The Chase

Sarah's trembling hands barely managed to fit the key into the ignition. The rain blurred her vision, drumming against the windshield like a thousand tiny hammers. She stole a glance at the black case on the passenger seat. It felt heavier now, as if it carried not just its unknown contents but every threat lurking in the shadows.

The phone buzzed again. She flinched.

35:10.

Her chest tightened. The countdown was unforgiving. She yanked the gearshift into drive, the tires skidding briefly as the car lurched forward. The road ahead was empty, drenched in darkness and rain. Oakridge Drive stretched out like a void, the dim streetlights barely cutting through the storm.

The GPS on her phone chimed. Turn left in 500 feet.

She gritted her teeth and pressed the accelerator, the wipers barely managing to clear the deluge. The industrial district faded behind her, swallowed by the rain and shadows, but the sense of being watched lingered like a phantom. She couldn't shake the memory of the figure in the warehouseâ€"the calculated movements, the silent steps, the way it had pointed at her, as if marking her for something she didn't understand.

Her rearview mirror caught a flicker of light. Headlights.

Her stomach dropped. Another car was following her.

It came out of nowhere, its beams piercing through the storm as it gained on her quickly. Sarah's pulse spiked as the vehicle approached, its silhouette barely visible in the rain. She gripped the wheel tighter, her knuckles white, and pressed the gas pedal harder.

The car behind her didn't honk or flash its lights. It just followed, its movements precise, almost predatory. The headlights grew brighter, closer, until they filled her mirrors entirely.

"Come on, come on," she muttered under her breath, her eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. The GPS chimed again: Turn left.

She yanked the wheel hard, the car fishtailing as she swerved onto the new road. Her heart hammered as she regained control, her tires skidding on the slick asphalt. The following car didn't hesitateâ€"it matched her turn perfectly, its headlights cutting through the rain like blades.

The timer on the phone continued to tick: 33:44.

She couldn't outrun it, not in her old hatchback. The engine whined as she pushed it harder, the car shuddering with every pothole and bump. The vehicle behind her stayed steady, unrelenting, its headlights illuminating her every move.

Sarah's phone buzzed with a new message: Stay on course. Do not stop.

Her teeth clenched. Easy for them to say. Her instincts screamed at her to pull over, to ditch the case, to somehow end this nightmare. But the memory of the man's voice on the phoneâ€"calm, unyieldingâ€"kept her moving forward.

A sharp curve appeared ahead. Sarah braced herself, gripping the wheel tightly as she rounded the bend. The car behind her swerved slightly, its tires squealing against the wet road, but it didn't slow down.

Then she saw it.

A spike strip.

Her headlights caught the glint of metal just in time. The strip was spread across both lanes, glistening in the rain like a trapdoor to hell. Panic surged through her veins. There was no way around it, no time to stop.

Her phone buzzed again, the screen flashing: Go right. Now.

Her gaze darted to the right. A narrow dirt path cut through the trees, barely visible in the storm. She veered toward it, the car jolting violently as it left the pavement and hit the uneven ground. Mud sprayed against the windows as her tires struggled to find traction, but she kept going, the vehicle groaning in protest.

The following car didn't slow. It hit the spike strip head-on, the sound of bursting tires echoing through the storm. Sarah risked a glance in the rearview mirror, her chest tightening as the vehicle skidded to a halt. Its headlights flickered and died, swallowed by the darkness.

Her relief was short-lived.

The phone buzzed again. Keep moving. They're not done.

The dirt path twisted through the trees, narrowing with every turn. Branches scraped against the sides of the car, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. The rain made the ground slick, and she had to fight the wheel to keep from sliding off the road entirely.

The trees parted suddenly, revealing an old wooden bridge. It stretched across a swollen river, its planks slick with rain and warped with age. Sarah's stomach churned as she approached it. The bridge didn't look like it could hold her car, let alone the weight of her fear and desperation.

The timer on the phone read 31:12.

Her headlights illuminated a sign at the edge of the bridge: Danger. Unsafe Crossing.
Another buzz. Cross the bridge. Do not stop.

Her hands shook as she gripped the wheel. The rain pounded harder, the storm growing more violent as if nature itself was trying to stop her. She glanced at the case on the seat beside her, its black surface slick with rainwater she hadn't noticed before.

"Damn it," she whispered, slamming her foot on the gas.

The car lurched forward, the tires sliding slightly as they hit the first plank. The bridge groaned under the weight, the sound sending a jolt of terror through her body. She kept her foot steady, her eyes fixed on the other side.

The bridge swayed.

A deafening crack echoed beneath her. The front tires cleared the midpoint just as the rear of the car dipped sharply. Her heart stopped as she felt the vehicle tilt, the back tires losing contact with the bridge for a split second.

Then the car landed hard, jolting her against the seatbelt. The headlights illuminated the far end of the bridge as the car surged forward, the engine whining in protest. She didn't dare slow down until all four tires hit solid ground again.

She pulled over, her body shaking as she gripped the wheel. The bridge behind her swayed dangerously, a section of planks collapsing into the raging river below.

Her phone buzzed.

30:01. No time to rest.

Her breath hitched. The road ahead stretched into the darkness, the rain still hammering relentlessly. Whatever waited for her at the end of this journey, she wasn't sure she'd survive it.

But she had no choice.

She hit the gas.