The windshield shattered on the passenger side, spiderwebs of cracked glass spreading instantly across my field of vision.

The steering wheel jerked violently, trying to tear itself from my grip.

I held on, pressing the accelerator flat against the floorboards.

With a loud screech of tearing metal, the lock mechanism sheared off.

The heavy gates swung inward, scraping hard against the gravel driveway.

The truck jolted forward, clearing the threshold.

A high-pitched security alarm began to wail from a small stone guardhouse nearby.

I looked in my rearview mirror.

A guard in a dark uniform scrambled out of the guardhouse, shouting into a radio.

He shone a bright flashlight toward the back of my truck.

I did not stop to see if he was drawing a weapon.

I drove up the winding driveway, the tires throwing up wet gravel.

The headlights flickered, the left bulb dead from the crash.

The single remaining beam illuminated the manicured pine trees lining the path.

The rain was a solid wall now, drumming hard against the dented hood of the truck.

Steam began to rise from the radiator, white and thick in the cold air.