Chapter 3 - The Highway Struggle
"Let me out of this car right now!" I screamed.
I slammed my fists against the thick, tinted glass of the window.
The driver ignored me, accelerating heavily down the dark interstate.
He was taking me back to the slaughterhouse.
I knew what Mark would do to me if I returned after leaving that police report on the bed.
I had absolutely no choice.
I lunged forward over the center console and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands.
The driver shouted in panic, trying to pry my fingers off the leather grip.
I yanked the wheel violently to the right.
The car swerved aggressively off the paved highway and onto the gravel shoulder.
Tires screeched as the vehicle spun completely out of control.
We crashed heavily into a shallow, muddy ditch, sending a jolt of pain through my neck.
The airbags deployed with a deafening popping sound, filling the cabin with white smoke.
The driver groaned, momentarily stunned by the brutal impact.
I did not waste a single second.
I scrambled back, grabbed my scattered cash, and stuffed it into my backpack.
I kicked the shattered rear window until the glass gave way completely.
I crawled out into the freezing night air and ran blindly into the dense woods.
I ran until my lungs burned and my legs felt like lead.
An hour later, I saw the bright neon signs of an isolated truck stop diner.
I walked inside, shivering and covered in mud, and sat in the darkest corner booth.
I ordered a black coffee and tried to catch my breath.
I looked up at the small television hanging above the counter.
The local news was playing a breaking news segment.
My heart stopped beating completely.
My face was plastered across the television screen with a massive banner reading "WANTED."
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The news anchor announced that I was a prime suspect in a brutal stabbing.
Mark was on the screen, crying hysterically with a heavily bandaged arm, claiming I had tried to murder him before fleeing with stolen money.
