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ғᴏᴜʀᴛᴇᴇɴ 𝐻𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑤𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑖𝑡
❦
The car rattled and shook as they drove, enclosed away from the lowering sun by the canopies of branches and leaves that hung over like reaching hands. Despite only being early afternoon, the shadows of the woods stretched out onto the dusty road, obscuring the gaze of those inside out of the windows. As the car finally reached a midway bridge, crossing over a deep hill that ran down to a trickling stream, the light erupted out, revealing an obstacle. In the middle of the road, a cart was tipped over, a police van parked on a slant at the other side.
Luca Changretta sighed sharply as he lifted himself from the back seat slightly to glance from the front windows, elbow brushing carelessly along Maria's side, making her move closer to the man on her left- Matteo, Luca's personal best. She grimaced, tucking in on herself. This was most definitely not where she wanted to be.
"There seems to be an obstruction Mr Changretta," The driver called back.
"Well, I can see that," Luca snapped, eyes cutting through the scene in front.
The policeman began to walk forward, hands slipping lazily beneath his belt. Stopping by the car, he lay a hand on the roof, bending down until he was staring through the open crack of the back window with suspicious eyes.
"There's been an accident," he said, boredom lacing his voice.
"Well, why don't you move it out of the way?"
"What?"
"I said why don't you clear it so that we can get past?" Luca said, ignoring his sister's warning grip on his arm. He could barely feel the pressure of her nails through the material of his dark, trench coat.
"What's that accent?"
"We're Americans," Luca said, purposefully not looking at the man. "We're here on business."
The policeman tried to hide his glare, only resulting in a twisting of his face. "Well, you're going to have to wait."
"Jesus Christ."
"Luca," Maria whispered in a warning.
"We waited for you fucking Yanks until 1918," he said, not sparing a glance to Maria, instead staring at Luca. "It will be clear in 20 minutes, all right?"
"Yeah, all right. Thank you, officer. Big fucking help," Luca snapped, the usual sneer taking place on his face.
"1918, what the fuck is he talking about?"
"Talking about the war. Everything here is about the war."
"You could help. If you're in that much of a rush," Maria said. Up ahead, the policeman was no closer to moving the cart than he had been when their car had first pulled up.
Luca paused for a moment, acting as if he hadn't heard her. Then he decided, "C'mon, let's go move it ourselves. Fucking idiots."
He climbed out of that car, pulling his fedora firmly onto his head, tipping it as he always did, his dark eyes barely visible below the rim. Matteo followed, leaving Maria in the car with the driver. She could hear every sneering word that came from his lips.
"What's this? Whose wagon is that?"
"They're gypsies. We can move it all right. I said it would be 20 fucking minutes."
The policeman hurried around to the other side of the cart, holding his hands up, ready to push them backwards. Luca's eyes narrowed. Even Maria could still see that something was wrong.
"Let's go. We'll find another way out of here," Luca said loudly.
Maria leaned forward, her head next to that of the driver's. The front windows were down, a cool draft making its way through the car. Soon enough they would be speeding along the narrow roads again to a destination she hadn't yet been told.
"Could you put the windows up please?" she asked.
She waited a moment, but there was no response, not even an acknowledgement. She leaned forward again, reaching out to shake his shoulder as he didn't even flinch. With a short screech, Maria's eyes landed on the red that stained her fingertips. She shoved the man harder, watching as he fell easily onto the side, revealing a thin bullet wound in the side of his chest.
"Luca!" she shouted, eyes flickering to the trees that surrounded the car, keeping her head down below window level. But she could see nothing, not even the rustle of a branch someone far away. So she shuffled over the low backed seats, hurrying to roll up the wide windows. "Luca!"
Maria almost let out another screech as Luca slid into the car again. "Get us the fuck out of here."
"No, Luca, look," she said, pointing the driver who was slumped over the passenger seat.
Like lightning strikes, bullets sped past the car, hitting the windows, shattering them easily. Glass reigned down on them, like sparkling crystals, slicing through skin as easy as knives. Maria ducked again, covering her head, ears ringing from the closeness of the deafening noise. Her arms weren't protected from the showers of glass- cuts littered her skin.
"Get the guns!" Luca ordered. "Maria start the car."
"What?"
"Start the fucking car!"
Maria turned the key, pressing her foot down on the acceleration, hoping for the best. The car lurched forward, then she flew into reverse, narrowly missing the trunk of a tree as she attempted to turn it completely. She drove as straight as possible until the bullets had ceased on both ends, and Luca pushed her over, taking the wheel.
Maria began to mumble a pray- the only thing keeping her from bursting into tears.
"Be quiet, Maria!" Luca kissed.
But she didn't stop. The words were like an anchor, keeping her feet to the bottom of the car and her head away from the clouds, where it was easy to get light headed, to forget purpose and reality. Just because her brother was going to hell, it didn't mean she had to as well.
