The truck is literally fighting my brakes, literally pushing us toward the Suburban. The sound of squealing brakes, the smell of how hot they’re getting, the rapid beating of my heart, and the rush of blood that’s echoing in my ears, they swirl around me and I do my best to think despite it all.
Across from the Suburban, there’s the shoulder of the road and a mountain with rock exposed. If I can hit it just right, I will take the brunt of the impact and maybe Ryan will have a chance to jump out and make a run for it.
It’s a shit plan, but it’s all I have.
“Hold on, Ryan,” I tell him. “Hold on, Son,” I say again, and I hate that he can hear the panic in my voice. I hate it, but I can’t control it. “Ryan, when we hit, if you’re able boy, I need you to get out run into the wooded area and head straight to Rory. Can you do that for me?”
“Dad,” he responds and he’s crying now, the sound of his tears kills me.
“Promise me!” I urge, the sound of our tires squealing getting louder… so loud it’s painful. I pull up on the emergency brake and the truck fishtails. I cut the wheel deep again and hit the gas. The truck lurches off two tires, as it makes the sharpest turn I’ve ever made. Now the back of my truck is to the Suburban, there’s just enough distance between me and the Jeep that we somehow—miraculously—clear it and I’m careening sideways. “The minute we hit, Ryan!” I scream. “Go to Rory, tell her to call Uncle Crusher!”
“Okay,” I think I hear him say, I’m not sure because the tail end of my truck crashes against the rock of the mountain. It lurches and I cut it again, pulling it back into the mountain. My door crunches next, curling against me and then my front fender and hood, the force is so great the metal on the side of my truck collapses inward and cuts into my leg, just as my airbags explode, slamming me back. I feel white-hot pain everywhere, but mostly radiating from my mangled leg. I don’t have time to concentrate on it, as my truck rocks and then comes to a stop. I reach in the console, pull out my gun. Then, I slide across the seat, pulling my injured leg with me, as I go to Ryan’s side. I take in my son. His body is shaking from his tears, his eyes wide with panic. I bring my hand up to touch his face, needing one last touch. My hand is bloody and it looks so wrong that I don’t. I can’t bring myself to touch Ryan like that. The good news is that his airbag didn’t deploy, at least that part of my plan worked, and he’s free from the carnage.
In my peripheral vision, I can see four men coming toward us.
“Daddy,” Ryan cries, having already undone his belts. He collapses against me and I allow myself just a second to smell him, to commit his touch to memory. There’s no way I’m going to make it out of this. I know that. I’ll never be able to see Ryan grow up. I’ll never meet his first girlfriend, share his first beer with him, help him nurse his first heartache, buy his first bike, watch him put on a Savage cut… I’ll never be able to see him fall in love with a redhead with green eyes and a dusting of freckles across her face. I’ll never watch him have his own son….
All I can do is make sure Ryan gets away. Rory will protect him. She’ll help him.
“I’m going to give you cover, Ryan. You run. Go to Rory. Give her Uncle Crusher’s number. Do it,” I urge him.
“Okay…” he stops and takes a gulping breath as sobs come out with the words. “Okay, Daddy,” he says.
I open the door and the men are just a foot away. I level my gun and take aim, getting the first fucker between the eyes. I twist around Ryan’s body and drop to the paved shoulder outside, dragging my useless leg with me. I use my body as a shield for Ryan to get out. If I didn’t have a leg that made it impossible I’d run with him, shielding him.
That’s not an option.
“Now Ryan!” I urge my son. The minute I hit the ground, Ryan’s out from behind me and he takes off running. I start shooting again, trying to measure each shot, because I don’t have shit to reload with—that’s in the console. Even if I had the bullets in my hands, there’s no way I’d have time to load the chamber. The men dive for cover, as my son disappears around my truck.