As it was, the best she could do was swerve off the road. Trisha’s scream mingled with that of their tires. One of these blew with a bang and they skidded, skidded, skidded increasingly sidewise, a telephone pole closing with sickening swiftness. Knowing they were dead if they flipped (the top was still down) Tara clung to the wheel with all her might, not daring to touch the brakes. The other vehicle, a beat up pickup truck, careened by within inches, spewing a cloud of dust of its own. It was about three gut-wrenching seconds later that they slammed into the pole, while the asshole in the truck sped his potentially murderous way merrily on.
Even through the cacophony of the crash Tara could hear another scream from Sprat. This one was full of pain, not fear, and if the kid got killed th
