The Curse of Medusa

They were startled back to reality by the sound of gunfire and the sight of half a dozen bullet holes being punched into the steel walls of the outbuilding. The light now shone through the holes in beams.

“We have to get out of here… right now.” Brooke ran his hand along the little board where he kept all his keys until he found the right ones for the Jeep. “Take these,” he said, tossing them at Hawke. Then he pocketed the other keys and grabbed a shotgun from under the bench. “Assholes aren’t chasing me in my own damned cars!”

Hawke climbed into the driving seat of the Jeep Grand Cherokee and fired up the 5.9 V8. A deep growling noise emanated from under the hood. He revved it and the entire vehicle rocked from side to side. A broad smile spread over Joe Hawke’s face.

Brooke climbed in the back and dumped the shotgun on the seat.

“Get us out of here, Joe!”

Hawke stamped on the throttle and the two-and-a-half ton vehicle jumped forward and raced toward the double doors. The Englishman instinctively covered his face as the Jeep smashed through the doors in a cloud of dust and bent metal and then he skidded it around to the right in the direction of the property gates. It sprayed an impressive arc of dust and dead pine cones up into the hot air as it went.

Behind them, a hail of bullets erupted from the two men who were still using the spruces for cover. Hawke watched in the rear-view mirror as the men sprinted into the outbuilding.

Brooke shook his head. “Those assholes better not hotwire any of my babies.”

“I think that’s the plan, Jack,” Hawke said, and increased the speed of the Jeep. “Only eleven miles to the airport now so let’s hope they’re not very good at hotwiring.”

Alex sighed. “You might want to try something a little stronger than hope, Joe. Check the rear-view.”

He checked the mirror and saw Brooke’s beloved Corvette skidding out onto the highway behind them. It didn’t take long for the gunmen to catch up with the much slower Jeep, and the three lanes of ID-75 meant Hawke had a much harder fight on his hands to keep the Corvette trapped behind them.

Brooke turned in his seat and stared forlornly through the rear window. “Oh crap, they’re going to wreck my baby.”

“I’m your baby, Dad.”

Without turning he raised his hand and patted his daughter’s shoulder. “I know you are, honey, and I love you.”

“Yeah, that’s not my shoulder, Dad.”

Brooke turned to see his hand was on Hawke’s shoulder and pulled it back fast.

“My apologies, Joe.”

“That’s okay, Dad,” Hawke said. “And I want you to know I love you too.”

Alex smiled, but Brooke simply returned his gaze to the Corvette, which was now accelerating and swinging to the right in a bid to overtake on the shoulder. Hawke responded by gripping the wheel and heaving the Jeep into the path of the flame-red sports car, but it was a feint. A second later the Corvette braked and skidded to the left, swinging out into the oncoming lane and rapidly accelerating alongside the Jeep.

The gunman in the passenger seat aimed a Remington 1100 tactical shotgun at them, leaning through the open window.

Hawke saw what was happening and hit the brakes.

The Corvette shot in front of them for a few seconds but the driver responded in a flash. He hit the brakes and raced behind the Jeep, swerving into the right-hand lane as he went. Before Hawke could respond they floored the accelerator and swung out into the path of an oncoming SUV narrowly avoiding a head-on collision as they overtook them once again. They were now in front of the Jeep.

Remington twisted around in his seat and leaned out the Corvette’s window. He pulled the long shotgun out of the car and lifted it toward the center of the Jeep’s windshield.

Hawke looked ahead and saw a massive Kenworth Road Train bearing down on them in the left-hand lane. He thought about skidding around it to the left but that would leave him in the fast-lane of the oncoming traffic, and the looming presence of the Kenworth meant he had no way to tell if there was anyone in that lane or not. He knew he could be a daredevil at times, but a head-on smash at nearly two hundred miles per hour was too much even for him to contemplate. Luckily Cairo Sloane wasn’t here to talk him into it, he thought.

The gunman raised the weapon to his eye and prepared to fire.

Hawke had only one play.

He pulled the wheel to the right and sent the Jeep hurtling off the road.

The gunman fired, and a puff of white smoke was followed by the sound of lead shot peppering the back left of the Jeep. Hawke struggled to control the vehicle as it skidded down an embankment and smashed through a low wooden fence which marked the boundary between the highway and a sunburnt wheatfield.

Brooke pointed at the crop stretching out in front of them. “Holy crap, Joe!”

Alex screamed and instinctively raised her hands to protect her face.