Chapter 88 - Whispers of the Syndicate
The chase down Route 16 was a blur of fishtailing tires, howling engines, and blinding whiteouts.
The lead SUV, an armored Cadillac Escalade with heavy brush guards, surged forward along our left flank, attempting to run our rear bumper into the steep snowbank lining the road.
"Lily, stay down! Cover your ears!" I yelled, pulling Arthur’s coat over her head.
Callahan didn't flinch. Instead of braking, he slammed the truck's steering wheel hard to the left, using the heavy iron snowplow mount bolted to the front of his International Harvester to ram the Escalade’s passenger side door with a catastrophic crunch of metal and shattering safety glass.
The SUV spun violently across the two-lane highway, flipping twice into the ditch before bursting into a plume of steam and snow.
"That's one," Callahan muttered, his eyes narrowing at the second vehicle in the mirror.
The second SUV hung back, maintaining a distance of fifty yards. Suddenly, the sunroof popped open, and a man in a tactical helmet rose into the freezing airstream, hefting an anti-material rifle mounted to a swivel tripod.
*CRACK.*
A high-caliber round smashed through our back tailgate, punching a hole through the steel bed and exiting cleanly through the engine block under the hood with a terrible screech of grinding pistons.
Steam erupted from the truck’s radiator grille, hissing violently against the windshield.
"He got the oil pan!" Callahan shouted, fighting the dying steering column as the truck lost momentum. "We're not making Conway!"
We were entering the outskirts of Jackson Village, the picturesque, historic resort town nestled at the base of the mountains. The wooden covered bridge—the famous "Honeymoon Bridge"—loomed ahead in the darkness, illuminated by a single decorative streetlight.
"The bridge!" I cried out. "The entrance is too narrow for both of us!"
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Callahan slammed on the manual parking brake, spinning the heavy truck sideways across the entrance of the covered wooden bridge, effectively wedging our three-ton chassis between the heavy historic timbers and completely blocking the pursuit vehicle's path.
"Get out!" Callahan roared, kicking open his door. "Run through the bridge on foot! My daughter has a workshop on the other side by the waterfall! Go!"
