He accelerated a bit, and Sally Sue’s engine responded. We went along as quick and effortless as the current of the Yadkin River. He could put plenty of distance between us and whoever was back there without really trying. All he had to do was press on the gas a bit more and that would be that. When the other car held the distance, and then came closer, Daddy kept looking in his rearview mirror.
He said, “Getting closer,” as calm as if he was browsing the newspaper and had run across an article of interest.
In the back, Merritt turned around completely and started giving us second by second comments on the car’s distance. All it did was increase my anxiousness. When the car was two lengths away from our bumper, Merritt announced this.
I said, “We can see for ourselves, Merritt.”
Daddy said, “Got all this road, ain’t no need getting so close.”
He accelerated and we rounded the curve; the force of speed combined with direction pushed me against the door. I gripped the armrest and watched the headlights of the other car grow smaller. Daddy kept his foot on the gas even as we came to another curve. There was a slight squall of the tires and I saw how he wore a little smile, like he was enjoying himself. None of the runs in the past had turned into anything other than a meandering ride down the mountain, and then up the drive of someone’s house, or to the back side of a store where smiling faces welcomed him and what he carried. This was different, and I worried about the speed and the curves, and the other car.
I said, “I hope they got the good sense enough to leave us alone.”
Daddy said, “Maybe I’ll pull over, see if they’ll go on by.”
Hopeful he’d do that, I said, “Yeah.”
Another straightaway came and the car regained most of the distance lost and was almost as close as it had been before. They slid over into the other lane like they were going to try and pass us. Daddy let off the gas some so they could. As they came alongside, they stayed there, which made him look. Without warning, he floored it.
Merritt, his voice worried, said, “What’re you doing?”
Daddy didn’t answer; instead, he leaned forward and concentrated on driving, both of his hands gripping the steering wheel. The other car made an attempt to come alongside us again, and he went even faster, like they were at the racetrack everyone had been talking about lately, some dirt circle where others who were running moonshine raced their cars against one another. Up ahead the road veered off to the left in a sharp curve.
Panicked, I repeated Merritt’s question. “What’re you doing?”
Daddy didn’t answer me neither. There was no way we could make it at this speed, I sensed it, even though I’d never ridden in a car going this fast before. The other car was beside us again.
Daddy cussed under his breath. “Hellfire and damnation, they must’ve been working on that heap.”
I leaned forward, trying to see if I could make out who it was. “Who?”
The car swerved into us, tapping our front bumper, followed by a slight scraping of metal on metal. Sally Sue shuddered.
Daddy let off the gas a little and said, “Them damn Murrys. Sit back, Jessie!”
Merritt’s fingers were clamped to the back of the seat and he said, “Whoa! They’re crazy!”
Daddy said, “Hang on.”
I pushed back against the seat, and thought about my room. Thought about how I wished I was there right now, sitting at my desk, doing homework. I didn’t want to be here. The thought of an up close encounter with a Murry made my mouth go dry as dirt. I’d heard enough talk between Daddy and Uncle Virgil to know they weren’t the sort to mess with. Willie Murry’s daddy, Leland Murry, was someone I’d seen in town a few times, a big lug of a man who limped bad, was always scowling. People moved out of his way as he came down the sidewalk, elbows jackhammering up and down to accommodate his bad leg. Everyone at school did the same for Willie Murry, him acting as if they had no right to take up his space.
Uncle Virgil couldn’t stand the sight of any one of them, cussed about them all along while Daddy went mute if they came up in conversation, about like he did about Mama. The Murrys used the very first run off their stills, those singlings, which everyone knew was poisonous. Daddy said they mixed their product with ethanol. We’d heard the rumor, drink what a Murry sells, drink at your own risk. They tried to steal business from others, and between their bad liquor and stealing, Daddy couldn’t hardly abide a one of them.
We hurtled down another hill, tires whining on the pavement, a fiendish roar coming from under the hood, the vibration of the car strong under my feet. The other vehicle dropped back a bit, then hit us again, hard enough to make our back end swerve. Daddy compensated, while our headlights illuminated the trees, creating a green blur as we tore down the road. I thought Daddy would lose control, yet I couldn’t scream; I was too stunned to make a sound. My arms and legs were rigid, like they had steel rods through them.
Merritt whispered from the back seat, “Please, please, please.”
I found my voice and squeaked out, “Slow down!”
They hit our car again, harder than before. Daddy fought to keep it straight, but the tires went onto the soft shoulder, and the right side, my side, tilted downhill at an awkward slant. I instinctively leaned the opposite way and Daddy slammed on the brakes. There came a sensation like the trunk would meet the engine, like we’d be squashed in the middle of an accordion of metal. My hands gripped the dash as we came to a grinding halt. I couldn’t look anywhere but at my lap, the slant of the car telling me the hill was really steep. I sat stunned, my chest heaving.
Daddy said, “Damn.”
The other driver sat in the road, and pumped his foot on the gas, revving the engine. He did this over and over, then edged closer until their front bumper was against the side of our car, pushing us farther down the slope the way a bulldozer does a mound of dirt. The back door made a crunching noise and Merritt scooted over behind me and we began this slow slide down the embankment. The underside of the vehicle scraped over small brush and plants. Glass jars rattled and clanked under the back seat. The car caught on something, rolled completely over, and we were carried along with it, going all topsy-turvy.
Merritt made an odd sound, a deep grunt. I could hear jars breaking and the popping of glass from the windows. I hit my head right before we ended up against a tree. The car was on its roof and the only sound was dripping, and the screech of tires as the other car took off. Our headlights were out, but I could make out that Daddy and I had landed against the front windshield. My head throbbed. I put my hand up, touched the lump on my forehead.
Daddy said, “Jessie, you all right?”
“I think so.”
He said, “Merritt?”
I could see his shape only a couple feet from me, looking like a rag doll. He was near the back windshield.
Daddy repeated his name: “Merritt.”
The odor of gas combined with the reek of liquor was so pungent, I almost gagged. I was soaking wet where the shine had splashed all over us. It was as if I’d been baptized in it. Pieces of glass stuck to my hair, skin, and clothes. Daddy maneuvered himself around until he was on his knees, bent low.
He said, “We got to get out of here.”
He crawled out of a broken side window. He reached through to help me and I grabbed his hand and crawled out.
Daddy called out again, “Merritt? Hey, Merritt!”
Merritt didn’t reply. Daddy inched his way back in. He backed out, pulling Merritt along with him by his shirt collar. Finally, he was outside of the car. As I looked at my brother, I couldn’t be sure, but one of his arms didn’t look exactly right. It