Chapter 11

Copyright© 2010 by Michael Wolfam

O'Donnell was flying, almost literally. The rush of the chase made him feel alive. It beat the hell out of babysitting a bunch of thieving miners. He craved action. Chasing down this sexy little bird with the powerful SRT-8 was the thrill of a lifetime. He was savoring every moment, almost hoping it would never end.

But, unfortunately, it was time to stop the chase. She couldn't be allowed to make it back to town. O'Donnell briefly considered grabbing the M-16 sitting in the backseat, but decided it would be too unwieldy to shoot the fully automatic assault rifle and drive at the same time.

With one hand on the wheel, he instead reached into his jacket and plucked his Glock 17 from its shoulder holster. O'Donnell liked the gun. He and the Glock were like brothers. With no safety, and a rock solid performance record, it was no frills. Always ready to go.

The Porsche's worn, but solid tires screeched in protest as they were expertly pushed to their limit through the tight curve. The rear end nearly slid out of control before Liv counteracted the slide, using a skilled combination of braking and counter steering. She didn't dare look at the speedometer. She concentrated on not slamming through the guardrail and into the canyon below. Diverting her attention, even for a moment, would spell certain disaster.

The mirror on the driver's side slammed against the aluminum guardrail. It was violently ripped off and flew over the ledge into the canyon below.

"Shit, sorry Murph, I'll get you a new mirror. You don't need it anyways. You're still pretty. None of the other cars will make fun of you. I promise."

As Liv exited the curve, a plan formed in her head. "Wonder how good this asshole really is Murph? I bet you a new SpyderCo knife I can get this butt munch off our back. Hey, by the way, you owe me like twenty seven knives man. When you gonna pay up Murph? You're a really sore loser you know that? This is gonna make twenty eight," she pet the steering wheel with a mix of affection and apprehension.

After her father's disappearance, Liv spent much of her free time begging rides into the mountains, or going with her Grannie to search for any trace of him. Her mother had died in a drunk driving accident when she was three. This made the loss of her father all the more devastating. After several years, the trips became less frequent, but she grew to love the backcountry and still clung to the hope of one day finding her missing father.

"All that time in the mountains is gonna to pay off today Murph. Let's see what you've got." Liv switched the key on, pushed in the clutch, shifted into fourth gear, then released the clutch, kicking the dormant engine to life.

"Got ya now, bitch. You'll be just another silver notch in my belt in a few seconds," O'Donnell salivated as the powerful SUV closed in on the white car. "Just a little love tap at this speed and down into the canyon ya go. We're going so fast, I bet you'll smash into the other side before you hit bottom," he chuckled at the thought.

O'Donell was close enough to read the eclectic mix of bumper stickers plastered to the rear end of the little car. "NRA and Greenpeace, huh? I bet your funeral is gonna be fun."

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