Nirvana Effect

49



Dr. James Seacrest’s head hurt. His wrists ached and itched. The sunlight burned his eyes, and he had to make quite an effort to open them. He felt ill, and the bull-like jostling helped little.

When his eyes adjusted, he screamed. He also tried to throw his arms up, but he couldn’t manage it past the ropes which bound his wrists.

A huge bright orange Jeep hurtled directly at him and his car. He wasn’t driving his car. Rather, it was being steered by a dark-skinned man in a loincloth. He looked dirty. He shouldn’t be sitting in the Corvette dirty like that.

James did a double-take on the dark-skinned man before he remembered what had happened. His head started hurting worse. That Jeep didn’t look like it was stopping. The dark man threw himself out of the Corvette. James felt neglected as a hostage.

The Jeep skidded to a stop on all four tires, fishtailing out. It stopped just before impact.

A crazy white man in priest robes leaped out of the Jeep and jumped the native.

James tried to rub his head. It was all so much to take in. He couldn’t rub his head because of the damn rope.

The white man hit the driver in the face and the stomach, but the native recovered quickly by rolling with the punches. He counter-attacked with fists and elbows. The white man twisted to the side in response, bracing himself on James’s precious Corvette to land a kick. The native swept back to dodge it, and the white man, still spinning, planted a high kick onto the native’s chest.

Amazingly, the native was pushed back, but did not fall. He didn’t even seem shaken.

James heard the roaring of engines. Far down the path, he saw cars and trucks approaching single file.

The native charged the priest. The priest sidestepped him again, but this time the native came at him with a fist he couldn’t dodge. The white man took it straight to the gut. James was shocked to see it didn’t even seem to wind the man.

The native hesitated and muttered something in a foreign tongue. He must have been shocked, too. He lunged again at the white man.

The priest’s back was to James. He was only a meter away from the Corvette. The priest dodged the native’s fist, then grappled him by the hair and arm and sent his head crashing into the side of the Corvette. James felt the sickening thud reverberate through the precious car. He hoped it didn’t mess up the paint job. A dent was easier than a paint chip.

The native’s head didn’t jerk back like it was supposed to when he hit the car. Instead, he just dropped.

The lead pursuit cars skidded to a stop behind the parked Jeep. More dark men poured out of their vehicles before they had even stopped moving. The priest jumped into James’s Corvette and shifted into reverse. He was using mirrors to keep to the path, launching back up the trail. James eyed the speedometer. It only read zero.

The natives were tilting the Jeep. They were rolling it off the path so they could get through.

“Hello,” said the strange white man.

“Uhm, hello.” James debated which driver he liked better.

“Dr. Seacrest, I presume?” asked the priest.

James wanted to scratch his head. He made up for it by squinting. “Yes, I’m Dr. Seacrest. And you are?”

“Edward Styles.” Styles extended his hand to shake and then put it back onto the seat when he saw James wouldn’t be able to reciprocate.

“Father Edward Styles?” asked James.

Styles scowled. “Just Edward Styles will do fine.”

“All right, Edward Styles. Mind untying me?” asked James.

“In a minute. Got my hands full right now.” The cars in pursuit loomed larger in their vision. Styles revved the engine.

“If you push it too much it’ll…” James started to say. The car suddenly shook and jerked sideways. “…bottom out,” he finished.

Styles kept the car zooming. Five cars chased after them, at least twenty men, all less than a hundred meters away.

“Oh, God,” said James. One of the natives leaned out of the lead SUV with a shotgun and trained it on the Corvette.

“About fifty meters away,” shouted Edward over the high whine of the engine in reverse. “We’re okay,” said Styles. “You don’t have a gun, do you?”

James braced through another jolt from the road. “Under the seat,” answered James.

“What seat?”

“My seat,” said James. Edward sighed.

“Can’t reach it.”

“Me either.”

“Duck,” said Edward matter-of-factly.

“Beg pardon?” asked James. He wished he’d heard more clearly, because the next moment his head was between his legs, forcefully shoved there by Edward’s hand.

The shotgun sounded like a thunderclap. The tinkling of shattered glass rode the echo of the shot.

James felt hot glass on his neck and cried out. Edward did not react. James jerked his head up and saw that his windshield was shattered.

“Stay down!” shouted Edward. He shoved James down again. This time the shot flew high.

James looked up again careful. James had been in some tough scrapes before, but never had this much harmful intent leveled at him in one sitting. They’re literally trying to kill my arse with a shotgun!

The SUV was only twenty meters away. James glanced back and saw they were only a hundred meters from the road.

“DUCK! DUCK!” screamed Edward. This time James reacted quickly enough. He saw a puff of upholstery and interior where Edward’s head had been situated only a moment before. “Stay down!” shouted Edward. “Just stay down.”

Edward was staying down, too. “How are you driving the car?” asked James. Edward ignored him. “Styles? What’s going on? Don’t you need to see the road?”

Edward had closed his eyes.

The car revved faster.

“Oh God!” shouted James. He envisioned his Corvette wrapped around a tree. A huge bump jostled him down to the floorboard. He could only watch Edward, now, with his closed eyes.

Edward jerked the steering wheel. They bumped over a small tree. They were on the road. Edward rocketed up into his seat and jammed the accelerator all the way down to the floor. They rocketed down the paved highway.

James thanked God for a miracle and cursed the priest.