Veil of Civility: A Black Shuck Thriller (Declan McIver Series) (17 page)

Declan steered into the impact in an attempt to keep control of the vehicle. Locked together in a metal on metal duel, sparks flew from the wheel well of his truck as the SUV's grille guard pushed against it. Knowing he couldn't outrun them, his mind raced for another way out. Remembering a section of road ahead where the four lane highway was divided by a steep, rocky hill, he began to form a plan. If he could keep control of his truck long enough to make it to that area, which couldn't be more than a mile ahead of him, then he could hit the brakes and make a quick left onto a dirt road that he'd seen many times as he'd driven home. He didn't know what was down the road or how far it went, but if he could trick the driver of the white SUV into passing him as he took the turn, he might be able to get away.

He pulled the steering wheel hard to the right, pushing back against the attacking vehicle. The SUV backed off again and Declan pulled the wheel left to avoid overturning. The driver's side wheels of the truck left the pavement as he overcorrected, dust and gravel flying as the tires skidded over the unpaved shoulder of the road. Steering right again, the truck weaved back on to the pavement with a thud and he corrected again, this time bringing the vehicle back into the fast lane and continuing forward.

The SUV hit him again from behind before skidding back into the right lane and coming around for another sideswipe. Declan hit the brakes suddenly and the SUV flew past him as his wheels locked up and skidded loudly against the pavement, the smell of burning rubber filling the air. Taking his foot off the brake and pressing the accelerator, the truck continued forward with a begrudging rumble.

He looked ahead towards the SUV. Suddenly a head popped out of the passenger's side of the vehicle, followed by a torso and an arm holding a semi-automatic pistol. Several loud pops sounded as the man sat on the edge of the door and aimed his weapon backwards over the top of the SUV. The windshield of Declan's truck splintered and the back window exploded, covering Declan in chunks of green tinted glass. Keeping his hands on the steering wheel, he ducked low and kept his foot on the accelerator, speeding towards the SUV.

He rammed the vehicle from behind and pushed it forward, the impact causing the gunman hanging out of the window to lurch and nearly fall out. Gripping onto the side view mirror, the man lowered himself back into the SUV as the driver pressed the accelerator and pulled away.

Declan saw the median beginning to broaden to his left. Looking ahead through the cracked windshield he could see the hill separating the eastbound and westbound lanes of the road about a hundred yards away. The SUV shot forward ahead of him as the driver attempted to put distance between them. Were they running away now? Had the attack become a chase? He had no desire to catch them; he just wanted to get off the road and out of the truck where he could get a better idea of the forces arrayed against him and see exactly who they were. If they moved on and didn't come back in search of him, that would be fine too.

Still traveling at high speed, he watched as the SUV disappeared around a sharp right hand curve that led around the hill. He pressed the brake and slowed down as the dirt road on the left side approached. Pulling off the pavement, the truck bounced hard as it hit a long pothole and started down a steep hill. Instantly he knew he'd been moving too fast to attempt the turn. He steered furiously trying to keep control. As he pulled the wheel hard to the left, the truck's back end skidded around and he felt the vehicle's tremendous weight shift, but he was too late to correct it. Momentum carried the truck over and he braced himself as it rolled.

He crashed hard against the roof and then again against the driver's side door as the truck continued to roll. He felt his head strike the side window repeatedly as he bounced up and down in the seat involuntarily, his body at the mercy of the rapidly changing gravity in the cab of the truck.

The truck stopped rolling with a sudden impact and he felt his torso push hard against the safety belt as gravity continued trying to move him at the former speed of the now still vehicle. Pain shot through his body as it relaxed in the seat. The sound of crushing metal and breaking glass gave way to the stillness of a country night, crickets chirping in the trees surrounding the dirt road. Opening his eyes and breathing heavily, he coughed as dust invaded his lungs. He realized he was upside down and being held to the driver's seat by the safety belt around his waist. His legs hung loosely against the underside of the dashboard and his head throbbed above his left temple where it had impacted with the now broken driver's side window. With painful trepidation he moved his head and looked around the cab as he mentally took stock of his body. He could move his legs and arms and didn't feel any broken bones. Raising his right arm above his head, he reached towards his waist with the left and pressed the orange button on the safety belt, releasing it. With a thud, he fell onto the roof of the overturned truck and lay still, trying to absorb the impact, his legs now sprawled across the passenger side of the vehicle and his left arm caught in the safety belt. Pulling his arm loose, he turned over onto his stomach and crawled towards the broken window.

Wrenching himself free of the truck, he rolled onto his back and grimaced as he brushed pieces of glass off his forearms, leaving bloody dots in their wake. Slowly he raised himself to a sitting position and looked around. He was in an oval-shaped lot just a few yards off the dirt road and was surrounded by construction machinery. Placing a hand flat onto the ground, he pushed himself up onto his feet looking around for any signs of the white SUV or the men who had been in it. He was alone.

Standing still for a second he tested both legs to see if they would hold his weight and was glad to find that he was uninjured, with the exception of the throbbing above his left temple. He placed the fingers of his left hand on the sore spot expecting to find blood and was relieved when there was none. Walking slowly around the front of the truck he noticed that it had come to a stop against a yellow bulldozer bearing the logo of the Virginia Department of Transportation.
So that's what this place is
, he thought,
a storage area for VDOT equipment
.

At least one good thing had come of the situation. He could now cross this road off his mental list of places he'd always been curious about. Bending over and placing his hands on his knees, he took a deep breath and squatted several times to work out the kinks he felt in his muscles. He needed to find a way home and that would mean walking to one of the houses that peppered both sides of the highway.

