Chapter 4 - THE ROADBLOCK
Ethan brought the heavy truck to a smooth stop behind a line of idling commercial semi-trucks.
Outside, the weather had degraded significantly. They were higher in elevation now, rising toward the ridge of the Cumberland Plateau, and the wind was howling with a terrifying, high-pitched screech through the pine trees along the embankment. Muddy water, thick with sticks and gravel, was rushing down the asphalt shoulder like a small river.
Ethan clicked off his high beams, unbuckled his seatbelt, and pulled his dark overcoat back on over his shoulders.
"Stay here," he said.
"Ethan, wait," Rachel said, reaching out to grab his forearm. The wool of his coat was thick and dry under her fingers. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to see what the state police are doing," he said calmly. "Keep the doors locked."
He opened the door, stepped out into the pouring rain, and slammed it shut before the storm could soak the interior.
Rachel watched through the rain-streaked windshield as Ethan walked through the blinding water toward the state trooper cruiser. His posture was completely unyielding—he moved through the deluge with the calm, imposing stride of a man walking into a business meeting he intended to control.
At the cruiser, a tall state trooper wearing a yellow reflective rain jacket was standing near his driver's side door, waving his flashlight at a semi-truck driver who was trying to turn his rig around in the middle of the narrow highway.
Ethan stopped beside the officer. They spoke for thirty seconds. Rachel couldn't hear their voices over the roar of the wind, but she saw the officer shake his head vigorously, pointing his flashlight toward the dark mountain pass ahead.
Then she saw Ethan reach into his inner coat pocket, pull out a black leather wallet, and display a card. He leaned in closer, speaking into the officer's ear, his hand gesticulating with sharp, precise authority toward his modified truck.
The officer looked at the card, then looked up at Ethan’s truck, his expression shifting from annoyance to hesitant respect.
The officer raised his radio to his mouth, spoke for a moment, listened to a response, and then nodded slowly. He stepped back, reached into his cruiser, and grabbed a set of orange traffic cones that were blocking the narrow breakdown lane along the concrete barrier.
Ten seconds later, Ethan walked back to the truck, opened the door, and climbed back inside. Rain was dripping from his dark hair, running down the sharp lines of his jaw, but his expression was entirely unbothered.
"How did you do that?" Rachel asked, staring at him in disbelief. "The roads are closed."
"Interstate 40 is closed because a landslip cleared forty feet of guardrail three miles ahead," Ethan said, pulling off his wet leather gloves and tossing them onto the dash. "The main lanes are blocked with mud. But the construction access road along the old logging ridge is still intact, though it's restricted to emergency vehicles and county transport."
He put the truck into drive and turned the wheel sharply to the right, bypassing the line of idling semi-trucks and sliding smoothly past the state trooper, who gave them a brief, solemn salute with his flashlight.
"What did you show him?" Rachel pressed. "What was that card?"
"I sit on the board of the Tennessee Emergency Management Foundation," Ethan said casually as the truck began climbing a steep, narrow asphalt road that wound up into the pitch-black mountains. "And my company provides fifty percent of the heavy logistics vehicles for the state's flood response team. I told him we were transporting critical medical supplies to an isolated district."
Rachel looked at him, half-shocked, half-awed. "You lied to a state trooper?"
"I didn't lie," Ethan said, his voice completely level as he wrestled the heavy truck around a sharp, unlit hairpin turn. "I am transporting a critical medical professional to a life-threatening scenario. The terminology was slightly creative, but the logic holds."
Rachel let out a short, breathy laugh—the first real sound of relief to leave her throat since she had received the phone call in the locker room.
"You are a terrifying man, Ethan Caldwell," she said quietly.
"I’m an effective man, Rachel Mercer," he corrected, his eyes fixed on the narrow, tree-lined road ahead. "There’s a massive difference."
The road grew rougher. The asphalt gave way to packed gravel and red clay, washed into deep, jagged ruts by the torrential runoff from the ridge above. Trees, heavy with water and bent by the violent wind, leaned over the lane like reaching fingers.
The truck bounced heavily, its sophisticated air suspension working overtime to absorb the impact of rocks and fallen branches.
Rachel checked her phone screen. The time was 11:42 PM.
She opened her text messages and typed a quick note to Arthur Delaney: Passing the ridge now. On a back route. How is he?
The three small dots indicating a response appeared instantly. Rachel held her breath, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Arthur's text appeared: Dr. Vance gave him a light sedative to ease his breathing. His pressure is dropping, Rachel. The doctor says his heart is strong, but he’s fighting hard. He’s holding on. Where are you?
Rachel’s eyes swelled with tears. She typed back with trembling thumbs: I'm in the mountains. I have a driver. We’re moving as fast as humanly possible. Tell him I’m coming. Tell him to hold on for two more hours.
She set the phone down on her knee and pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, choking back a quiet sob.
Beside her, Ethan saw her shoulder shake. He didn't offer a gentle word. He didn't pat her arm.
Instead, he reached out, pushed a heavy aluminum toggle switch marked AUXILIARY LIGHTING, and transformed the dark mountain road ahead into a brilliant, sun-bright corridor of intense white light. Four roof-mounted LED light bars flickered to life, illuminating the trees, the mud, and the winding gravel road for half a mile in front of them.
May you like
Then, Ethan pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator pedal.
The heavy V8 engine roared, its twin turbochargers whining through the storm, and the sixty-thousand-dollar truck surged forward into the dark, climbing into the heart of the mountain pass at a speed that bordered on suicidal.
