172

The highway continues straight south for a mile, you estimate, and then curves slightly east, the smooth, barren blacktop extending as far as you can see. The sun has dipped below the tops of the immense pine trees, plunging the area into a deep shade. You are hungry and can only hope to find some kind of sustenance soon. It is a quiet, lonely hike over rugged terrain, as you try to remain nestled back into the woods along the road. Your mind wanders. How did this happen? What went wrong?

You remember the vehicle being loaded and Tom looking under the hood.

Tom.

Could he have had something to do with the brakes?

Your mind flashes back to the moment before the van fell off the bridge. Something Uncle Lou stated resonates; he said it quickly as the van sped along the road.

Tom fixed it up before we left.

Could he have had something to do with it?