Chapter 12 - The Viaduct Clash
The heavy interstate bus slammed sideways into the concrete guardrail of the Iron Mountain viaduct, showering a cascade of orange sparks against the dark canyon wall before grinding to a violent, shuddering halt. The engine sputtered and died, leaving the interior illuminated only by the pulsing red emergency lights on the dash.
“Everybody out! Move, move!” the terrified driver screamed, kicking open the emergency exit door at the front and ushering the few remaining passengers down into the freezing rain.
Jax shoved Leo toward the aisle. “Go, Leo! Run to the call box now!”
“Dad!” Leo screamed, but Jax pushed him firmly toward the open door. The boy scrambled down the metal steps, clutching the faded photograph tightly in his small fist, and bolted toward the amber emergency telephone box fifty yards down the shoulder.
Jax turned back toward the rear of the bus just as the back emergency window shattered inward in a shower of glass fragments. Vance hauled his massive frame through the opening, landing heavily in the aisle with a heavy iron chain wrapped securely around his right fist.
“End of the line, traitor,” Vance sneered, wiping the rain from his bearded face as he advanced toward Jax.
Jax didn’t run. He stood his ground in the narrow aisle, ignoring the searing pain radiating from his wounded shoulder. He drew his hunting knife from its sheath, the steel blade gleaming coldly under the emergency lights.
“You’re a dead man, Vance,” Jax said quietly, his eyes narrowed with lethal focus.
Vance lunged forward, swinging the heavy steel chain in a wide, vicious arc aimed directly at Jax’s head. Jax ducked beneath the swing at the last possible second, the links whistling through the air just inches above his hair. Before Vance could recover his balance, Jax drove his shoulder forward, slamming the larger man back against the rows of empty vinyl seats.
The fight was brutal and unforgiving. Vance swung wildly with his fists, catching Jax twice in the ribs and driving the wind from his lungs, but Jax used his superior leverage and sheer desperation to keep closing the distance. He drove his knife handle hard against Vance’s collarbone, sending a sharp cry of agony through the enforcer’s teeth.
Outside on the dark road, Silas and Marcus had pulled their motorcycles to a halt. Silas dismounted quickly, drawing his own weapon, and began jogging toward the bus to finish what Vance had started.
Jax knew he was running out of time. With one final surge of adrenaline, he swept Vance’s legs out from under him, sending the heavy enforcer crashing hard onto the floorboards, completely incapacitated. Jax didn’t look back. He vaulted over the back seats, dove out the shattered emergency window, and hit the wet asphalt rolling.
He scrambled to his feet, clutching his bleeding shoulder, and sprinted down the shoulder toward the emergency call box where Leo was waiting.
Just as Jax reached the safety of the toll barrier, a blinding set of high-beam headlights pulled up directly in front of them, blocking the road completely.
Marcus stepped down from his Harley, holding a heavy automatic pistol steady in his right hand, his cold eyes fixed directly on Jax’s chest.
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“It’s over, Jax,” Marcus called out over the howling wind. “Give me the boy, and I’ll make your death quick.”
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