerved hard to the right, aiming to crush the cab against the concrete highway divider wall.
"He's going to pit-maneuver us!" the driver screamed.
"Not if you brake!" I yelled back. "Brake NOW!"
The driver slammed his foot down on the brake pedal. The taxi decelerated violently.
Adrian's heavy truck, expecting impact, shot forward into the empty space where our front hood had been a second before. Missing his target, his truck sideswiped the heavy concrete barrier wall instead. A shower of bright orange sparks erupted into the air, accompanied by the agonizing screech of metal tearing against stone.
The pickup truck careened wildly, spun out across three lanes of traffic, and crashed sideways into an empty flatbed tractor-trailer.
Tires screamed. Horns blared in a deafening chorus as cars behind us slammed on their brakes, creating an instant, massive traffic pile-up that completely blocked all three lanes behind our taxi.
The taxi driver pulled over onto the hard shoulder, gasping for breath, staring through his side mirror at the chaotic wreckage two hundred yards behind us.
Through the dust and smoking rubber, I saw the driver-side door of the crushed dark truck kick open.
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Adrian stepped out. He was bleeding from a cut above his temple, stumbling slightly, but he raised his head and looked straight down the highway—directly at our yellow cab. His eyes held an insane, unstoppable conviction.
"Drive," I whispered to the taxi driver, resting my hand on his shoulder. "Get us to the bus terminal now."
