Time Echoes by Bryan Davis

Author:Bryan Davis [Bryan Davis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scrub Jay Journeys
Published: 2017-01-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I pressed the gas pedal. As the speedometer pushed past eighty, I checked the rearview mirror. A dark car followed pretty far back, but it kept pace.

Kelly set a hand on the dashboard. “If a state trooper catches you, it’ll take a lot longer than three hours to get to Clara.”

“True.” I lifted my foot and checked the mirror again. The car had closed in enough to identify the model, a Lincoln Town Car. “We’re being followed. He took off when I did, and now he’s slowing down.”

Kelly looked out the back window. “Could it be Dr. Gordon?”

“He drove a Lincoln like that one. I saw it at the school.”

She swiveled forward and tightened her seatbelt. “Then floor it. Now we want a cop to catch us.”

As I accelerated again, Daryl flopped back in her seat. “All right! It’s adventure time!”

I shook my head. “High-speed adventure is overrated.”

“Don’t be a stick in the mud, Marty. Set the time circuits. When we hit eighty-eight miles per hour, we’re going back to the future.”

I checked the speedometer, already at ninety. “Daryl, can you find my mirror? It’s in my backpack.”

“Sure.” After pulling it out, she held it on her lap. “What now?”

“Just look at it. Use it like a rearview mirror and tell me what you see.”

She held the mirror in front of her face. “Ew! I’m a mess!”

As the speedometer passed one hundred, the engine whined and rattled. I turned up the radio and looked at her through the rearview mirror. “Watch the road. Not your face.”

“I can do both.” Daryl pushed her hair back and primped her curly red bangs. “Nothing yet.”

I weaved around cars, alternately braking and accelerating again as I changed lanes. After a minute or so, Daryl called out, “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

Kelly reached back, grabbed the mirror, and propped it on the dashboard. “We’ll all watch it together.”

I glanced from the road ahead, to the rearview mirror, to Dad’s mirror, while continuing the mad dash, banking left, then right, then left again. The Lincoln drew closer, following in our wake like a skier behind a boat and matching us swerve for swerve.

“Kick it, Nathan!” Daryl shouted. “You have the smaller car. Take it somewhere he can’t follow.”

Ahead, a conversion van and a gasoline tanker drove side by side, blocking the way. I pressed the brake and, after easing onto the shoulder, I floored the pedal again and began passing the tanker. The Camry’s two right tires rumbled on the grass, shaking us.

“Nathan, this is my dream,” Kelly said. “If it stays the same — ” She thrust a finger. “A bridge!”

I jerked to the left, missing the bridge abutment but clipping the tanker’s front fender with the Camry’s rear. The driver slammed on his brakes. His trailer fishtailed and slapped the conversion van into the median. The Lincoln zoomed between the trailer and the side of the bridge, but when the trailer swung back, it spanked the Lincoln in the rear, sending it lurching ahead.

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