Page 23 of Factory Thief

I feel a wave of relief flood over me as the truck loses ground on the upslope. I glance over at Jack and find his hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles ghostly white.

“Do you have any weapons at all?” he asks.

“Yes,” I sigh. “But I’m not a great shot and I only have a single magazine. Damn it!”

“We’ve got problems,” he says, tapping the dashboard. I look at the fuel gauge and groan.

“Great. How far can we get once the red light comes on?”

“Industry standard is fifty miles. At these speeds, maybe ten minutes of driving, tops.”

I curse up a blue streak, growing more vehement and vulgar when we hit a downward grade and the truck catches up once again.

The truck slams into the bumper with incredible force. I’m flung against my seatbelt as the car’s rear end crumples inward. Suddenly Jack can’t keep the car on the road. It slides back and forth, smashing alternately into the guardrail and then into the rocky cliff face.

The truck has smashed our bumper up under the rear wheels. Blanched, Jack’s face dawns with an awful truth. We’re going to crash. The only question is: how bad will it be?

Turns out, really bad. I see a sharp left coming up and know Jack will never make the turn. We hit the guardrail, slowing only a fraction. Ripping through splintering timbers, we carry the guardrail’s metal like a banner and plunge over the cliffside.

The wrinkled sea crawls toward a rocky beach as we plummet down. Jack’s screammingles with my own as we plunge toward the ocean.

“Jack, try and relax,” I cry right before we hit.

I go boneless just as the shock comes. I try not to panic as I’m flung against the seatbelt, my arms flying forward to strike the dashboard with considerable force. The windshield shatters when we strike the waves, flooding the car with water instantly.

For a moment we’re just under the surface, the sun’s illumination filtering down over us. I unbuckle my seatbelt and look over to Jack. My heart catches in my throat when I see him limp and unconscious. Blood leaking from his forehead billows into a crimson cloud.

I struggle to free him from his seatbelt, then drag him along as I swim out the shattered windshield. The car plunges toward the bottom as the current thankfully pushes Jack and I toward shore.

Sputtering, my head bursts through the waves. I hook my legs around Jack and backstroke toward the beach until it grows shallow enough to trudge through the water.

“C’mon, Jack, stay with me.”

I check, and find Jack’s thready, weakening pulse. Jack still has a pulse, but he is not breathing.

“C’mon, Jack,” I shout, pounding on his chest to get the sea water out. “Breathe!”

JACK

Something jabs into the back of my head. I tilt it to the side, but that only serves to sic the sharp, jagged thing onto another vulnerable area of my flesh. It’s as if my skull were made of cracked glass. Every slight movement sent barbs of agony slashing through my consciousness.

I suck in a ragged breath of air, then promptly sit up straight, wracked by rough coughs. Each cough increases the agony in my head tenfold. I become aware of a hand slapping my back between the shoulder blades.

“Jack?” Concern fills Victoria’s green eyes. She gently pushes my chin until our gazes meet. “Jack, are you all right?”

“I think so.” My voice is a gasp, my words carried away by the strong wind and crashing waves nearby. Victoria seems to hear me fine, however. I look around in confusion. “How did we get here? Where’s the car?”

“You don’t remember?” Victoria’s gaze darts upward, then back at me. “We went over the cliff and into the ocean.”

“No,” I shake my head and regret it at once. I wince as the movement sent shards of poisoned sunlight into my brain. “Last thing I remember, they shot off the sideview mirror.”

Victoria’s glistening brow furrows with worry. “You hit your head pretty hard when we plunged into the ocean. Unfortunately, short term memory loss is common with concussions, particularly the last few minutes leading to the injury itself.”

“Concussion?” I gingerly probe my forehead and find a tender spot. A flash of breaking glass and Victoria’s screams come back to me. Maybe I do remember going over the cliff, a little bit.

I leverage myself down onto my elbows and look around. We sit on a crescent of coarse sandy beach dominated by large, ugly boulders. Not the ideal place for a seaside rendez-vous. A sheer cliff stretches up at our back. The top lies some sixty feet or more out of sight.

“How did we survive?” I ask.

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