Honey West: A Kiss For a Killer by Fickling G. G

Author:Fickling, G. G. [Fickling, G. G.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: FIC000000, FIC022000, FIC022040
ISBN: 9781468304824
Publisher: The Overlook Press
Published: 2006-03-27T16:00:00+00:00

NINE

There was a ripping crash as the sedan struck a guard-rail on the downhill side of the highway, twisting back across the slick pavement, skidding out of control.

I tried the hand brake, but the metal handle came loose in my fingers. The cable was severed!

The grade at this point was perilously steep and narrow, carved sharply from the mountains. A cliff swung into my headlight’s glare, rising straight and rocky in the rain. The wheel twisted in my hands.

Crash! The right front fender grazed the bluff, shooting up a shower of stones and pebbles that ricocheted off the windshield.

Another set of headlights loomed in front of me as the highway straightened for a few yards before another curve. They sliced ominously through the furious downpour, moving up the mountain slowly on the downhill side of the white line.

I was in the wrong lane! The wheel wouldn’t respond as the sedan skidded again on the wet pavement, veering out toward the guardrail. I snapped it viciously and the car spun sideways directly into the oncoming lights, grazing the rail, metal rending and tearing against the steel guard.

My hands flew instinctively to my face as the other vehicle’s horn blared wildly, lights looming like two angry eyes. Suddenly the windshield seemed to explode and something ripped past my head with an ear-splitting frenzy. The seat jerked, tore loose from its mountings, throwing me hard toward the dashboard. My cheek brushed against the steering wheel as it twisted sideways mashing me down on the floor. The car spun violently, tipped, rolled, the sound of its death splintering around me in a hideous roar of steel and glass.

Then it was over, and there was nothing to hear except the rain and a slowly turning wheel that grated somewhere on a broken axle.

I felt around slowly, hardly able to believe I was still alive, not convinced in the futile darkness that life did exist in my bruised body. The broken steering column was bent around me like a pretzel. That much I could feel in the dark. I could feel, too, that the car was tilted forward on its frame as if the front end had dug a gaping hole in the ground, or was hanging downward into some awesome void.

By the time I’d unscrambled myself, I heard the distinct clatter of footsteps running hard on wet asphalt.

Then a voice cried out anxiously in the night, “Hey! Hey! Hey, down there, are you all right, for God’s sake?”

I knew then why the car was tipped so severely. I crawled from under the battered dashboard and felt rain slamming down on my face. The door on the driver’s side was gone and beneath its opening was a wide, seemingly unending space. I was over the side of the mountain.

“Is anybody alive down there?” the voice rose again.

“Yes!” It surged from my throat.

A flashlight cone erupted in the dark, spilling over the sedan, lighting my face through the persistent rain. More footsteps rang on the highway.

“What’s happened?” another voice demanded.

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