Under Illusion: Day 9

Word Count: 54,041

Summary of Events:

Too angry at Dallis and himself to sleep, Trace texted his best friend, seeking help, only for his friend to not believe that he'd been taken hostage and even suspecting that someone else was masquerading as him. The following day Dallis directed Trace southwest into Mississippi, where Trace was warned by his superior that he needed to get going northward, but his aversion to being shot prompted him to carry on westward, even as two black cars started following him and got into something of a duel that saw them both drive off the highway and onto a side road. As they neared the Mississippi River and the border with Louisiana, Dallis noticed that one of the two cars from that first duel had returned, and had begun to duel with a new black car…

Excerpt of the Day:

Not that Dallis was really sure what they were going to accomplish — as in, Trace’s possible fellow employees — by following Trace. Especially with just one car. Didn’t they want to force him to head northwards? Surely they couldn’t do that with just one car.

Yet, at the same time, the fact that they’d sent out a second car made it clear that they had more vehicles. Why, though, weren’t they deploying them in a group?

She didn’t expect Trace to have any more answers than she did on the matter, and she was sure he’d be inclined to respond snappishly to her if she were to try asking, which she didn’t see any reason to do.

In addition, she wasn’t altogether appreciating the sharp tone that was continuing to permeate Trace’s voice. She did understand it, definitely, but, at the same time, it was still hurting her, even if she didn’t want it to — in fact, she was sure Ratko and Javor would tell her that she wasn’t supposed to feel hurt by Trace’s upset, and even that it was a problem that she was so affected by it.

Looking away from Trace’s face, Dallis looked toward the mirror just outside his window and gasped as she saw the shiny black car spin in the open lane beside Trace, although it looked like it was going to recover momentarily before the dirty car surged at it and caused it to roll into the wide, grassy space between the two directions of travel.

It landed on its wheels, with visible damage including what looked to be a broken window, but soon was spitting up grass and dirt from its rear wheels as it surged into motion again, lunging to get back onto the pavement, which it did alongside Trace before visibly decelerating and taking a run at the dirty car which had settled into position behind Trace.

The two cars continued to duel, even as a glance forward for Dallis revealed that they were approaching a bridge, which she suspected — considering how long they’d been in Mississippi — was a bridge across the river after which the state was named, and which was also the border between it and Louisiana, which was the state her directions had them entering once they’d crossed the Mississippi.

Dallis watched nervously for any signs of the cars shooting off the side of the road, which would very soon be a descending riverbank, meaning the people in the cars could very well hit the river and drown — although the damaged car probably had an advantage with its having one window that was already broken, which would allow the water to flow into the car, allowing the people within the car to escape quickly.

They passed under a bridge, after which a hill rose on the right-hand side of the road and didn’t look to dip down toward the river until traffic would be on the bridge, whose frame didn’t look like it would succumb easily to the forces of a sedan being thrown at it.

Startled, Dallis gasped as both cars suddenly jumped the guardrail, lunging onto the grass, the dirty car chasing the damaged car, before she lost sight of them down into the trees that covered the riverbank. Dallis couldn’t say she expected to see either one of those cars again.