by Lynn Bohart
“Um…just a minute.”
She picked up the phone and dialed a number, watching me out of the corner of her eye, while Blair pretended to try and calm me down. When someone answered on the other end, the girl turned away and spoke softly into the phone. A moment later, she hung up.
“I’m sorry, but no one has been admitted tonight expecting to deliver.”
I stared at her for a moment.
“No one. You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said patiently. “I’d check with Valley.”
The charade was over before it began. My mind was whirring. Where was Rosa?
“Thank you,” I said.
As we walked back to the car, Blair stopped me at the curb.
“You okay, Julia?”
I was staring straight ahead, unaware of where I was going. I glanced up at her and shook my head.
“I don’t get it. They only have three shelters, and this is the only one near a hospital. Where else could she be?”
“Maybe she really did go to Valley Medical Center. We can go check. Let’s not panic until we make sure.”
I nodded numbly, and we got back into the car and headed out of town.
We got caught at the light at 416th Street, where the road opens up again to ranches and farmland. Blair fiddled with the radio as we waited for the light, while I glanced through the window to my right. There was a darkened Stop & Shop on the corner. A black long-bed truck sat in the parking lot facing the street with its engine running and its lights on. It was one of those oversized rigs with running lights across the cab and a winch hooked to the front grill. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t tell if someone was behind the wheel, but it didn’t matter. Even though it wasn’t a Hummer, I felt my heart beat pick up. What was it doing there?
The light changed, and Blair crossed through the intersection without having noticed it. I decided not to say anything; after all, we were in the Porsche. The truck didn’t have a chance at catching us. And it wasn’t the Hummer. It was probably just an innocent rancher. But as we pulled away, I twisted around and glanced behind us anyway. When the truck didn’t follow immediately, I felt a flood of relief.
“What the heck were you looking at?”
“Nothing. I thought I saw a cop, that’s all.” I was lying, but I didn’t want to alarm Blair. She misunderstood me.
“Okay, I’ll take it easier on the way back. You were looking a little pale in there, anyway.”
“No, don’t slow down. I really want to get to the hospital,” I said, clutching my seat.
“Okay, then. Here we go.”
She let the speedometer climb back up. As we whizzed through the dark, I prayed a deer wouldn’t decide to cross our path. I kept checking the side mirror, but the only headlights were far back, so I began to relax. We were just a little sports car rocketing through space. I had just begun thinking about the best way to get to Valley Medical Center, when we careened around a curve and dropped down the south side of the hill toward the gorge again. Suddenly, Blair cried, “Shit!” and slammed on the brakes.
The Porsche swerved and skidded to a stop about fifty yards uphill from the bridge. Sitting right in the middle of the bridge was the Hummer, its giant silver grill gleaming in the light from the four pole lamps. Its headlights were on and it was facing us, like a predator waiting for its prey. The only way forward was to go through it or around it. And since it was sitting right on the center line, going around it was out of the question.
I felt my stomach clench.
“Should we get out and make a run for it?” I said.
Blair turned and looked at me. “Are you nuts? I’ll just turn around.”
She never had the chance.
Something slammed into us from behind, jolting us forward. Blair looked up into the rearview mirror.
“What the hell?”
It was the big truck, now pushing us down the hill like a snow plow. Blair slammed on the brakes, but the small tank behind us was too powerful. The Porsche’s engine whined in resistance, as I topped it in a frantic scream.
As we slid towards the Hummer, the Hummer started to move slowly forward, and my mind raced. Our fate lay in one of two directions. Either Blair spun the steering wheel so we’d go off the edge of the cliff, or we’d be crushed in between the two monster trucks. Neither seemed like a good choice.
I continued to scream like a silly school girl and snuck a glance at Blair. She wasn’t making a peep. Instead, she was completely focused on keeping the sports car on the road. With only twenty-five yards to go before we became a car sandwich, hold the mayo, Blair called out, “Hold on!”
