Chapter 5 - The Mountain Pass AmbushThe tires of the Cadillac Escalade shrieked against the unplowed, snow-choked gravel of the old logging road as Thomas threw the heavy vehicle into a violent ninety-degree turn. Pine branches laden with heavy snow whipped against the side windows with cracking explosions, showering us in white spray.
Behind us, the dual headlights of the black Mercedes sliced through the blizzard, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
“Damon, who are those people?” Cassandra screamed over Violet’s terrified wails, her fingers gripping my arm so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Are we being robbed?”
“Worse,” I said, keeping my body arched over Luke to shield him from any sudden impact. “It’s corporate security. Julian Calder’s people. They want the Merritt Systems acquisition signed tonight, and they know that if they control my family, they control me.”
Cassandra’s face went completely bloodless. The fear in her eyes was replaced by a fierce, primal maternal instinct that was far more powerful than any corporate boardroom maneuver.
“They want my children?” she whispered, her voice dropping into a dangerous, chilling register. “Over my dead body.”
“Nobody is touching our children,” I vowed, looking up toward the front cabin. “Thomas! Can we shake them on this trail?”
“This road dead-ends at the old iron bridge five miles up, Mr. Prescott!” Thomas shouted back, his voice tense as he fought the steering wheel against a patch of deep drifts. “If we don't clear the bridge before they box us in, we’re trapped!”
The Escalade roared up the winding mountain incline, its four-wheel-drive system screaming against the ice. But the Mercedes was lighter, faster, and aggressively modified for winter terrain. Inch by inch, it crept up alongside our passenger side, its reinforced front bumper slamming against our rear quarter panel with a sickening crunch of metal.
Bang!
Violet screamed, burying her face in Cassandra’s coat. Luke woke up crying, disoriented and terrified by the violent shaking.
“Hold on!” Thomas bellowed.
Suddenly, the road leveled out, opening onto the rusted, snow-covered skeleton of the old iron bridge spanning a rushing mountain river fifty feet below. The bridge was narrow—barely wide enough for a single vehicle—and coated in a thick sheet of black ice.
Thomas gunned the engine, shooting across the bridge like a bullet.
Right as we reached the midpoint, the black Mercedes surged ahead on our flank, deliberately cutting across our path and slamming on its brakes to block our exit on the far side of the bridge.
Thomas had no choice. He slammed hard on the anti-lock brakes, sending our three-ton SUV into a harrowing, uncontrolled slide across the icy span.
The Escalade spun three hundred and sixty degrees before coming to a violent stop, its front bumper wedged sideways against the low concrete guardrail of the bridge, staring down into the freezing black water below.
The engine sputtered and died.
Absolute, eerie silence descended inside the cabin, save for the howling wind and the crying of the children.
A moment later, the doors of the black Mercedes clicked open on the other side of the bridge. Heavy boots crunched against the snow. Two men in tactical black coats stepped out, their faces obscured by ski masks, each holding a heavy metal crowbar.
They began walking slowly toward our trapped vehicle.
“Stay here,” I ordered quietly, unbuckling my seat belt.
“Damon, no!” Cassandra grabbed my jacket, her eyes wide with terror. “They’ll kill you!”
“They won't kill me. They need my signature,” I said, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before she could stop me. “Lock the doors from the inside. If I don't come back in ten minutes, tell Thomas to punch through the guardrail and drive down the embankment.”
Before she could argue, I pushed open the driver's side door and stepped out onto the freezing, wind-swept bridge.
The sub-zero air hit my lungs like a knife. I raised my hands slightly, stepping away from the Escalade to put myself directly between the approaching men and my family.
“Mr. Prescott,” the taller of the two men said, his voice distorted by a synthetic mask as he stopped ten feet away, tapping his heavy crowbar against his palm. “Mr. Calder sends his regards. He says seven hundred million dollars is too much money to leave in the hands of a distracted father.”
“Tell Julian he can take his contract and shove it,” I said, my voice steady, cutting through the howling wind with absolute ice. “I’m out. Prescott Technologies is mine, and I’m walking away from the board tonight.”
The man chuckled darkly, raising the crowbar. “You don't get to walk away, Damon. Not with what’s inside that car.”
He took a step toward the Escalade.
That was his last mistake.
From behind the shattered passenger window of the SUV, the heavy barrel of a Remington tactical shotgun poked out into the freezing night air, pumped with a sharp, metallic clack.
Thomas leaned out the window, his finger resting steadily on the trigger.
“Step away from the car, pal,” Thomas yelled over the wind, “or I turn your kneecaps into confetti.”
The two mercenaries froze, realizing the tactical advantage had just shifted.
Before they could raise their hands or signal their backup, the distant wail of red-and-blue police sirens echoed up the mountain pass, cutting through the storm like a beacon of salvation. Colorado State Troopers, alerted by an automated emergency beacon from our vehicle, were less than a minute away.
The two men cursed, spun around on their heels, sprinted back to their Mercedes, and slammed the doors shut. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle peeled backward off the bridge, spinning out into the snow before disappearing down the mountain pass.
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I stood alone on the bridge for a moment, the wind whipping my hair around my face, breathing in the cold mountain air.
We had survived. But the war for our future was only just beginning.
