When a set of headlights appeared behind him a couple of miles down the road, he stared at them through the rear view mirror so long, that he almost slammed into the rear of a stalled tractor-trailer in front of him. He looked up just in time, and managed to miss the truck, but slid off the road and into the front yard of an old, peeling green house.
He narrowly missed hitting the rickety front porch, and fought to bring the truck back under control as he shot past it. He goosed the gas pedal and the truck swung around, clipping several bushes that fronted the porch. But the truck was now angled toward the road. He gave it more gas and steered it back onto the roadway at last.
He looked into the rear-view as he gained the road, and he could now clearly make out the shape of the long gray Lincoln behind him. It was gaining, and when it reached the tractor trailer, it seemed to skim by on the outer edge of the road without slowing at all. Ira jammed the gas pedal into the floor board and the old truck began to shudder as it picked up speed.
He glanced back, and as he did, the car blew by on his left in a spray of water that momentarily covered the windshield. Ira instinctively released the gas pedal and jammed the brake pedal, while working the wiper switch. The old truck shuddered in protest and began to slide down the road.
The windshield cleared as the truck slowed down, and he watched as the Lincoln spun sideways in the road. It came to rest in the center of the road, blocking it from side to side.
Steam rose from the hot tires. Its black windows gleamed in the light rain as tiny rivulets streamed across them towards the ground; washing away some of the mud that still clung to the lower body.
Ira drew a deep breath into his lungs as the truck slid the last few feet and stopped. He ended up still pointing straight, in the right hand lane, about twenty five feet from the car.
He reached for the rifle that had slid off the seat onto the floorboard, as his heart beat quickly in his chest. The passenger side window of the Lincoln slowly lowered as he watched.
The black glass gave way to a dark gray interior, and the young dark-haired man that sat behind the wheel of the long car slowly turned towards him. Ira could see his yellow and crooked teeth, from where he sat in the truck, as he grinned. His heartbeat sped along crazily, and he fought to control the panic he felt rising inside him. He clicked off the safety on the rifle as he slowly eased it up onto the seat beside him. The dark-haired man continued to grin, and as he did his mouth opened wider, revealing more of the sharp, yet crooked and yellowed teeth it contained.
Ira began to silently pray in his mind. Lord? He asked, Lord, what do I do? He felt no answer at all, but his mind brought forward the warning he had been given when he had last walked with God. "They will try to kill you," He had said. "They know." Ira wasn't afraid to die, but he wasn't eager for it either.
The dark-haired man in the Lincoln raised one hand, thumb extended, and finger poking out, as if it were a gun, and aimed at him. It was almost funny, Ira thought, looking at the raised hand. But the next instant, when the windshield on the passenger side cracked loudly, he was stunned to see a small hole punched through it when he looked. A nest of cracks ran away from it, and small crystals of glass glittered on the dashboard.
He quickly ducked, levered the door open, and dropped to the pavement. He raised the rifle to his shoulder, aimed, and fired. As he did he heard another shot, and felt a stinging sensation in his left leg. The right side of the dark-haired man’s face dissolved as Ira's shot found its mark. He saw the spray of skin and blood hit the black side-window behind him, as the bullet shattered it almost simultaneously. The young man continued to grin with what was left of his face, he shot once more.
Ira saw the flame lick from the end of his finger, as he dropped towards the ground. The shot missed, and he heard the Lincoln's engine whine as the tires began to bite into the pavement, producing a high pitched scream. Ira dove back up from the ground, and shot once more at the car, that was now sliding around and heading for him.
He dove back into the truck just as the Lincoln hit the still open door, and tore it from its hinges. It flipped up over the already braking car, and clattered to the pavement. Ira keyed the ignition, and jammed the truck into drive. The tires of the truck spun and began to smoke, as he mashed the gas pedal to the floor and tore off down the road. The car spun around behind him, and began once again to give chase.
Although the truck shuddered in protest, Ira did not let up on the gas pedal. Instead he kept it jammed to the floor. The truck edged up and past eighty, before he eased off.
At just under ninety, the truck rattled loudly, and the large tires hummed as it sped down the road with the gray Lincoln seemingly welded to its rear bumper. Ira used the stock of the rifle to smash out the rear glass of the truck, and fired twice into the windshield of the car. The windshield blew inward, and the car locked its brakes and spun sideways on the road.
The tires caught, and the Lincoln flipped into the
