Chapter 1

I was heading back home for Thanksgiving. However, as soon as I merged onto the highway, a cloudburst unleashed a torrent of rain. Overhead signboards immediately lit up with an urgent alert—a level-17 typhoon was approaching. It was then that a black Land Rover veered violently from the rear, brake-checking me by squeezing into the gap with a frighteningly close margin of less than three feet. In the end, since the braking performance was poor on the flooded road, the extremely close cut-off instantly startled me and left me sweating with panic. I blasted my horn in an attempt to warn him about the distance, but the lunatic in the Land Rover not only refused to speed up, they instead intentionally brake-checked me again to maliciously cut me off. I slammed on the brake, but the car still surged forward uncontrollably. I immediately panicked as I saw the Land Rover's taillights come close. I yanked the steering wheel to veer out of its way, causing my car to skid violently on the wet surface, lurch violently, and come within inches of a rollover. I could hear my daughter, Heather Lowe, screaming after being thrown hard against the passenger door. However, I had no choice but to ignore her and grip the steering wheel, desperately trying to correct the skid. Yet, the Land Rover returned, cutting me off by aggressively blocking the lane once more. It was then that a blond-haired man leaned out of the Land Rover's window and gave me a sleazy smirk before flinging a flyer at my car. It landed with a smack on my hood, bearing a hastily written note that read, "Let's meet at the next rest stop, cutie. I'll make it worth your while." I was trembling with fury as I instructed the car's hands-free system to call 911. "I have a driver here aggressively brake-checking me, putting my life in danger! I just want to ask if I have the right to ram him off the road." The 911 operator asked, "Do you know your exact mile marker or location, ma'am? Could you also please give me your license plate number and the license plate of the other vehicle?" I replied, "I'm currently on the highway from Newtonia to Rammiton, about 25 miles away from Marcolis Rest Stop. I might have to pull into the emergency lane since my car's wipers aren't working. "I'm currently driving a pink sedan and my license plate number is 523U3, and the other vehicle is a black Land Rover, with the license plate number 77—" I was mid-sentence with the dispatcher when the downpour ahead suddenly erupted in a terrifying red glow. It was clear that the driver in the Land Rover in front of me had performed a violent and unwarranted brake-check for the second time, even though the road ahead was completely clear. I couldn't risk swerving again, so my car eventually rear-ended his. I was thrown forward, smacking my head on the steering wheel, the jarring shock instantly leaving me dazed. In the end, the crash's momentum sent my car spinning into an uncontrolled, 360-degree spin, skidding across both lanes of the highway. I then heard a chorus of frantic horns blaring from the vehicles coming up behind. Upon hearing the sound of a collision, the dispatcher from the other end immediately yelled, "Is everything alright, ma'am?" I couldn't hear a thing over the thunderous throbbing in my ears. I desperately spun the steering wheel in the opposite direction to correct the skid as pure survival instinct immediately seized control. Then, as the car fishtailed, its rear end threw up massive sheets of spray from the flooded road. The line of vehicles behind me was a deafening cacophony of horns. Meanwhile, cars in the passing lane had to shave past my spinning chassis, missing me by inches. In the end, with the ESP system kicking in, the car slowly steadied itself and got back on course. I was trembling all over and quickly sped up to pull safely away from the following traffic. I reported to the operator, "I just rear-ended the Land Rover, and the driver immediately took off. I have sustained injuries with my daughter from the crash. That Land Rover's license plate number is 77777." The operator instructed, "Please find an opportunity to pull over to the emergency lane and stop the vehicle as soon as it's safe. We are actively tracking the other driver's owner information and simultaneously dispatching paramedics to your location." In just a few moments, my eye was throbbing and swelling badly. When I tried to look around, I could only see through a film of blood. I looked at the rearview mirror and noticed that my entire left orbital socket was visibly ballooning from the massive hematoma. Upon seeing my appearance, Heather's wail immediately subsided. She reached out as she murmured, "You're bleeding, Mommy. Please don't cry. I'll take care of you, Mommy!" I couldn't stop my lips from quivering, and my heart was shattered by guilt and pain. However, I knew the gravity of the emergency demanded every ounce of my focus, denying me any chance to console Heather. I was rapidly losing my ability to see the road, with my sight obscured by the hematoma and the sheeting rain. I knew that with my current visual impairment and the road conditions, I had zero margin for error—the slightest mistake would spell catastrophe for us. I immediately used the in-car system to turn on the 360-degree camera feed. I fought back my tears as I said softly, "I'll make sure we get home safe, Heather." I instantly grasped the peril when the central screen displayed the radar imaging—a semi-truck behind me was dangerously close, less than 50 yards. I knew instantly that if I slowed down, that unyielding mass would smash right into me, leaving us no chance to survive the impact. I knew my sole viable escape route was the emergency lane, but the Land Rover driver—a true maniac—was intent on continuing the assault. That driver, relying on the mass and muscle of his Land Rover, drove deliberately alongside me, matching my speed on the shoulder. He was effectively holding me hostage in my lane, preventing any attempt to move or pull over to the emergency lane. I was grinding my teeth in fury—the only thought in my mind was that I wanted to murder that goddamn lunatic. I had frequently dealt with drivers aggressively cutting me off for no good reason, likely just because of my pink car. I could never have conceived that some lunatic would nurture such lethal malice, especially on a highway during a typhoon. Upon catching sight of a bewildered Heather, I lowered my window, suppressed all my rage. Then, I pleaded with the driver, yelling, "Please let go of us! I have my child with me! I just want to get into the emergency lane!" That blond-haired man gave me a leering once-over before he silently mouthed, "Take off your clothes."