She stared straight ahead through the first rung of the steering wheel. She really needed a phone book or something to sit on.
“I guess you have a choice, then. Either you accept you are no longer attached to Roger and go on with your life. Or believe you are still married and wait for him to die before you move on with your life.”
I gaped at her. “Wait for him to die?”
“Well, you could always speed that up. Give him a cupcake with a little more venom in it.” She winked at me.
“Yaya!” I couldn’t help the laughter that spilled out of me, any more than I could help the shock at Yaya semi-planning Roger’s murder. The whole thing was ridiculous. Yet a small, wicked part of me thought maybe it wasn’t a bad idea.
“Just a thought.” She winked across at me again, then glared into the rearview mirror. “What is it with these idiots and their high beams? Do they not know it’s rude to have them on when driving behind someone?”
Traffic was light on the highway with the late hour, so the high beams she spoke of shot through the back window loud and clear as they caught up to us, a little too reminiscent of my previous night for my liking.
The truck attached to the lights roared up behind us and honked its horn as the driver flicked on a second pair of lights attached to its roof as well.
“Oh . . . I got a bad feeling about this,” Ernie said.
I twisted around in my seat, and my heart seized up like melted caramel over a block of ice. I recognized the grill on the truck all too well, and the splatter of branches and trees leftover from Dahlia and me running it into said trees.
Which also mean the driver had come to house number thirteen looking for me.
“Asshole,” Yaya muttered. “Alena, tell me this isn’t more of your trouble coming our way?”
The truck rammed us before I could answer, though I suppose being rear-ended was really answer enough. Ernie splatted into the windshield with a yelp, his limbs sprawling every which direction, wings bent underneath him.
“Yaya, take the next exit,” I yelled as the truck behind us revved its engine in preparation for another ram. Yaya jerked the wheel hard at the last second, which sent me sprawling across the bench seat.
The truck roared up beside us, and from the seat I recognized Viking number two. “Oh dear, he doesn’t look happy.”
Ernie untangled himself. “Crap, Alena, this is really too much, and I was looking for excitement.”
The Viking twisted his wheel with a grim snarl on his lips. I reached over to help Yaya with the Granada. I pulled her steering wheel to the right, bringing the Granada into contact with the oversized truck for all it was worth. The passenger-side window exploded.
“Insult him!” Yaya said. “If you can make him angry, he’ll get sloppy.”
I leaned over, took a deep breath, and yelled, “I think the size of your truck is overcompensation.”
Yaya barked a laugh. “Call him names!”
“That’s not really her forte, Flora.” Ernie climbed onto the seat between us.
“I can do it.” I leaned over to yell out the window. “Donkey butthole! Dingle nuts! Jerk face!”
The Viking frowned, seeming more confused than angry. Maybe that would be enough.
Yaya rolled down her window and lifted one tiny hand out, a single finger raised. I could easily imagine what she was doing.
“Your father was weak as a little girl, and he wore his hair in pigtails!” she yelled.
The Viking’s face hardened into a snarl, and he slammed the truck into us again. Apparently she’d touched a sore spot. Yaya gripped the steering wheel with both hands and wrestled with the car. I grabbed the steering wheel to help again, but I was too late; the car tires screeched as we were pushed off the road.
“Hang on, this is going to hurt!” Yaya yelped as we were shoved sideways along the road, dirt and gravel spitting all around us, tinging off the metal.
The truck pulled away only to hit us again.
I was thrown sideways and slammed into the passenger door, which decided at that moment to give way.
A scream hovered on my lips as I fell out of the door, barely stopping my tumble by grabbing the edge of the car. I dug my fingers in, the metal crumpled, and I hung on for all I was worth. Legs in and upper body hanging out, I stared up at the undercarriage of the big truck. I scrambled with my feet to hook them into something, anything, that would keep me from falling out and under the tires. Sure, I might survive, but I didn’t want to add being run over by a rather large truck to my most memorable memories.
All I could imagine was my head being squashed like an overripe watermelon, exploding under the weight and pressure of the truck. Though it was a guess, I suspected even I wouldn’t survive my head exploding.
The Viking laughed; I could hear it over the engine roaring and the tires of the Granada screeching.
“I’ve got you, Lena,” Ernie yelled, and a tiny pair of hands wrapped around my ankles. Maybe I could sit up in time to miss being hit.
Then again, maybe not.
The truck swerved toward me, and I had to let go of the side of the car or have my hand trapped. Though I suspected my hand being pinned was about to be the least of my worries. I hung there, on my back, Ernie sitting on my legs in the Granada, watching as the truck ripped toward me. I held my breath. Yaya was right, this was going to hurt.
The two vehicles slammed together . . . and no pain cut through me. I blinked and found myself staring up into the undercarriage of the truck.
“You are one lucky snake.” Ernie yelled at me, and I didn’t understand at first. Then I got it. The height difference between the two vehicles had created a pocket that had kept me from being flattened.
Mind you, I couldn’t move; I was still pinned between the two vehicles.
“Got you now, bitch!” he roared. He was right; he’d pinned me good.
“Alena!” Yaya yelled.
“I’m on it!” I yelled back, not knowing if she could hear me. Or if I had this at all.
I reached up and grabbed whatever bits and pieces I could in the undercarriage and started yanking at a pace akin to hand-whipping cream. Faster and faster I pulled pipes and plastic off the undercarriage of the truck until the engine above me choked and spluttered. Oil and fuel sprayed around me, the fumes gagging me.
The truck jerked, and the two vehicles unhooked, drifting apart. I sat up, my butt on the edge of the passenger seat. I looked over my shoulder, my hair streaming around my face, making it difficult to see. Making me wonder if what I was seeing was what I was seeing.
Remo’s car shot up between our slowing Granada and the truck, the slick muscle car moving like a bat out of hell.
“Oh dear, this isn’t going to go well for the Viking.” I looked back at Yaya. “Are you okay?”