Depth Charge by Jason Heaton (carter reed .txt) 📗

Tusker quickly ran to the Land Rover and jumped into the passenger seat.

“Go,” he said to Sam, sternly. “Now!” She engaged the clutch and the truck narrowly dodged a bicycle. As they sped past the Toyota, Rausing fixed his pale eyes on Tusker under steeply arched brows. The Land Rover careened around a roundabout and roared north out of Pasikudah.

Car Trouble

Pasikudah, Sri Lanka. Later that day.

Sam kept the gas pedal of the Land Rover pressed to the floor. The underpowered truck hurtled up the A15 in a cacophony of rattles and whining gears. Tusker looked back, expecting to see the black Land Cruiser right behind them, but it didn’t materialize.

“I think we’re fine, you can let up,” he shouted over to Sam. Normal conversation was difficult in this truck at idle; above 40 miles per hour, it was nearly impossible. She nodded and let off the accelerator.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and the Land Rover skidded to the right, careening across the road and narrowly missing a tuk-tuk headed the other direction.

“What the hell!” Tusker yelled as he was pitched across the slippery vinyl seats. Sam jammed on the brakes and wrestled the steering wheel to bring the truck to a stop just before it tipped into a grassy ditch.

Sam shut off the ignition and leaned her forehead on the steering wheel, exasperated, but didn’t say anything.

“What was it?” Tusker asked. “What was that bang? Did we hit something?”

Sam shook her head and looked out the windscreen at the traffic they were now facing. “Sounded like a blown diff.”

“The differential?” Tusker said. Sam nodded and opened the door. Tusker followed. There was an acrid smell of burnt rubber and hot metal and a fresh streak of black leading from the middle of the highway to where the truck now sat. A lorry streaked by, its wind horn gaily calling in full Doppler effect.

“I’m just glad this happened when the traffic is light,” Tusker gestured to the passing lorry. Sam didn’t reply but dropped to her hands and knees and peered under the Land Rover.

“I’m guessing you don’t have any sort of roadside assistance for this thing,” he said.

Sam ignored his comment. “There’s a mechanic back in Pasikudah who’s good with these Landies. If we can limp into town, I bet he’s got a spare differential lying about.”

“I don’t think it’ll move, much less limp,” Tusker said.

“Nah, it’ll get us there,” Sam smiled confidently and jumped up, brushing gravel from her knees. She went back to the passenger seat and lifted off the cushion revealing a storage box. She slid off the cover, pulled out a rolled-up canvas pouch, and dropped it on the ground. A crowd had gathered now, a few skinny kids and an old man on a bicycle.

“I’m going to need you to support the driveshaft while I disconnect it from the differential,” Sam said and dropped to the ground again. She fished out a handful of open-end wrenches and slid under the truck so that only her bare legs extended out. Tusker went around to the other side and joined her underneath. The metal was hot and there was already a puddle of oil collecting under the gearbox.

Sam tried a couple of wrenches before finding the right fit and grunted as she twisted on the bolts that held the driveshaft into the rear differential housing. Tusker watched her work admiringly. She caught his look.

“Make yourself useful and hold up the driveshaft,” she told him. “It’s gonna come loose here shortly, and be careful. It’s a lot heavier than you think it will be.”

When the last bolt came out, the full weight of the shaft dropped onto Tusker’s hands. She was right, it was heavy.

“OK, just hang on for a bit while I rig up some wire to support it.” She slid out from under the truck and he could hear her fishing around in the tool roll. Tusker’s arms started to quiver from the weight. He could see Sam’s legs and those of all the spectators on the road side of the vehicle. The crowd had grown.

Sam dropped back down and joined Tusker underneath. She was clutching a wad of wire and a snips. “You doing OK there?” she smiled at Tusker, who was sweating profusely, both from the effort and his proximity to the hot exhaust pipe. “Fancy a tea break?”

“Just get on with it!” he barked back.

Sam laughed and wiped her nose, leaving a black streak of grease. She threaded the wire around the driveshaft and then up around the crossmember of the truck’s chassis. After four loops, she told him to let go. The wire held. Sam cut the excess wire and shimmied out. Tusker followed. The old man rolled his bike forward and said something to Sam in Tamil, smiling toothlessly. Sam replied and the two shared a hearty laugh.

“What did he say?” Tusker scowled, feigning hurt at being left out of the joke.

“Oh, something to the effect of what a capable and confident man you are for helping me,” she winked. “Now give me the keys. Let’s get going.”

Sam put the Land Rover in neutral and started the motor, then pushed a red lever forward to engage low range four-wheel drive. Now, instead of the rear wheels driving the truck, the front wheels would pull them back to town. She eased them back onto the highway, where traffic had swelled in the hour it took to make the repair, and steered the Land Rover back towards town.

It was a slow journey. Sam nursed the Land Rover the few miles into town in fourth gear, barely topping 15 miles per hour. Tuk-tuks, cars and even bicycles passed them. Tusker kept a wary eye out for Rausing’s black Land Cruiser as they entered Pasikudah but it was nowhere to be seen. The truck lurched through one roundabout after another until Sam finally coasted down a narrow side street lined with shop stalls, pedestrians, and parked vehicles.

“There it is,” she said and pointed out