Chapter 8 - Highway Ambush
The impact threw Vance against the padded wall of the trailer. Leo rolled, catching himself against the hypercar’s massive rear tire. Outside, the sound of tearing metal and squealing rubber echoed over the hum of the highway.
""Report!"" Vance shouted through the trailer's internal intercom.
The driver’s voice came back strained, fighting the steering wheel. ""Two heavy-duty pickups, Mr. Vance! No plates! They're pit-maneuvering the rig! They don't care about the cargo; they're trying to roll us!""
Silas didn't just send foot soldiers on bikes; he had sent chase trucks. The Iron Scrappers weren't just trying to collect a debt; they wanted to erase the witnesses before Vance’s legal team could pull the plug on their underground network.
""Hold on!"" the driver yelled.
Another brutal impact shuddered through the trailer. The armored rig held its lane, but the hinges of the rear loading ramp groaned. A sickening sound of ripping steel echoed as a ramming bumper struck the trailer's rear doors repeatedly.
Leo scrambled to his feet. He looked around the dimly lit enclosure. Along the walls were storage cabinets filled with spare racing components, fuel jugs, and specialty tools.
""They're going to breach the back,"" Leo said, his eyes scanning the equipment with terrifying speed.
""The doors are reinforced composite,"" Vance said, dusting off his sleeves. ""They can't get through with a bumper.""
Clack-clack.
The distinct sound of an acetylene cutting torch hissed against the steel seam of the rear doors. A glowing orange line began to eat through the lock mechanism from the outside.
""They brought recovery trucks,"" Leo said, his voice flat with adrenaline. ""They have torches. Once they burn the latches, the ramp drops at sixty miles an hour. We tumble out onto the asphalt.""
Vance drew a small, silver automatic pistol from his shoulder holster. He checked the magazine with a sharp flick of his wrist. ""Let them open it. I have eight rounds that say they don't step inside.""
""Guns won't stop a three-ton truck tailgating at sixty miles an hour!"" Leo shouted. He ran to the front of the trailer, grabbing a red fifty-liter drum labeled 110 Octane Leaded Race Fuel.
""What are you doing?"" Vance demanded, watching the boy drag the heavy drum toward the rear of the hypercar.
""The hypercar,"" Leo yelled, uncapping the fuel drum. ""The exhaust pipes exit straight out the back, right between the taillights. The turbo wastegates are set to atmosphere!""
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Vance realized what the boy was planning. ""The engine is uncalibrated! You said the valve will seize!""
""It will seize at full operating temperature,"" Leo yelled, unscrewing the car’s fuel cap and pouring the high-octane brew directly into the tank. ""We only need five seconds of fire!""