Really? Did she think I wasn’t already holding on?
I swallowed my scream as Blair took her foot off the brake and slammed it down on the accelerator. The Porsche’s tires screeched as they spun, and then the little car popped off the truck’s bumper. It hit the pavement at about fifty miles an hour, racing straight for the Hummer. Seconds before we would have hit it head on, Blair yanked the steering wheel to the right and then to the left, slamming up and over the curb on the bridge, just missing going off the side. The car bounced off the guard rail and back into the side of the Hummer as we screamed past the huge vehicle, tilted on two wheels. I was nearly thrown into Blair’s lap. It was over in half a second and we were past the blockade—minus things like side mirrors, bumpers, and my lungs.
As we bounced back off the curb, Blair slowed, and I yanked my head around. The giant truck didn’t have time to slow down and hit the Hummer off center, going full speed. The Hummer whiplashed to the left and then slammed through the guardrail. When the truck pushed past it, it pushed the Hummer backwards off the bridge and into the gorge. An explosion of smoke and flame rose into the darkness, and for a moment, I thought I couldn’t breathe.
Until I saw the monster truck lurch ahead, coming straight for us again.
Suddenly, I screamed, “Go! Go! Go!”
Blair hit the gas pedal and the Porsche jumped forward. We crested the hill and then she called out to me, her voice not more than a screech.
“Call 911!”
There was a roaring in my ears so that I almost didn’t hear her. But I reached forward and scrambled for my purse on the floor, pulling out my phone.
“Tell them there’s been an accident on the gorge bridge just outside of Enumclaw,” she shouted.
“Shouldn’t I tell them someone is chasing us?” I yelled back.
“Sure. Do that, too. Tell them we’re a couple of miles outside of Maple Valley.”
With my fingers shaking, I misdialed twice, swearing the entire time. When the 911 operator finally came on the line, I nervously relayed the information. The responder wanted to know who was chasing us, but I had to admit that I didn’t know. She finally reacted when I reported the accident on the bridge, and said an ambulance was on its way. I told her I wanted to keep her on the phone, but just then Blair swerved to avoid something, and my phone flew into the back of the car.
“Damn,” I exhaled, glancing into the back.
“Don’t worry about it,” Blair said. “We only have a mile or so to go.”
“What happens when we get to Maple Valley?”
“We find the police station,” she said matter-of-factly.
I wasn’t as confident as she was about that. As I looked over the seat for my phone, I glanced through the back window.
“Shit!”
The truck’s headlights were about a half mile back, and while they didn’t seem to be gaining, they weren’t giving up either.
“Dammit!” Blair exclaimed suddenly.
“No, I think we’ll be okay,” I said, watching the headlights behind us.
“That’s not what I mean,” she exclaimed. “We’re losing gas. Fast. We must have punctured the gas tank.”
I returned to my seat and looked over at the gas gauge. It registered less than a quarter of a tank and the arrow was moving down quickly.
“We’r
e not going to make it to Maple Valley,” she said with alarm.
“We’ve got to,” I said.
“If we can just make it to an open gas station,” she said.
“Are you kidding?” I screamed. “These guys won’t let a little thing like having other people around stop them. They’ll just get out and shoot us.”
Blair shot me a panicked look, and I realized her granite composure was beginning to crack. It spurred me to take action.
“Blair,” I barked at her. “Just get us into town. We’ll find the police station or a place to hide.”
Just then, my mother’s phone rang. I reached into my pocket and answered it.
“What? We’re a little busy here.”
“Mr. Billings,” my mother said, and the phone went dead.
I stared at it a moment and then nearly jumped out of my seat.
“Doesn’t Mr. Billings have a dealership in Maple Valley?” I said excitedly.
“Yeah,” Blair said. “He does.”
“Okay, get us to the dealership.”
“Okay,” she said, turning her attention back to the road. “It’s on this side of town. It’s close.”
“That’s good. That’ll work. Get us there,” I said, encouraging her.
