Once in the truck bed, Simon realized he wasn’t in much better position as he’d been on the back of the motorcycle. He couldn’t just step out onto the running board, yank open the door and tell the driver to stop, could he?
He peered around the side and shook his head.
Not at sixty miles per hour.
The truck’s back windshield didn’t have a sliding window for him to push to the side and crawl through.
The truck hit a pothole, tossing Simon to one side. As he used his hands to right himself, his fingers wrapped around a smooth, heavy tool. He raised it to the starlight, revealing a large pipe wrench. He stood in a wide stance to better balance, swung the wrench back and then sharply forward, putting all his weight into it as he hit the back window.
Glass shattered inward, leaving a gaping, jagged hole.
The driver swerved, throwing Simon onto his backside.
Someone inside the truck muttered a long string of curses. “What the hell?”
The truck swerved back in the opposite direction.
Simon waited another moment, then crawled toward the broken window and, from a kneeling position, swung the wrench again. The remaining glass crashed inward.
“Do something. He’s destroying my truck!” the driver said.
“I can’t do anything...” the man holding Holly grunted, “with this...” another grunt, “bitch... Will you hold still?”
“No,” Holly’s voice sounded from inside the cab. “Pull over now, or my boyfriend is going to beat your scrawny asses.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” the driver said.
Simon braced himself as the driver jerked the steering wheel to the left.
“Goddamn woman,” the man holding Holly shouted. “Oh, fuck, she’s loose. Look out!”
Simon looked through the back window in time to see Holly lunge for the steering wheel.
She grabbed it and pulled hard.
Before the driver could correct, the truck ran off the road.
Simon dropped flat in the bed, bouncing with the junk. The truck came to an abrupt halt, flinging Simon forward. Water splashed over the sides of the bed, drenching Simon.
Simon dragged himself up to his hands and knees and looked through the broken glass.
Holly lay across the cab, trapped between the men and the dashboard, trying to untangle herself as water rushed to fill the cab.
“I can’t get out of my seatbelt,” the man in the passenger seat said.
“Me either, and the door won’t open,” the driver said. “Get her off me.” He shoved at Holly.
With nowhere to go, she didn’t move far.
“Have to get out,” the passenger said. “Help!”
“Help!” the driver echoed.
“For Pete’s sake,” Holly said. “Quit bellyaching and help me get off the two of you.”
“Come through the back window,” Simon called out. “I’ll help.”
The back of the truck dipped.
