Chapter 6 - The Ridge Road Ambush
The forest road was little more than a logging skidder track choked with blackberry briars and washed-out shale, but Julian drove it with the reckless precision of a man who had memorized every pothole and washout on the mountain since he was twelve years old. Behind them, the low-slung headlights of a black Ford Raptor bounced erratically over the ruts, its oversized diesel engine roaring like an enraged bull as it fought to close the gap on the narrow track.
“Hold onto the box!” Julian shouted over the screaming whine of the supercharger as the Land Cruiser slewed sideways around a hairpin turn, its rear bumper clipping a rotting pine stump with a loud thump.
Marta braced her boots against the floorboard, her left arm locked around the heavy iron lockbox while her right hand gripped the overhead grab handle so hard her knuckles turned the color of lard. In the side mirror, she saw the Raptor’s high beams wash across the canopy of the fir trees, followed instantly by a blinding flash of orange fire from the passenger-side window.
Crack-whistle-pop.
The side mirror exploded in a shower of silver glass and plastic shards, spraying the cabin with fine dust.
“They aren't trying to scare us off the road!” Marta yelled, her voice cutting through the mechanical din. “They’re aiming for the fuel tank!”
“They think we’re carrying the original deeds!” Julian wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left, diving the heavy SUV down an abandoned fire-break that dropped at a forty-five-degree angle toward the dry creek bed below. “If that box burns, the county title lawyers have clear sailing to bulldoze St. Jude’s by noon tomorrow!”
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The Land Cruiser bounced down the stony slope like a runaway boulder, its suspension groaning and bottoming out against the granite ledges with bone-jarring force. Marta felt her teeth click together hard enough to taste copper, but she never loosened her grip on the iron box. Through the shattered window, the black bulk of the Raptor overshot the turn-off, its tires smoking as the driver tried to brake on the slick shale, sliding sideways into a thicket of young alder trees with a sickening crunch of twisted chrome and snapping timber.
Julian didn't slow down. He bottomed the SUV out in the shallow, dry gravel of the creek bed, threw the transmission into high range, and surged up the opposite bank toward the paved county highway that led straight to the federal courthouse thirty miles away in the valley.