I turned around again to check on our pursuers. The headlights were gaining.
“We’re going to do this, Blair,” I said. “It’s going to be okay.”
But a glance at the gas gauge stirred a nervous flutter in my chest. The yellow light was on and it was nearly on empty. It was happening too fast.
The lights on the outskirts of Maple Valley appeared. I crossed my fingers and held them tight. We had to do this.
As Blair steered the battered little sports car forward, I became aware of a clinking sound coming from the rear of the car. Both side mirrors had been snapped off, and from where I was sitting, I could see that the left front fender was caved in. If the poor little car could have limped, it probably would have.
“Okay,” Blair suddenly said. “I’m going to turn at the next corner, and I’m not slowing down. As soon as we pull into the parking lot, I’m going to circle around to the back.”
“Do you have a key?”
“No, but I know where they keep a spare.”
We made it to Kent-Kangley Road and Blair ignored the red stop light. She spun the steering wheel to the right and the car skidded around the corner, sending a hub cap rolling across the road. So much for keeping under the radar. At the end of the block, she cranked the wheel to the left, and we bounced into the dealership’s driveway. True to her word, Blair barely slowed down before she circled the building, pulled the car in between two other cars, slammed on the brakes and turned off the engine.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Once I’d peeled my forehead off the front window, I threw open my door. Blair’s door had been wedged shut on impact and she had to climb out on my side. Not so easy in a sports car.
We finally got out, hunkered down and ran for the back door. A framed advertisement for a BMW hung on the brick wall next to the door. Blair pushed the corner of the poster aside and pulled out a key on a string. Within a few seconds, we were inside the darkened dealership, and Blair locked the door behind us.
We found ourselves in the back hallway. I followed Blair through a door to the showroom. In front of us were two automatic doors filled with paned windows looking out onto the car lot. It’s how they drove cars onto the showroom floor. Three cars were parked inside facing the front lot—a big Mercedes sedan, a Lamborghini, and a BMW. We crawled up to the Mercedes and hid behind it, peering out the front windows.
“Do you think they’ll find us?” I asked, my heart pounding so hard I thought they could probably hear it through the brick walls.
“Not right away. You can’t see the back door very well from the street. But we ought to tell 911 where we are.”
She turned to me, surprised to find that my hands were empty.
Sheepishly, I said, “That phone is dead.”
“How can it be dead? You just got a call on it.”
Her face expressed all the suspicion I’m sure she felt. Just then, the damn phone started playing “Rock Around the Clock.” I smiled.
“Ignore that,” I said.
“Isn’t that your phone?”
“Not exactly.” I paused. “It’s my mother’s phone.”
“Well, can’t you just tell whoever’s calling to call the police?”
“Um…not really. No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Julia! Answer the damn phone!”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone and answered it.
“What now, Mom?”
This time Blair turned to me with her eyes wide.
“Julia,” my mother said. “You’re not safe.”
“Really, Mom?” I sniped. “Do you think we don’t know that?”
“No, Julia. Danger is very close!”
Then, she was gone.
“We need to go,” I said, nudging Blair.
“Says who? Your mother?”
The look on her face was clear. She thought I was nuts.
“How do we get out of here?”
She leaned over and read the Mercedes’ license plate number.
“C’mon,” she said.
We crawled on hands and knees towards a desk, and then scurried across the open floor until we were behind the service counter. Blair reached up and opened the office door and we nearly fell inside. She closed the door. Ducking behind the desk, she reached up to a pegboard on the wall that held all the car keys. She found the set of keys she wanted and grabbed them. As she glanced out the window, she swore.
“Shit! They’re here!”
“I know,” I said without looking.
She shot me a wary glance and then headed for the office door again. We poked our heads above the door window, peering out the front windows of the dealership. Two men in black were weaving in and out between cars in the front, looking for the Porsche. One had iridescent white hair. It was the creepy Mr. Brown.
