AN EXCERPT FROM COLLISION COURSE By Cynthia Hickey

Lacey swiped the tears away with the back of her hand. Night had fallen, obscuring her vision while the clouds released their burden of rain.

The road dipped and she hit the brakes. The car slid. Her foot pumped. The Jeep didn’t slow. Bright headlights behind her made seeing even more difficult. A horn blared. Her uncle was behind her.

She fought the steering wheel as a sharp turn sent her into a spin. She struggled to keep her Jeep on the slick road. Her windshield wipers tapped out a steady rhythm against the sleet pelting her window. She couldn’t see a thing. Why hadn’t she waited until daylight to head to the cabin? She could have taken refuge in a motel. Driving while fatigue coated your limb was never a good idea. Yet the sense of urgency wouldn’t leave her.

The vehicle spun like the tea cup ride at Disneyland. Lacey screamed and tightened her grip. Which way was she supposed to turn the wheel? She yanked to the right and slid. A truck loomed in front of her window. She screamed and wrestled harder with the wheel.

Screeching filled the night before she crashed through a wooden fence. The seatbelt dug into her neck and chest. She shoved the airbag out of her way, coughing after inhaling the white powder it released.

Several shoves with her shoulder against the crinkled door and Lacey fell in the mud outside her car. She squinted to make out the truck she’d scraped against. Headlights glimmered faintly through the night’s haze. How could she not have seen the lights?

With her hands slipping and dampness seeping through the knees of her jeans, she crawled to the other vehicle. As she got closer, she noticed the jack and flat tire next to it. Where was the driver?

She hadn’t hit him, had she? Please, God, no. She scrambled to her feet; her breath coming in gasping rasps. She glanced behind the wheel. No one sat slumped over on the front seat. Maybe the truck was abandoned. No, not with the lights left on.

Lacey gripped her hair with both hands, not caring if she smeared mud through the long strands. Something wasn’t right. She studied the discarded flat tire. A new one leaned against the fender. Her gaze slid to the road. If a person squatted here, and an out-of-control vehicle careened toward them … there! In the ditch. Lacey slid down the embankment and came to a stop beside a man.

Dark hair lay matted to his face from the rain. Several inches of water sloshed around him as the icy drizzle turned into a steady stream of rain from heaven. Lacey dropped to her knees and placed two fingers to his neck. A steady thump greeted her, dispelling some of her fear. How was she going to get him back to her Jeep?

A cry came from the cab of the truck, freezing Lacey more effectively than the winter rain. When the sound came again, she climbed back to the road and stumbled to the truck. She shoved the driver’s seat forward. Her knees sagged when she spotted the child in the backseat.

I hope you enjoy this small taste of the story