Chapter 15

Liv was quickly nearing the top of the hill. Black smoke from the tortured engine was trailing after her. Liv quickly twisted the key to the off position and killed the engine, hoping the overheated metal would restart if needed again.

"That f#$%king bitch. She's got more lives than a god damn cat," O'Donnell screamed with a mixture of anger and respect. He brought the SRT-8 to a screeching halt, unbuckled his seat belt, twisted in his seat and then repeatedly kicked at the windshield with his steel toed boots. The glass resisted at first, but the rubber seal holding the windshield in place gave way. The flaming mess of glass, rubber and flares barely hit the ground before O'Donnell stomped the accelerator in a rage. In less than 4 seconds he was racing at more than 60 mph up the hill. Behind him stretched two long streaks of rubber deposited by the smoking tires.

Liv coasted to the top of the hill. By the time she reached the peak, the battered 944 was limping along at 30 mph and she was fighting to keep it moving in a straight line. The smell of gasoline grew stronger. The hit to the rear end had knocked the Porsche out of alignment and done more damage to the fuel tank. The most worrisome problem though was the Jeep growing larger in the rear view mirror.

The SUV was starting to look like some kind of mythical black beast intent on killing her. She could almost imagine it snorting fire. The white smoke from the tires struggling to grip the road stretched far behind the lunging vehicle, adding to the effect.

Without the engine, Liv knew she would never be able to get enough speed to outrun the SRT-8 on the approaching downhill. But a crazy, desperate plan formed in her mind. "We got one trick left Murph. Hope you're up for it."

O'Donnell was closing fast. Fire blazed in his blue eyes. The little car had reached the pinnacle and was starting to make the tight turn at the top.

Strangely, it was moving slowly and he closed the gap quickly. As soon as he could read the bumper stickers, he whipped out the Glock. "Now you pay," he screamed, leveling the pistol at the blowing hair in the driver's seat. From this range he couldn't miss. He tried to calm himself and make his shots count, but before he could pull the trigger, the little white car vanished and O'Donnell nearly went flying past it. He stomped the brake pedal, the huge Brembo's cut his speed instantly, allowing him to follow the Porsche into the hidden turnoff. Only two of the Jeep's wheels touched the ground.

Murphy was falling apart around her. Moments before, Liv had turned onto the old railroad bed which diverged from the main road, just beyond the sharp corner at the summit. The Porsche was bouncing and bucking along the narrow rocky path, which obviously hadn't been used by vehicles for a very long time.

When the road to Eagles Landing was built, they mostly used the old narrow gauge railroad track for the roadbed. However, at the top of the hill it was easier to take a different route down the mountain.

Back in high school, this old trail had been the prime place to have Friday night parties. It was isolated and could not be seen from the main road. The perfect spot for a kegger and Liv's last desperate trick. She prayed she was doing the right thing.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the Porsche struck a large rock embedded in the dirt road. A good-sized chunk of the air dam ripped off with a heart wrenching sound.

O'Donnell couldn't believe the pursuit was taking so long. She was clever, but taking the dirt road was going to prove a fatal mistake. Most Grand Cherokee SRT-8's were low to the ground and would have suffered like the little white car. But the one he was driving had a lift kit with a heavy-duty, off road suspension. While the road felt bumpy, O'Donnell was able to retain full control of the vehicle and gain on her. The dirt in front of him turned black and slick as a rock pierced the oil pan of the little car, spilling the boiling hot liquid.

"Maybe there will be time to get to know you better after all. No point in becoming a notch if I don't even know your name or what you're wearing under that skirt," he said gleefully.

"Come on, Murph, just a little more. You can do it. I need just a little more. I promise to play more German music every once in a while. Not all the time, but every now and then. Come on, just a little further." Liv had one last Hail Mary. If it didn't work, she knew her only chance was to shoot it out with her pursuer and probably others. In the distance, she had occasionally glimpsed a white Chevy 4 X 4 from the mining site chasing after them.