Free Users by Andrea M. Alexander Page A

guys in the truck to realize they were being followed. They were pushing eighty miles per hour, weaving around cars and using the shoulder or median when people didn’t move out of their way fast enough. The second intersection we approached gave us a yellow light, but the truck sped up, running a red with me right behind.
    My cell rang. I put it on speaker and re-gripped the wheel tightly with both hands. Cody said, “She’s not here.”
    “That’s probably because she’s in Granger’s truck. I’m following now.”
    “Oh, shit! Really? The bastard really wants that five grand.” There was a pause and then he said, “Wesley wants to know what direction they’re headed in.”
    “I have no idea.” I swerved around an SUV and followed Granger’s truck through the median and around another car. “He’s turning,” I said, braking sharply to follow. The truck fishtailed and blacked the street with tire marks. “Tell Wesley we’re on Lake Acworth Drive.”
    There was another pause, and then Wesley’s voice said, “They’re heading for the interstate.”
    “They know I’m behind them, but there’s nothing I can do. I could shoot at them, but if they wreck, then Iggy might get hurt.” The road was a two-way, no passing zone. The truck couldn’t move into the left lane due to oncoming traffic, so it moved to the shoulder, leaving a path of destroyed mailboxes in its wake. I braked and waited for the oncoming car to go by, then I gunned it and flew around the person in front of me. The truck was a ways ahead, and I didn’t catch up as quickly as I’d hoped.
    “There really isn’t anything you can do,” Wesley told me. “You don’t want to try and stop them and risk wrecking. But if they get to the CDC, you won’t be able to get past the gate. She’ll be stuck there.”
    “This is kidnapping. A federal offense. We should call the police.”
    Wesley sighed loudly. “It doesn’t work that way. No one's going to do anything about it before Granger gets to the CDC. And once Iggy’s inside the gates, there’s nothing anyone can do.”
    “This isn’t a communist country,” I griped as I passed another car. “They can’t just take someone and get away with it.” Up ahead, the truck braked, unable to pass on the shoulder because of a deep ditch. I closed in.
    “Trust me. They can get away with it.”
    Granger’s truck screeched to a near stop and turned left. I followed, cutting off the oncoming car, which earned me a long, loud honk. Then I was back on a two-lane road, and keeping up was easier. “Looks like we’re approaching the interstate.” Wesley mumbled something and I felt stupidly helpless. Following the truck up a ramp, I realized there were hardly any cars on I-75, and my speedometer registered ninety-five miles per hour. Granger’s truck had a six cylinder engine, and my little Nissan was falling behind.
    “What’s going on?” Wesley asked.
    “I’m not going to be able to keep up. That’s what’s going on.” I disconnected the call and threw my cell on the floor. It immediately rang, but I ignored it.
    Miles passed. There were no cars to get in Granger’s way and no cops to pull him over. I became angrier as I passed exits for Acworth, Kennesaw, and Marietta. When I saw signs for the bypass, the truck was well ahead of me, and I was beginning to lose hope.
    Then I saw smoke. Black plumes rising in the distance. Up ahead, brake lights let me know the interstate was blocked and people were waiting to get past. Luck was finally on my side because there was a concrete median on the left and a hill topped by a thick band of trees on the right. Granger would be stuck.
    It was a pile up. A Walmart semi had jackknifed, and several cars had crashed into each other. Three police cars with flashing lights were blocking most of the inside lanes, and a slow trickle of vehicles was using the shoulder to go around. A helicopter hovered a little distance away, and it took me a few minutes