Chapter 4 of “Relentless” returns to our protagonist Abi Spencer and her quest to escape the mysterious and deadly group of thugs who have orchestrated a home invasion in the middle of the night, with her husband Brad suddenly nowhere to be found.

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RELENTLESS – D.S. FACTOR

Chapter Four

Bits of gravel flew from beneath the Ford’s tires as Abi surged from the mud packed service road onto their driveway at an exorbitant speed, wrestling the wheel and the road to maintain control. Rounding the east side of the house, she saw with alarm that a black SUV was barreling through a field on a direct collision course for her pickup, its headlights bouncing erratically against the night. Navigating the incline at the end of the driveway with jarring results, she clipped the mailbox on nearly two wheels, narrowly missing the ditch on the far side, eventually righting herself and plunging down the country road, leaving a curtain of dust in her wake.

Scarcely trailing by more than a minute at most, the black Chevy Tahoe burst through the remnants of the dissipating dust cloud, setting its sights on the relic pickup quickly becoming a smaller target as it gained speed further down the road.

“That shit pile of metal had better be getting a whole lot bigger soon, Meredith.” the man riding shotgun shouted at the young woman piloting the Tahoe. Meredith diverted her gaze from the road momentarily to send a “get the hell off my back” look to her superior, and returned to the chase at hand.

“Perhaps you’d like to take the wheel?” she replied coyly, mocking him in a cold detached voice.

“Just step the hell on it and move!” he bellowed. An invisible wall of ice came up between them as Meredith fumed in silence and pushed the accelerator closer to the floor. Speeding forward, the Tahoe began closing the existing gap between itself and Abi, nearly to the point of the chase being over.

Grasping the wheel in her left hand in a white-knuckled grip, Abi bent forward to retrieve the pistol from the floor, sickeningly unnerved by the stickiness of the blood covering both the seat and carpet. The myriad of junk she had thrown from the glove box earlier only made the task more difficult to perform while still remaining solidly on the road. Hurriedly her hands and eyes grazed across several maps, a cell phone car charger, and a Phillips screwdriver, eventually coming to rest on the blunt but smooth surface of the gunman’s discarded Glock. Visibly displaying a sense of relief at having a weapon in which to defend herself, Abi now changed gears mentally to constructing a viable plan of escape from the Tahoe in pursuit.

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