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Nashida slammed on the brakes and swerved to miss the bison, exactly what his high school driver's ed teacher would have told him not to do. The big green truck slid and hit the enormous bison anyway. The force of the impact spun the truck out. Nashida lost control of the wheel, and the truck flipped over three times, tumbling back into the woods.
Nashida's body hit the top of the cabin and bounced around, while Jericho's stayed firmly locked in the passenger seat. Safety first.
The truck rolled a few more times until it hit a tree and finally came to a rest upside down.
"Fuck, that sucked," was all Jericho could murmur.
Other than that, he was surprisingly unharmed. Seatbelts save lives.
"You okay, Nashida?"
No answer. Maybe he was dead?
Oh, well. The only problem now was his arms were still pinned behind his back. He checked to see if he could reach the mechanism to unhook the belt. With two hundred and thirty-some pounds pushing down on the lock, maximizing the tension, it was hard.
Jericho turned to his left and found the barrel of the shotgun pointed at his face. He had no clue how that thing didn't go off in the wreck. Maybe the gun was empty, or maybe he had a guardian angel.
Jericho leaned left, trying to avoid the barrel of the gun, and put all his weight into his hip. Trying to push his hand toward the release, he stretched out his fingers, reaching out for the locking mechanism. It was a bit too far and just outside his reach. Jericho took a breath and repositioned his hip, trying not to push the shotgun any closer to his face, or any other part of him.
While leaning his hip toward the lock, he bridged his back and stretched. His pinky finger slightly grazed the orange release mechanism. All he needed was a little more pressure.
Jericho repositioned himself again, but the shotgun slid down with the barrel resting just under his chin. One more wrong move and the creature still lurking in the woods would be the least of his problems.
Master Yamamoto probably had a perfect quote about the situation, but Jericho couldn't think of any at the moment. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a slow breath. Jericho loaded his weight into his hip and bridged his back one last time. He pushed the muscles in his back and arms to their limit. They stretched and burned. Maybe he should have focused on yoga instead of lifting heavy weights all these years. Finally, he felt his pinky finger push against the release.
"C'mon!"
Nothing.
"C'mon on, you piece of shit!"
CLIK
The seatbelt unhooked, but with Jericho's arms pinned, nothing caught the belt as it recoiled. His body crashed down onto the overturned roof, right on top of the shotgun. He winced, figuring all that work to get free was pointless if he was just going to die right afterwards.
But there was nothing.
Jericho opened his eyes and saw the shotgun's muzzle pointed right at his chest. Okay, it either had to be empty or he was the luckiest bastard on the planet.
Now he had to focus on getting the cuffs off. Jericho leaned his back against the door and reached around until his fingers found the handle. He unlatched the door and spilled out onto the forest floor. Looking up to the sky, Jericho wondered if something beyond his comprehension wasn't keeping him in that damn forest. Maybe Tom’s ghost wasn't going to let him leave until he held up his end of the deal. Even for him, that thought was too much.
"Hey, Nashida!" Jericho yelled from the side of the road. Still, Nashida stayed silent.
Jericho pulled himself up to his feet and walked to the overturned truck. It was reasonable to assume that if Nashida had the cuffs and unlocked him earlier, he would still have those keys.
Nashida's body was balled up in the corner of the roof. Jericho walked around the truck and tried to unlatch the driver-side door, but it was too damaged. He walked back around to the open passenger door and carefully backed into the cabin. He leaned against Nashida's motionless body and moved his hands around until he found the man's pockets. Jericho probably should have bought the agent dinner first. After a minute of feeling around, he struggled to reach inside and find the keys.
"Got 'em."
Pulling them out was a little trickier. Jericho rubbed his fingers on each individual metal key until he found what felt like a small pin. Bingo. From there, unshackling the binding should be easy.
Harry Houdini tricks were part of his basic training, in a sense. Picking locks, specifically handcuffs, were part of the Blackfire curriculum. One more thing to thank the Prince for in person. That conversation was way overdue.
Jericho unhooked the cuffs and tossed them back into the cabin. He grabbed the shotgun and opened the glovebox, removing the silver dagger. He re-sheathed the blade back into the scabbard tied to his thigh.
New plan. If something or someone was trying to keep him in those woods, the last thing he would do is oblige. It was still a day or so walk to High Level. Maybe they were far enough away that they outran the Wendigo.
Thanks to him, Tom Fiddler was dead and his truck was trashed. The more he tried to help, the worse everything got. Jericho needed to focus on survival again. If that thing wanted to find him, he would deal with it then.
Jericho looked back at the truck and thought back on all of the near misses and catastrophic events he'd survived over the years. He wondered if there was a purpose to it all, if he had more to do here on earth, or if it was just pure dumb luck that has kept him alive all these years.