After that, Flint kept a closer eye on Jerold, as did Brock while he rotated among the groups.
After they’d hiked for a while, the musicians had jammed together as three separate bands, one per van. Each band would perform a couple songs at the very beginning of the festival the next morning on the main stage, and then each musician would compete separately in the pavilion throughout the day. The crowd would cast their votes for the best singer, banjo picker, guitarist, mandolin player, and fiddler and the winner would be announced the following day.
The contestants were eager to perfect their songs for tomorrow, and Brock marveled at the way they’d gotten along despite being competitors. The final round would determine the overall winner, and that winner often caught the attention of a producer as well as other professional musicians.
His heart swelled as he watched Brianna have the time of her life. All the shyness and uncertainty was gone. Such a difference in her attitude, and all she had to do was trust herself enough to show her family what she could do. Brianna was really enjoying learning how to play with others and more than once, Brock saw Rachael give her an approving look as she listened with the other judges. A few hikers followed their ears to the campsite they’d reserved for the day and got autographs and selfies under the watchful eyes of four bodyguards.
So, the day had been an interesting one. Now, if Brock could get everyone back home in one piece, he’d even say it was a successful one.
On they drove through snaking, two-lane mountain roads—red cliff walls to the left, drop-offs and scenic views to the right. They went the speed limit, letting other cars pass illegally on the left. Jake was in the lead in the first van, followed by Mack in the second and Flint in the third. Brock brought up the rear. They were about fifteen minutes on the road when Jake said, “Shit, brakes are feeling mushy. I’m pulling over at the next scenic overlook.”
Brock’s pulse ticked up. “Copy. Got one in about a mile.”
“See it on the map. I—shit!” Panic tinged Jake’s normally cool, I-got-this voice. “Brakes are fuckinggone. Already in the lowest gear…engaging the emergency brake.” Brock listened with his heart in his throat. Ahead, he watched the lead van swerve and shudder as smoke and the smell of burning rubber filled the air.
“Calling nine-one-one,” Flint said.
“Fuck! Steering’s jacked. Heads down, everyone!” Jake’s comm picked up panicked voices and Brock tried not to pick out Brianna’s among them.
They flew past a sign readingScenic View Ahead. Brock saw the side of the road widen into a dirt-packed apron only big enough for three or four cars. Thank fuck it was empty. Jake’s van swerved toward it, the back wheels fishtailing, little sign of slowing.
“Not stopping here,” Jake said, eerie calm back in his voice. Brock watched the van swerve into the apron then back out.Son of a bitch, Jake had used it to help slow the van, and he was right—at his speed, any attempt to stop the van on the apron would have failed and they would’ve plowed right through the split-rail fence and over the cliff into a steep ravine.
“Mack and Flint, get over.” As they pulled their vans into the apron, Brock sped past. He didn’t need to worry about two other vans full of freaked-out passengers in front of him. They pulled back onto the road once Brock had passed.
Brock caught up with Jake. The road’s grade was lifting, which also helped, but not enough. Back on the road, Jake swore again as the steering fought him. The road curved sharply to the left. Ahead of the curve, a guard rail started.If he can make it that far…
Jake drifted the van through the curve, narrowly missing the end of the guard rail. The side of the van nearly kissed the metal as he rounded the curve.
“Did I ever mention my dad was a stuntman?” Jake practically cackled over the comm.
“Handy,” Brock shouted back. The road grew steeper again, Brock estimated it at a nine percent grade, at least. The guard rail ended on a straight, the van was slowing, but still not enough. Another curve, another guardrail starting, and Jake shouted, “Steering’s completely fucked. Badge—”
Brock watched in helpless horror as the van hit the end of the guardrail and tilted over the edge.
Chapter 15
A nightmare. This has to be a nightmare. Brianna tucked her body tighter as she felt the van swerving. Sobs and prayers filled the van but she stayed as cool as she could.Jake’s got us. And Brock won’t let anything happen to me.
Then the van hit something hard and the world went sideways. There was a brief moment of stillness before the van hit again and they stopped at a weird angle—the nose of the van pointing down and tilted, not quite on their side. The engine died and the distant sound of rushing water and birdsong filled the air, shocking in its tranquility.
Brianna raised her head. The air was filled with smoke or dust, and it smelled funny. She wasn’t hurt, or at least she felt no pain—yet. She looked around at the other passengers who were coming out of their crash positions. Sitting next to her, their singer, Twila, grimaced and gripped her door-side shoulder. “I think it’s dislocated,” she whimpered.
Brianna looked between the front seats where Jake and Rachael sat. They weren’t moving. The airbags had deployed—filling the van with their dust, she realized—and Brianna prayed her friends had only been stunned or knocked out. She started to undo her seatbelt to help them when the van righted itself and rolled forward. Everyone gasped and screamed for the eternally long moment before the van stopped again with a hard thud. Brianna figured they must have lodged against some rocks or a boulder, but with the heavy storms the area had gotten over the spring, the rain-loosened rocks could shift at any moment and send them into the water below.And God forbid if the van flipped over on the way down…
“No one move,” she said as calmly as she could. “Sound off; who’s awake and how are you? This is Brianna and I seem to be okay.”
“Twila.” Her voice was breathy, full of pain. “Shoulder definitely dislocated.”
One by one, every person in the back gave their names and conditions. Besides Twila, only minor bumps and bruises, thank goodness.
“Rachael? Jake?” Brianna called. “Report?”
Rachael stirred, thank God. “Jake?” she said. Brianna watched her reach across the gap and touch his arm.
Nothing.
Then he groaned. “Shaken, rattled, and rolled, but still in one piece. Angel, how are you?”
