The Countdown

Chapter 2:
The cold rain hit Sarah's skin like pinpricks as she stepped outside the diner, the black case clutched tightly in her hands. The storm had worsened, a relentless downpour that drenched her within seconds. She squinted through the sheets of water, searching for any sign of the man in the trench coat.

Nothing.

The streetlights cast fractured halos in the rain, their weak light barely illuminating the empty parking lot. Her car sat alone, a beat-up hatchback with chipped paint and a cracked taillight. She hesitated for a moment, her instincts screaming at her to ditch the case and run. But the weight of the countdownâ€"and the voice on the phoneâ€"kept her rooted in place.

The timer was at 58:32.

The case was heavier than it looked, its handle digging into her palm as she ran for the car. Her heart pounded louder than the rain, her breaths shallow and rapid. She yanked open the driver's side door, tossing the case onto the passenger seat before slamming herself into the car.
The moment she turned the key, the headlights cut through the storm, revealing nothing but empty asphalt and swirling rain. She let out a shaky breath and gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white.








Think, Sarah. Oakridge Drive. 211 Oakridge Drive.
She hadn't been there before, but the name tugged at her memory like a loose thread. Somewhere downtown. Maybe. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with her phone, pulling up the GPS. The rain hammered against the windshield, a suffocating rhythm that made her feel like the walls of the car were closing in.

211 Oakridge Drive.

Her GPS loaded slowly, each passing second grating against her nerves. When the route finally appeared, a wave of nausea hit her. The destination wasn't downtownâ€"it was in the industrial district, nearly 30 minutes away.

If you're not there by midnight...

Her stomach twisted. She glanced at the timer on the black phone: 57:15. The industrial district wasn't exactly known for its friendly crowds or well-lit streets. Even in daylight, it was the kind of place people avoided. At night, it was a graveyard.

She hesitated. There had to be another way out of this, some way toâ€"

A sharp knock on her window made her jump.

Her head snapped to the side. Through the rain-streaked glass, she saw a figure standing inches from her car, face obscured by the brim of a hood. The silhouette of a hand tapped the window again, this time slower. Deliberate.

Sarah's blood ran cold. Her foot moved instinctively to the gas pedal, ready to floor it, but she didn't. She couldn't.

The figure didn't move.

A small voice in her head screamed at her to drive, to plow through the storm and get as far from this nightmare as possible. But she lowered the window a crack instead, rain instantly soaking the inside of her car.

"Sarah," the voice said. Low. Familiar. "You're wasting time."

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Who the hell are you?"

The figure stepped closer, rain dripping from the hood onto the glass. "You don't want to be late. Move."

Her mouth went dry. The GPS chimed softly, jolting her back to reality. Proceed to the highlighted route.

The figure backed away without another word, disappearing into the storm as quickly as it had appeared.

Sarah's heart thundered as she rolled the window back up and shifted into gear. Her tires splashed through the flooded parking lot as she turned onto the main road, the wipers struggling to keep up with the deluge. The GPS barked directions at her, but her mind was racing too fast to focus.

She stole a glance at the black case on the seat beside her. The screen on the phone still displayed the countdown: 55:47. Her eyes flicked back to the road, but the image burned into her mind.

Who was behind this? And why her?

She didn't want to know what would happen if she didn't deliver the case in time, but the questions gnawed at her anyway. What was inside? Why couldn't they deliver it themselves? And what kind of job came with a death sentence if you didn't meet the deadline?

The road stretched out in front of her, empty and endless. The rain blurred the lines, and the occasional flicker of headlights in the opposite direction felt like ghostly apparitions. Every shadow on the roadside looked like a figure waiting to jump out in front of her.

Her pulse spiked when she noticed a pair of headlights in her rearview mirror. She hadn't seen another car for miles, and now one was tailing her, keeping an unsettlingly steady pace.
Sarah's foot eased off the gas. The car behind her didn't pass.

Instead, it slowed to match her speed.

"Come on," she muttered, her knuckles aching as she gripped the wheel. She veered slightly toward the shoulder, but the car stayed glued to her tail, its beams reflecting harshly in her mirrors.

Her stomach churned. She tapped the brakes lightly, hoping the driver would take the hint, but the car only inched closer. A chill ran down her spine.

Whoever they were, they weren't random.

The GPS spoke again, startling her. In half a mile, turn left onto Oakridge Drive.

The industrial district was up ahead, its dim lights and abandoned warehouses coming into view through the rain. Sarah's jaw tightened. The car behind her sped up suddenly, its headlights flaring brighter in her mirrors. She could feel the hum of the engine as it surged closer, forcing her foot onto the gas.

The GPS repeated its command, louder this time. Turn left.

Sarah yanked the wheel hard, tires skidding on the wet asphalt as she careened onto Oakridge Drive. The car behind her slowed, then stopped, its headlights disappearing into the storm as quickly as they'd appeared.

Her chest heaved, her pulse pounding in her ears. But the timer didn't stop. It kept ticking, relentless.

She was down to 51:12.