Free Road Rage by Robert T. Jeschonek Page B

route.
    Instead of hanging back during the bump and passing on the left, the third vehicle – a tricked-out Subaru – had surged forward on the right as soon as Walter had gone left. The Subaru had not gotten clear before the Mercedes had flown back into the right lane.
    The next moments, as the Subaru and Mercedes collided and bucked off the road to the right, were a screaming, roaring blur to Walter. He saw the thick trunk of the tree hurtling toward him in the swath of his headlights; over Sue’s screams, he heard the explosive crash of his car’s front end as it crumpled against the wood.
    He let go of the wheel and threw his arms up in front of his face. His last word that night was an obscenity; his last conscious thought was an incoherent jumble.
    Then, darkness.

    *****
    Â 
    Now, a year later, his left arm was still useless, forever useless...and his wife was still gone, forever gone.
    And he had a mission in life, a mission he embraced with a force of purpose unlike any he had ever known. Every night, he rode the same stretch of highway where the life of his wife and a passenger in the Subaru had ended...back and forth, mile after familiar mile, spotting road ragers like deer in his headlights and bringing them down.
    Whenever he saw someone tormenting another driver, tailgating or cutting someone off or passing on the two-lane too close to oncoming traffic, he went after them. Gave them a taste of their own medicine.
    Drove them off the road the way he’d been driven, then scratched another notch in his dashboard.
    The Honda now trapped behind him would be number twenty-one.
    Not that the kid at the wheel of the Honda was making it easy. The kid veered right and left in a constant serpentine and almost got around him once; the little car didn’t look like the fastest Walter had ever fought, but the driver was turning out to be a challenge.
    That was fine with Walter. He hadn’t failed a single time in knocking a target off the road.
    The kid faked left, then cut hard to the right, but Walter anticipated the move and headed him off. When the kid tried passing on the berm, Walter blocked him there, too.
    The kid faded back then, gapping two car lengths from the Dodge and holding the right lane as if he were giving up the fight...but Walter knew better. Sure enough, after a minute or two, the Honda opened up and bolted left, making a break for it.
    Walter ticked the joystick left and closed the hole with no problem. The kid cut his speed in a hurry and barely missed hitting the SUV.
    â€œNice try, you little shit,” said Walter, grinning in the rearview as the kid screamed and gestured behind him. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”
    As if the kid had heard the challenge, he proceeded to meet it.
    To Walter’s surprise, the kid suddenly hit the brakes and swung the Honda around hard, spinning a full 180 degrees over the blacktop. When the car’s nose pointed back down the road in the direction from which he’d come, he floored it, charging off with tires screeching.
    Cursing, Walter looped the Dodge in a wide arc, rolling over the berm and across both lanes, hauling the front end around to aim at the kid. By the time he got turned around, the kid had a huge h ead start; the SUV’s weakness— its inab ility to make tight, fast turns— had cost Walter his catbird seat lead.
    He slammed the accelerator down and shot off after the kid, more worried about catching up to his prey than the fact that he was heading in the direction from which oncoming traffic could spring at any moment.

    *****
    Â 
    Walter had almost caught up to the fleeing Subaru when the first set of headlights poked around a bend about a half mile off, flaring straight toward him. As they drew closer, he could see that the lights were elevated, mounted higher above the pavement than those of a car would be.
    This, he quickly realized, was because the lights belonged to a