Dropping to one knee, he leaned over to look inside the truck for his cell phone; in addition to finding a way home, he needed to call the police. The sound of an approaching vehicle reached his ears and he stood upright again, looking in the direction of the noise. A set of headlights pierced the darkness to the west of his position and he stood still, hoping it was just a random motorist, but as the vehicle slowed and made a left hand turn, he knew it wasn't.

Forgetting about his phone, he moved quickly away from the edge of the storage lot and into the center of the construction machinery where he ducked and weaved his way through the mud-covered equipment looking for a place to hide. As he reached the end of the lot he spotted a large rock formation sticking out of the ground and ran towards it. Behind the rock, the terrain dropped suddenly and he could see the eastbound lane of the highway below him. He carefully climbed onto the rock and lowered himself into a prone position as the sounds of gravel crunching under tires grew closer.

The approaching vehicle bumped over the one lane dirt road adjacent to the lot and there was an audible squeak as its weight shifted on its axles. When it came to a stop ten feet from his truck, Declan could see that it was the white SUV that had attacked him. The sound of the passenger's window coming down preceded the bright beam of a flashlight that was shone on the overturned wreck. The door opened and a man got out, his large frame silhouetted behind the flashlight beam as he moved cautiously towards the truck.

"There's no one here," the man said in a gruff, unaccented voice as he bent down and looked into the cab of the truck.

"We've got to find him!" a voice called from inside the vehicle. "They want this guy dead or we don't get paid!"

From the lack of any noticeable accents Declan could tell the men in the white SUV were not the same men he'd seen at the Briton-Adams mansion the night before. Although he couldn't make out what they looked like in the darkness, their choice of words and style of speech told him they were locals, or at least a lot more local than the men who had killed Levitt and Kafni. Who were they? And more importantly, who was paying these men to kill him, and why? A shiver shot down his spine and through his legs from the cold, damp rocks he was lying on as he watched the bright beams of flashlights pierce the darkness, washing over the dormant equipment like the full moon over an assembly of sleeping grizzly bears.

Two men had left the SUV and were moving about the storage lot searching the cluster of equipment. Declan wondered if there were more men in the vehicle or if the two who had gotten out were alone as he hunkered low against the rock and considered his options. Behind him was a long drop onto the two lane eastbound highway leading to Lynchburg. To his right and left were thick patches of trees that would provide him cover, but would also make noise as he moved among them; alerting the men to his presence and to his location; and in front of him were at least two armed men that were aiming to kill him on sight. If he stayed where he was they would eventually make their way to the end of the lot and if they decided to check out what was behind the rock, he'd be a sitting duck. Considering the fact that they were armed and he wasn't, he decided avoiding a physical confrontation would be best and that meant making a run for it in one direction or another.

"I got nothin'," one of the men called loudly to the other. "Maybe he was thrown from the truck during the crash. I've seen bodies tossed fifty or more feet from crash sites and that truck rolled a good distance. He could be anywhere."

Declan stayed still. Would they give up their search and leave?

"Could be, but if we don't bring back pictures of a dead body we've wasted our time," the man who had been driving the SUV answered.

It looked like he was back to making a run for it. Slowly, he moved his head and looked behind him as he heard the sound of a vehicle passing along the highway below. The road rose in elevation as it came around the rocky hill, but in the darkness he couldn't tell exactly how far it was to the bottom and whether the drop was straight down or sloping. If it sloped he could make a run for it, sliding down the hill and crossing the highway into the forest beyond where the men would have little chance of finding him in the dark, but if it was a straight drop, he could end up with a broken leg or worse, complete the men's job for them and be killed. He moved his head again, slowly, looking forward. The men's positions hadn't changed much, they were moving methodically through the muddy lot, checking in and around each machine. He turned his head again and peered into the gloom. The hill sloped down in a rolling fashion as it led to the bottom where the terrain leveled out, bringing the four lane highway back together for the remainder of the journey into Roanoke. Moving downwards would give him some momentum and allow him to move more quickly away from the men despite the fact that they would inevitably hear him and give chase. If he could make it to the bottom of the hill and into the forest across the highway without them catching him, he'd be free to move towards a nearby house where he could call the police. Gripping the craggy rock, he positioned his feet for the maximum amount of push off he could get and prepared to make his move.

"Get over to the truck and call Turner and Allred," one of the men yelled. "I don't want them waiting around for us. Tell them to get in there and take out the wife. I don't want to drag this out any longer than we have to."

Declan's mind raced as his heart rate sped up.
Constance.
How could he have been so stupid? How could he have assumed these men were only after him and not even thought of the possibility that she might be in danger as well? His mind changed in an instant. Now his plan was all about a physical confrontation. Armed or not, these men were not going to reach their vehicle and make that call while he was still alive. Lifting his head, he watched as the man searching the part of the lot closest to him turned and began walking towards the white SUV.

Putting all his weight onto his right foot, Declan launched himself forward and off the rock. Hitting the muddy ground with a squishy thud, he instantly powered forward. His shoulders lowered like a running back heading for the end zone, he darted between the machines towards the man, whose back was still turned.

"There he is! Watch out!"

The man ahead of him started to turn, but his partner's warning was seconds too late. As Declan closed to within a few feet of his target, he launched his arm in a wide circle and formed a knife edge with his hand, striking the man in the carotid artery on the right side of his neck just before colliding with him and driving him face first into the muddy ground. As the momentum caused the man to slide forward in the mud, Declan grabbed his head and twisted until he heard a muted snap.