Chapter 6 - The Wreckage on the Highway
The acrid smell of burning rubber and hot engine coolant filled the cramped interior of the town car. Eleanor groaned, her head throbbing violently where it had struck the side window during the violent collision. The passenger-side airbag hung limply like a deflated balloon, venting a cloud of white talcum powder into the dark cabin. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her blurred vision, and frantically reached out to feel for Margaret in the adjacent seat.
"Margaret!" Eleanor gasped, her voice thick with panic as she shook the older woman's shoulder. "Margaret, wake up!"
Margaret stirred slowly, coughing as she inhaled the chemical dust. She pressed a gloved hand to her forehead, wincing as her fingers came away coated in a light sheen of blood. "I'm... I'm alright," Margaret muttered, looking around the shattered interior with fierce determination. "The driver... check the front."
Eleanor turned around in her seat, peering through the broken glass partition. The driver slumped forward against the deployed steering wheel, completely unconscious, blood trickling down from a deep laceration on his temple. Before Eleanor could check his pulse, the distinct sound of heavy boots crunching against broken glass echoed outside the vehicle.
Through the shattered rear window, Eleanor saw the blinding beam of a heavy-duty flashlight sweeping across the interior of the car. The dark silhouette of a large man stepped up to the driver's side door, wrenching it open with a brutal yank.
"Nobody move!" a deep, gruff voice commanded, though it clearly didn't belong to a highway patrol officer.
Panic surged through Eleanor’s veins. She instinctively pressed her hand down into her clutch, her fingers curling tightly around the micro-SD card containing the incriminating financial records. If the men who forced their car off the road were working for Arthur Vance, finding that card would mean instant execution for both of them.
Margaret grabbed Eleanor’s wrist with surprising strength, pulling her down flat against the floorboards just as the beam of the flashlight swept across the back seat.
"They aren't cops," Margaret hissed under her breath, her eyes flashing with cold anger. "Arthur sent his personal corporate security detail to finish what he started at the banquet."
Outside, the man outside the vehicle spoke into a two-way radio clipped to his tactical vest. "Target vehicle neutralized on the outer ring road. We're checking the interior now. Send the second unit to secure the perimeter."
Eleanor’s heart hammered furiously against her ribs. Every breath felt like inhaling crushed glass. She looked at Margaret, whose face was calm despite the mortal peril hanging over them.
"We need to get out of here now," Eleanor whispered, frantically pushing against the jammed passenger door. The metal frame was badly warped from the impact against the concrete barrier, refusing to budge more than an inch.
"The trunk," Margaret instructed swiftly, pointing toward the rear pass-through behind the center armrest. "There's an emergency release latch inside the compartment."
Without hesitation, Eleanor shoved her arm through the narrow opening, blindly groping along the dark fabric of the trunk lining until her fingertips brushed against a small, glowing plastic handle. She yanked it down with all her remaining strength. With a loud, pneumatic hiss, the heavy trunk lid popped open, letting in the cold night air and the distant wail of approaching sirens.
Before the security guard could round the back of the town car, Margaret and Eleanor scrambled awkwardly through the narrow gap, tumbling out onto the wet asphalt of the highway shoulder just as a second black SUV pulled up behind them, blocking the road with its high beams blindingly bright.
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As they scrambled down a steep grassy embankment toward a thick stand of pine trees bordering the highway, a gunshot cracked sharply through the night air, whistling dangerously close to Eleanor's ear and embedding itself deep into the bark of a nearby tree.
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