“How did they find us?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Blair waved for me to follow her. She opened the door and we crawled out of the office again and scuttled back to the Mercedes sedan. She gestured for me to get into the passenger side, while she scurried around to the driver’s side. We each carefully opened the doors and ducked inside, keeping bent over so as not to alert our attackers. I glanced over and saw that steely expression on Blair’s face return. She was back. What was it about putting her behind the wheel of a car that gave her so much confidence? She turned to me with an almost gleeful look of determination.
“Put on your seatbelt—tight. And then hold on.”
“How many times am I going to hear you say that tonight?”
I donned my seatbelt and pulled it tight. Then I grasped the armrest and braced myself. Blair turned the ignition key and removed the emergency brake. The two men looked up as soon as they heard the engine.
“Aren’t we going to open one of the doors?” I asked, feeling my entire insides clench.
She glanced sideways at me. “Why would we do that?”
Blair put the car in gear and pressed down on the accelerator. The car’s tires spun on the slick showroom floor, and then it lunged forward. We crashed through the front showroom windows, emerging in a shower of splintered glass and window frames as the car roared onto the lot, heading straight for our attackers. They jumped to either side, ducking glass and bent metal as it cascaded down upon them.
“Whoo, hoo!” Blair hooted as we sped past.
She streaked out of the parking lot onto 242nd Street and made a hard right back onto Kent-Kangley Road.
“I’m taking us into Kent,” she said. “I know where the police station is there.”
“Okay,” I squeaked, barely able to breathe.
“Do you have your mom’s phone?”
&nbs
p; “Yes,” I said, my entire body buzzing with adrenaline.
“Then call 911 again. Let them know where we are,” Blair said.
“I was serious before,” I said to her. “The batteries are dead.”
“Your mother is, too, but she seems to be calling you! Call 911!”
I reached into my pocket and got the phone out again. The Mercedes’ dash clock said it was now 4:23 a.m. We were alone on the road. We had just passed a small commercial center on the left and were hurtling down a long stretch of highway that led straight into Covington and then Kent—two of Seattle’s bedroom communities. I had just flipped open the phone, hoping against hope that it would work miraculously, when the world collided, sending the Mercedes into a 360 spin.
The luxury car flew off the road, hit a curb, and flipped completely over, landing back onto its tires. Inside, we were thrown back and forth like rag dolls held in place by the seat belts. This car not only had front air bags, but side air bags, too. When the side one exploded in my ear, I thought a gun had gone off. I flew one way and then the other until the car finally came to a stop and the world went suddenly silent—except for the ringing in my ear.
I opened my eyes, or thought I did. All I saw was the blurry image of a figure standing some distance from me. I felt completely weightless and floated forward, surrounded by hushed whispers. When I got close to the figure, I realized it was my mother, waiting for me. She didn’t speak, she just put her fingers to her lips and gestured with her other hand to where a body lay on a table. It was Rosa, her long hair draping off the side, her big belly rising like Mt. Rainier above her breasts. Two people stood over her.
I tried to call to Rosa, but no sound came out. She was in danger, I knew it. I had to warn her. I tried to go over to her, but as I moved forward, the table moved further away. I stopped. How could I help her? I looked up. There was a doorway. Something familiar hung on the wall beyond the door. It was a painting I recognized of an angel hovering over a lake. But before my mind could identify it, the sound of voices drew me out of the blurred haze.
My eyes fluttered open. All I saw was the damn air bag again.
I pushed it aside and turned towards the voice. The concerned face of a young man floated into view just outside my window. He was trying to open the door. I turned my head towards Blair. She was slumped back in her seat and to one side, and appeared to be out cold. A young woman had gotten Blair’s door open and was pushing the air bag away from her face. As she did, I gazed past Blair to the young woman, just as a large black shadow passed slowly along the road behind her. As the shadow floated by, a face turned towards me, a helmet of gleaming white hair shining through the darkness.
