Flood Rising (Jenna Flood #1)

The broadside collision blasted the pickup off the tracks. Jenna was thrown around the interior like the beads in a baby’s rattle, but she held on to the steering wheel and kept the gas pedal pressed to floor. Despite being designed for use on metal rails, the steel wheels grabbed hold of the desert floor and the pickup kept moving under its own power. The Jeep tore free with another crunch, but Jarrod backed off only long enough to make another run at her.

Jenna stomped on the brakes and hauled the wheel to the side. The modified pickup couldn’t turn like a regular car, but it carved out a broad arc, avoiding another collision. The mangled Jeep shot past, missing by mere inches. Before Jarrod could come around for another pass, Jenna put the truck in ‘drive’ and hit the gas.

The truck’s wheels cut deep furrows into the hardpan and spun uselessly. After a few seconds, it broke free of inertia and rolled forward, picking up speed.

The engine revved through first gear and then the transmission shifted to the next gear and Jenna felt the truck gaining speed. The truck resisted her efforts to steer. The wheels, designed to run on long stretches of straight track, refused to turn more than a few degrees. The maintenance building lay just ahead and Jenna could see that she would never be able to steer around it.

I don’t need to get around it, she thought. Just a little closer, and then I can make a run for it.

The Jeep slammed into the truck again, spinning it sideways. For just an instant, Jenna saw the maintenance shed looming before her, and then it was all she could see.

With a bone-jarring shriek, the entangled vehicles tore through the sheet metal walls, snapping the metal support frame apart like a child’s toy. The two vehicles skidded forward another dozen feet, the pickup’s steel wheels throwing out a spray of yellow sparks as they scraped across the concrete floor. The combined momentum of the two vehicles hammered them against an immovable anvil, crushing metal and pummeling flesh.





62



6:15 p.m.



Jenna’s first coherent thought was that she should get out of the truck and run, but as she reached for the door handle, she realized that the interior of the vehicle had been transformed into something from a claustrophobic nightmare.

The cab seemed to have been compressed, like an aluminum can squeezed in a fist. The driver’s side door had been driven inward, jamming up tight against the seat and the steering wheel. Beyond the side window opening—the glass had shattered, littering her with tiny fragments. Outside the window, she could see only the crumpled front end of the Jeep. The situation on the passenger’s side was even worse. The cab had accordioned inward, crushed against a wall of gray concrete.

She searched for an alternate escape route. The windshield was spider-webbed with cracks, but the laminated safety-coating still held it together. She might be able to punch her way through, but that would require time she wasn’t sure she had. She twisted around and saw that the small window at the back of the cab was broken out. The opening was just big enough—maybe—for her to squeeze through.

She started for it, but something held her back. The dashboard had collapsed over her legs, enfolding them. There was no pain and she could still feel her toes wiggling, but something hard pressed down just above her knees.

A crunching noise came from outside the truck, and through the driver’s side window, Jenna saw movement. It was Jarrod, disoriented, staggering from the wrecked Jeep. With a desperate effort, she tried to wrench her legs free.

An unseen jagged edge raked her leg through the fabric of her jeans, but she kept pulling, repositioning herself for the best angle. Outside, Jarrod shook off his daze. He looked around, taking in the scope of the damage. Then his eyes met Jenna’s.

She pulled again, holding nothing back, willing the dash to pull away, and suddenly she was free. One of her shoes came off, and as she started squirming through the window, the grains of broken glass dug into the sole of her unshod foot.

She was halfway through when she realized that she had lost the computer. It was still in the truck, probably in the footwell, hidden from view and inaccessible to both her and Jarrod. If she survived the next few minutes, she would know where to find it.

Another heave sent her crashing into the truck bed. She saw that the gray barrier she’d glimpsed from inside was actually one of the concrete piers used to support the antenna dish. The collision had smashed the pickup into the pier at the foot of the massive two-hundred-thirty ton structure. From this new perspective, she could see cracks radiating through the pillar.

Jarrod came out from behind the wreck, gun in hand, circling around toward the bed of the pickup, cutting off her best avenue of escape. Jenna could feel the rage—the primal fury—radiating from him, so it came as a shock when he called out to her.

“You don’t have to run.” His voice was tight, as if he had to fight to get every word out, but there was no menace in his tone. “We can get past this. What happened to Sophie was an accident. There’s still a place for you in our family. Just...come with me.”