Chapter 6: The Fast Road to Fear

Around nine, Kev called—asked about my sleep, then apologized, saying the client wasn’t sorted out and he couldn’t come, so he’d send a driver.

Soon after, a van honked impatiently outside. The sound made my heart jump.

I hurriedly packed my bags. My hands shook as I zipped my suitcase.

This time it was a van, driver was Canadian again. The air inside was stale, the seats sticky.

Just like those narrow rural roads in the Midwest, barely wide enough for a single car, and the driver was flying down them at over 80. The speed felt reckless, and every bump sent my nerves on edge.

The trees blurred past, and the potholes rattled my teeth. The air smelled like damp earth and old leaves, mixing with the faint scent of pine.

Now I started to feel something was wrong. My stomach clenched, and I kept glancing at the driver, searching for any sign of friendliness.

Alone in a foreign country, no Kev, and this driver was driving like crazy—what if something happened? The fear was real, and I wished I’d never left home.

“Driver, where are we going?”

He waved me off, not understanding. His eyes stayed glued to the road.

“Sir, where we go?”

He kept waving his hand, impatient.

My English isn’t great, but I could get the point across. I tried again, but he just shrugged.

I couldn’t tell if he didn’t want to talk or really didn’t understand—he just kept signaling me to be quiet, his body language stiff and closed off.

Meanwhile, the speed kept climbing—he didn’t want me jumping out. My pulse hammered in my ears.

Let me add something here:

If, unfortunately, you ever find yourself in this situation, what should you do?

Do whatever you can to make the car stop!

You’re still in Canada, still in Pine Creek—under Canadian law. The driver isn’t part of the scam park; he just drives, delivers people, and gets paid.

He doesn’t want trouble—he won’t hurt you or threaten your life.

Open the car door, pretend to jump out. Shout, act furious. Make the driver slow down, stop, get out, and run!

If there’s only one driver, he won’t chase you.

But if there are others in the car, or other vehicles following, if park people are watching you, your chances of escape aren’t good.

I made the dumbest choice—I called Kev.

“Kev, is this driver trustworthy? He’s driving way too fast on these tiny roads.”

“Normal. There are no big roads here—Canadian drivers all drive like this.”

That didn’t ease my doubts, but I didn’t jump out.

I gripped my phone so tight my knuckles turned white, wishing I’d listened to my gut instead of my old friend.