Chapter 9 - The Collision
Metal screamed against metal as Liam’s sedan slammed into the reinforced highway barrier. The impact jolted Ethan violently forward, the seatbelt locking across his chest like a steel band.
In the backseat, Claire’s instinct was instantaneous; she curled her entire body over Noah, shielding the newborn with her back and arms as the side windows imploded into glittering shards of tempered glass.
Smoke poured from under the crumpled hood of the sedan. The smell of burning rubber and spilled oil filled the cabin.
""Liam!"" Ethan shouted, coughing through the haze.
Liam was slumped over the steering wheel, a dark crimson line trickling from his hairline down into his left eye, but he was breathing. He groaned, weakly reaching for the gear shift. ""Move... Ethan, get them out...""
Ethan kicked his door open with both feet, the bent hinges screeching in protest. He tumbled out onto the wet asphalt, rain stinging the fresh cuts on his face.
Behind them, the heavy SUV that had rammed them stopped fifty yards away. Its high beams flared with blinding intensity, cutting through the dark sheets of rain. Two figures emerged, clad in dark tactical gear, unholstering suppressed sidearms.
""Claire, out! Now!"" Ethan yelled, reaching into the shattered rear window to unlock the door.
Claire scrambled out, clutching Noah tightly against her chest beneath her damp scrubs. She was trembling uncontrollably, her post-partum body pushed far beyond its physical limits, but the maternal instinct in her eyes was ferocious.
""Where do we go?"" she cried, looking at the barren industrial wasteland flanking the highway.
""The drainage canals,"" Ethan said, pointing toward the steep concrete embankment that dropped down toward the river. ""Run! Don't look back!""
A sharp phut-phut of suppressed gunfire cracked through the rain. A bullet struck the sedan's trunk lid, punching a clean hole through the metal.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He grabbed Claire's hand, half-carrying her as they slid down the muddy, rain-slicked embankment toward the dark concrete storm culverts below.
Behind them, heavy footsteps pounded down the incline. The pursuers were moving fast, unencumbered by fear or exhaustion.
They reached the mouth of a massive concrete drainage tunnel just as another round ricocheted off the concrete lip above Ethan’s head, showering them with stone dust.
They plunged into the darkness of the tunnel, ankle-deep in rushing storm runoff. The air was frigid and foul.
""Ethan, I can't breathe,"" Claire whispered, her knees buckling under her. She collapsed against the wet wall, gasping for air, her lips turning blue in the cold.
Ethan caught her before she hit the water. He took Noah from her arms for a second, tucking the quiet, shivering baby securely into his inner coat, then slung Claire’s arm over his shoulder.
""Just a little further,"" Ethan pleaded, his voice breaking. ""Please, Claire. Don't quit on me now.""
Suddenly, a bright beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight swept across the tunnel walls behind them, freezing them in its glare.
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""End of the line, Mr. Vance,"" a gravelly voice echoed through the tunnel.
Ethan turned around. Standing ten paces away, gun raised and leveled directly at Ethan’s forehead, was Vanessa Sterling’s personal chauffeur—the man who had driven Ethan to church this very morning.
