bank robber loose down in Orange County; maybe it was the same guy who had knocked over three Wells Fargo branches in Studio City six months ago. He had to drive down to Newport to talk to Agent in Charge Cabot Newsome.
But first, of course, he reminded himself he had to drop off the laundry at the Laurel Canyon Country Store.
Blakely saw the steep left-hand turn at Wonderland Avenue coming up and eased his right foot down on the brakes.
But there was a problem, a rather serious one.
When he applied the brake pedal, it went all the way to the floor.
Blakely didnât panic. Could have just been a fluke. Slowly, he hit them again, trying to pump them, so that the hydraulic would kick in.
But it didnât matter how he did it, hard or soft, the results were the same. There were no brakes. Nothing.
Wonderland Avenue is a steep hill, and usually there is a long slick patch of water, which runs off from a stream, which is situated at the very top of Lookout Mountain. When you hit the water, your tires sometimes skid right and left, and you have to gently pump the brakes again to keep from skidding. Since Blakely didnât have any brakes, he tried steering his way through the little flood, but his effort was useless.
He was already going too fast to keep control of the car.
Now he found himself headed down the street sideways. He swung the steering wheel into the turn, a hard left, so that he could compensate for his right drift.
The effort seemed to help a little. He managed to straighten out the tires as he headed down the hill. But once the car straightened out, he had another problem. He quickly began to pick up speed.
Time for the emergency brake. He tried pulling it, but it, too, was detached. Then he knew for sure: This was no accident. Both his brakes were cut.
He was screaming downhill faster now, and sixty feet in front of him was the stop sign at Laurel Pass. Sitting at the stop sign was a yellow school bus headed for the Wonderland Elementary School. Blakely could see the kids in the school looking out the window, laughing, and daydreaming their kidsâ dreams. They had no idea that a ton and a half of metal death was hurtling toward them at 80 miles per hour.
Frantically, Blakely thought about going through the stop sign straight ahead, but that wasnât an option, either. For in front of him, walking across the street, was a whole group of kids with their mothers, walking, chatting with the chubby crossing guard dressed in her yellow vest.
He couldnât turn left and he couldnât go forward without hitting the kids. There was only one other option.
To the right was a parking lot . . . a small one in which the Los Angeles public-school buses parked for a few minutes, so they could let the kids out.
If he could make a hard right, maybe he could find a parking space available, and just possibly he could slide into it, and if maybe heâd hit the wire mesh fence which surrounded the lot maybe â just maybe â the fence would help break his speed before he crashed into the schoolâs cafeteria wall.
That he was going to hit the wall there was no doubt. But maybe, with the mesh fence and his air bag, heâd somehow survive . . .
Then he thought of something else . . . If this had been Stein- bachâs work . . . well, they wouldnât miss the air bag, either. No, theyâd make certain that it couldnât be deployed.
Up until he had that last thought, Zac Blakely hadnât started to panic. But now he knew . . . knew for certain that he was going to die. Steinbach must have carried out his threat. Even as his car screamed down the hill, Zac Blakely thought of his fellow agents. Hughes and Jack Harper. If only he could warn them somehow . . .
He saw the bus getting close, closer. He saw the kids and their moms walking across the street. He heard a scream and he saw a mother throw herself over her child, and he turned the wheel hard right.
The BMW screeched
But first, of course, he reminded himself he had to drop off the laundry at the Laurel Canyon Country Store.
Blakely saw the steep left-hand turn at Wonderland Avenue coming up and eased his right foot down on the brakes.
But there was a problem, a rather serious one.
When he applied the brake pedal, it went all the way to the floor.
Blakely didnât panic. Could have just been a fluke. Slowly, he hit them again, trying to pump them, so that the hydraulic would kick in.
But it didnât matter how he did it, hard or soft, the results were the same. There were no brakes. Nothing.
Wonderland Avenue is a steep hill, and usually there is a long slick patch of water, which runs off from a stream, which is situated at the very top of Lookout Mountain. When you hit the water, your tires sometimes skid right and left, and you have to gently pump the brakes again to keep from skidding. Since Blakely didnât have any brakes, he tried steering his way through the little flood, but his effort was useless.
He was already going too fast to keep control of the car.
Now he found himself headed down the street sideways. He swung the steering wheel into the turn, a hard left, so that he could compensate for his right drift.
The effort seemed to help a little. He managed to straighten out the tires as he headed down the hill. But once the car straightened out, he had another problem. He quickly began to pick up speed.
Time for the emergency brake. He tried pulling it, but it, too, was detached. Then he knew for sure: This was no accident. Both his brakes were cut.
He was screaming downhill faster now, and sixty feet in front of him was the stop sign at Laurel Pass. Sitting at the stop sign was a yellow school bus headed for the Wonderland Elementary School. Blakely could see the kids in the school looking out the window, laughing, and daydreaming their kidsâ dreams. They had no idea that a ton and a half of metal death was hurtling toward them at 80 miles per hour.
Frantically, Blakely thought about going through the stop sign straight ahead, but that wasnât an option, either. For in front of him, walking across the street, was a whole group of kids with their mothers, walking, chatting with the chubby crossing guard dressed in her yellow vest.
He couldnât turn left and he couldnât go forward without hitting the kids. There was only one other option.
To the right was a parking lot . . . a small one in which the Los Angeles public-school buses parked for a few minutes, so they could let the kids out.
If he could make a hard right, maybe he could find a parking space available, and just possibly he could slide into it, and if maybe heâd hit the wire mesh fence which surrounded the lot maybe â just maybe â the fence would help break his speed before he crashed into the schoolâs cafeteria wall.
That he was going to hit the wall there was no doubt. But maybe, with the mesh fence and his air bag, heâd somehow survive . . .
Then he thought of something else . . . If this had been Stein- bachâs work . . . well, they wouldnât miss the air bag, either. No, theyâd make certain that it couldnât be deployed.
Up until he had that last thought, Zac Blakely hadnât started to panic. But now he knew . . . knew for certain that he was going to die. Steinbach must have carried out his threat. Even as his car screamed down the hill, Zac Blakely thought of his fellow agents. Hughes and Jack Harper. If only he could warn them somehow . . .
He saw the bus getting close, closer. He saw the kids and their moms walking across the street. He heard a scream and he saw a mother throw herself over her child, and he turned the wheel hard right.
The BMW screeched
Similar Books
Father With the Naughty Bride
Valerie J Aurora
The Chocolate Mouse Trap
JoAnna Carl
Mail Order Menage
Leota M Abel
The Servant's Heart
Missouri Dalton
Blackwater Sound
James W. Hall
The Beautiful Visit
Elizabeth Jane Howard
A Crossworder's Holiday
Nero Blanc
Emily Hendrickson
The Scoundrels Bride
Indigo Moon
Gill McKnight
Titanium Texicans
Alan Black