“No, not now. Not here,” he muttered under his breath, swallowing the dust of panic.
The CB radio crackled to life. “Rivera, this is Sergeant Lucía Herrera, Highway Patrol. I see you, heavy load, no brakes. Are you okay?”
Jonas’s throat went dry. “I… I don’t know. The brakes—they’re gone. Thirty tons. I can’t stop…”
“Stay with me,” Lucía said, her voice calm, almost gentle, but carrying an authority that froze him in place. “I’ll lead you to the emergency ramp. One point five kilometers ahead. Can you make it?”
“I’ll try… don’t leave me,” he rasped, hands white-knuckled on the wheel.
“Never. Keep straight, stay in your lane. I’ll clear traffic. Just follow my car,” she said.
Ahead, the black-and-white patrol vehicle appeared like a sentinel, its siren wailing, its lights spinning in a blur of red and blue. Jonas’s stomach churned as he saw a bus swerve, a motorcycle topple, and other drivers dive for safety. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
“Rivera, don’t think. Just drive. Keep the engine in low gear. Ramp is coming. You’ve got this,” Lucía barked.