The SUV closed the distance, bumping his rear bumper in short, sharp taps. Each hit jolted the cab, metal screaming under the strain. They were herding him, guiding him toward the right side of the road where the guardrail gleamed wet and thin. “Not happening,” Dan muttered through clenched teeth.
Up ahead, the faint outline of a dirt service road split off to the right, half-hidden by weeds and rain. There weren’t any signs or markings. He didn’t think too much; he just took it. Tires howled as he swung the wheel, the trailer lurching hard, and mud exploded in all directions.