Chapter 9: Car Chase!

Tractor-trailers don’t accelerate fast, but the hoodlum in the moving truck had a head start.  Enough of one that by the time the cop cars reached the Interstate, the truck was already doing seventy—and still gaining speed.

“He can’t go much faster than that,” Mr. Anderson observed.  “We’ll catch him soon.”

“Car 112 to Car 9—Car 112 to Car 9,” the radio crackled.  “This is Rivera.  I’m right behind you.”

“Good work, Rivera.”  Mr. Anderson stared out the windshield at the truck.  “Keep after him.”

“If he was smart, he’d get in the middle lane,” Nancy said.  “That’d make it harder for you to pull him over.”

“That’s assuming he’s only focused on getting away,” Frank said.  “The right lane’s the only one that leads to I-44 West.  If he’s going to Lawton, he’ll have to stay in that lane.”

“Or Chickasha,” said Mr. Anderson.  “Or any number of destinations along the way.  We’ll see in a minute.”

The signs were coming fast now—I-44 West, Right Lane, 1 Mile.  I-44 West, Right Lane, ½ a Mile.  I-44 West—Exit!

“Suspect’s getting on I-44 West from 240,” Mr. Anderson said.  “Can you set a roadblock?”

“Roger that,” came the reply.  “We’ll have one ten miles from where you are, plus squad cars at every exit.  He can’t get away.”

“Let’s hope not,” said Mr. Anderson, staring at the taillights as they rounded the curve in front of him.  “All the same, I’ll feel a lot better once we—”

He never got a chance to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, fluid spurted from the rear of the trailer!  It was a dark, barely translucent liquid that splashed across the windshield, rendering visibility almost impossible!  Instinctively, Mr. Anderson hit the windshield wipers, but that wasn’t his most pressing concern at the moment.

Eeeeerrrkk!

“Oil!” gasped Nancy.

She was right, and Mr. Anderson had driven straight into it!  The wipers cleared the windshield, but all that allowed them to see was a metal guardrail at the end of the highway!

“Hang on!” Mr. Anderson yelled.  He pulled his foot off the gas, but he didn’t hit the brake.  At the moment, that was the worst possible thing he could do.  He didn’t have control of the car, and no amount of braking or steering would save them.  Of course, that still meant they were out of control—

Screerch!

The car made contact with the guardrail, and Nancy braced herself for the violent lurch, as it flipped over, and over, and over—but no!  The vehicle turned until it was aligned with the rail, then slid along it—making a horrid noise, but getting slower and slower, until it finally skidded to a stop.

For a moment, none of the occupants of the car said anything.  They just sat and watched as the lights from the trailer got smaller and smaller on the road ahead.

“Where’s the other car?” Nancy finally asked.

Thunk!

“Touching us, I’d expect.”  Frank glanced out the back window, then nodded.  He looked back up the Interstate, then sighed.

“This is one tough gang.  How many tractor trailers can put down an oil slick like that?”