Free The Adamas Blueprint by Boyd Morrison Page A

Kevin had hoped. Apparently, it had almost as much power as the Mustang’s V8, and the driver was putting it to good use.
    Kevin was about to randomly pick a direction when a sign caught his eye. It advertised the wholesome atmosphere at Houston Baptist University. Suddenly Kevin realized that he did know the location of a police station. The campus police station at South Texas University. At the rate he was going, he could be there in ten minutes. And the quickest way was to get on the Southwest Freeway. Which meant turning left onto Chimney Rock.
    He bothered to slow long enough to time his entrance into the heavy cross traffic. Then he saw an opening and punched the accelerator. The Mustang blasted through the stop sign and MORRISON/THE ADAMAS BLUEPRINT
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    swerved sickeningly, missing the front of a pickup by inches. He proceeded to weave past cars, honking the horn whenever someone blocked the way.
    The Pontiac tried the same maneuver, but it sideswiped a UPS truck, which knocked the battered car into the median. Kevin was elated until he saw the Pontiac rebound off the median and continue in his direction.
    Luckily, there were no lights until the freeway feeder road, and Kevin was able to maintain the separation between him and the Pontiac. Then he saw the freeway rising ahead, and a sign saying
    “US 59” flashed by. Once he was on the freeway, he’d be able to open it up and maybe even lose the Pontiac.
    During Kevin’s race to school on the same route the day before, the adrenaline had flowed, but now it was a tidal wave pounding through his system. He had always wanted to go to one of those driving schools, the ones where you learn how to slide through a controlled skid or accelerate out of decreasing radius turns without plastering the car on whatever unfortunate objects were around you. He’d even fantasized about being in a car chase just like this one, thinking it would be a blast to tear through the streets at eighty miles an hour with another car hot on his trail. But the reality was nothing like his fantasy; all he felt now was sheer terror.
    His fear inched up a notch when he saw the traffic backed up at the feeder road stoplight.
    He’d be stopped for thirty seconds, easily long enough for the thugs following him to run up and drag him from the car, probably flashing badges all the way.
    There was an entrance into a strip mall on his right. It was a new Wal-Mart, and Kevin was sure it had an outlet onto the feeder road. He wrenched the wheel to the right and flew into and over the steeply inclined parking lot entrance, mashing the nose of the Mustang in the process.

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    After speeding down the side of the Wal-Mart, he rounded the corner and almost ran down an employee wheeling an empty shopping cart toward the store front. The startled employee jumped back, pushing the cart directly into the Mustang’s path. The car’s nose hit it low, tossing the cart into the right half of the Mustang’s windshield, creating a maze of cracks in the safety glass.
    Kevin turned left and bypassed the crowded store entrance, racing across the empty fringes of the lot and struggling to see through the crazed windshield. He wiped sweat from his forehead, wishing he could use the air conditioner but not wanting to sap any power from the engine. Not that the air conditioner would do much good with the shattered passenger side window.
    He took another look in his one remaining mirror. The Pontiac was still there, now a mere seventy-five yards behind. Kevin aimed at the closest exit.
    Then Kevin saw the freeway entrance ramp he had taken yesterday. It was a hundred yards to his left. The only problem was the feeder road was one way, with two lanes of dense traffic coming towards him. To get on the freeway on this entrance, he’d have to head into the oncoming traffic and make a 180 degree turn to get onto the ramp. With the cars racing along the feeder at 60 miles an hour, he’d never