I shot a hurried look into my rear-view mirror to see a black truck stuck onto the bumper of my car. The afternoon haze and the brevity of my glance didn’t allow me to see the face of the driver behind the wheel, but I took in the outline of a dark hat and dark gloves draped upon the steering wheel.

Another thud hit hard upon my bumper, pushing me off to the side of the road. I tried to correct, but couldn’t pull it off, my car went off the embankment of the country road and rumbled into the tall grass field which flanked it.

It now felt as if I was on some kind of rocky road amusement park type ride. My car bounced up and down, roughly and wildly, everything inside the cab, myself included, thrashed about violently. The seatbelt was the only thing saving me from smashing up against the windshield or the steering wheel.

I had much more sinister fears at the moment than smashing my head against the wheel and there was no way a seatbelt could save me from them. Another look out my rear view mirror while airborne allowed me to see more of the truck which had slammed into me from behind and I recognized it all too well. I knew nothing about trucks, but I could pick out a 1959 Chevrolet Apache in any lineup.

My car finally started to slow as I approached the line of trees which led into the woods. The entire world around me got darker when the front of my car smashed into the light shrubs at the edge of the tree line and started plowing over some of the younger trees. It came to a stop just under the cover of the tall firs.

I wasted no time in ripping off my seatbelt, going for the handle of my car door, but it wouldn’t budge. The door appeared to be wedged up hard against the thick trunk of a tree.

I climbed over to the passenger-side door. My eyes threw a glance out the back window of my car and saw the black Apache parked on the side of the road.

“Ah, shit!” I screamed when the passenger-side door wouldn’t open either.