Indirect Route, Chapter 1A Prologue

(It’s halloween today, hence why this is going out early. Enjoy)

Part 1 of the story may be found here: www.deviantart.com/sahara01/ar…

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Nightmare To Remember

On the night of Tuesday the twelfth of February, 2019, Jack stirred in his deep sleep. His nightmare brewed.

~~~
Jack pressed the accelerator all the way, tearing through dark city streets like a bullet, in his Ford Escort RS Cosworth. The turbo yearned, yearned for air to force into all four cylinders, but the car in front blocked all available air flow.
Concentration enhanced by adrenaline, Jack clutched the wheel as hard as a military grade clamp, never letting his eyes leave the leading vehicle.

The car in question, was a black painted Mercedes CLK500. Jack didn’t know who was driving it, nor what they were racing for, but he pushed them hard, like his life depended on it.

A traffic car was stopped at a red light in front of them, forcing both drivers to risk running red and drive in the oncoming lane. They cleared the junction without any hassles, and Jack stayed in the slipstream all the way, with pinpoint precision.

The road was wet out there, and puddles had formed in valleys, or divots in the asphalt, introducing the lethal risk of aquaplaning. There was also no police monitoring for their impromptu race, so cops could suddenly spring on either racer at any moment. Needless to say, this race was certainly dangerous.

Perhaps suicidal.

Jack slammed on the brakes before a left turn ahead, easing applied pressure to avoid locking up his wheels, as he turned out of the slipstream. He snatched up a tighter line inside of the German luxury car, utilising all wheel drive to ascertain as much traction as physics would allow. Perfect apex, back on the throttle now, and into third. Jack spectated his boost meter, as it flicked around during the shift. As now he was out in fresh air, the turbo had jumped into action, giving upwards of 200 horses combined with the engine.

All of a sudden, Jack’s face felt itchy.
Sweat dripped down from his forehead and chin, but now was no time to wipe the precipitation away. He was on the wrong side of the road, breaking every and all speed limits known to mankind. If he slipped up now...

No.

Jack stopped thinking, and started driving. There was a hairpin right creeping up on them, and he was stuck on the outside, battling for grip. So, just before braking, Jack let off the accelerator, and allowed the CLK in front.
With little to no steering under heavy braking, they overshot the racing line, leaving the inside wide open for Jack.

Letting go of the middle pedal, Jack stole up the inside line yet again, and successfully overtook his rival. And after that display, he was out in front, turning the tables and robbing the Mercedes of its own oxygen. He weaved past slower traffic, and kept in the lead for another few turns, then they joined onto a main road.

A lorry was driving in the same lane, and Jack’s rival was beginning to get a good run on him. Jack thought fast, moved for the oncoming lane to block, and passed the lorry untouched. He was awarded for his ballsy move with a blast of horn from the hauler.
Behind him the CLK500 failed to build up momentum for a pass, and remained in the slipstream. Headlights filled the Cosworth’s rearview mirror.

Past 100mph, Jack dodged another traffic car and drove the wrong way round a roundabout, taking what would be the third exit, had he followed road laws.

His adrenaline was really flowing now, repeatedly shutting the door on every one of the Mercedes’ attempts to overtake, like an expert nascar driver.

Then everything went downhill...

A police car, in the form of a Vauxhall Astra, saw them and began to give chase, blue lights-a blazing.
Jack cursed under his breath.

Street lamps flew by, creating the illusion of soaring through deep space, and it would be mesmerising, if it weren’t for Jack’s undeterred focus.

Time seemed to drag on, slow down, as he capped the speedometer.

143mph.

Jack heard noises from behind.

Scraping. Clanging. Shattering.

In the rearview, Jack saw the Mercedes tumble into and through a pair of glass telephone boxes, rolling like it was never going to stop.

It hadn’t crashed because of carelessness;

There was another vehicle, not marked as a police car, but it was tailing him all the same.

A jet black Audi Q5, with black tinted windows. Faster, heavier, and more versatile than Jack’s Cossie.
The right side of its front bumper was scarred, and dented, with paint removed. Jack realised it was the culprit for ramming his rival off of the road.

Panic overwhelmed emotions as time sped back up. He needed to escape, the race was off, he could be killed by this maniac.

Slowly, but surely, the SUV closed in on Jack, like a hunter chasing down it’s prey.

And Jack was running out of road.

There was nothing that could’ve been done.

It’s over.

The Audi was riding on modern brakes, and as Jack tried his damndest to take the corner as smooth as possible, it rammed him.

Jack felt the rear axle lift off the ground as his Cosworth span sideways, then dropped back, bottoming out on sandpaper-like blacktop. The skid quickly became uncontrollable, and Jack watched as he slid past his killer.

He closed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel, to the point of his knuckles turning bone white.

This is it.

The raised curb approached at speed, like Grim Reaper’s scythe, and both right side wheels got caught. Jack’s Cosworth flipped over, rolled, and crumpled with every moment of impact against the ground.

Windows and windshields smashed, metal sparked, and Jack bellowed a deep scream, as he was thrown around in his seat like clothes in a washing machine.

Jack probably would’ve survived it if he was rolled into a wall. But just his luck; he was headed straight for the River Tyne, which was behind a poor excuse of a “safety” fence.

The Cossie tumbled through said shoddy fence and down the embankment, shedding her fender panels, bonnet and rear wing as she went. And after possibly 20 complete rolls, the roof finally collapsed on weakened pillars.

Jack was brutally killed, before his body could be waterlogged in the river.

Falling...

Jack fell.. and fell.. and fell. Right into his own bed.
~~~

Jack Harley sat up abruptly, eyes wide awake, breathing heavily like a panting dog.
It was another nightmare; the same one as before...
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This is also a NFSC VOL.2 release, so enjoy the CLK500. It’s a stock one though, just fitted with sweet custom rims. I might have installed a Nitrous Oxide System, but I actually can’t remember for the life of me.