Chapter 79 — The Truck Explosion
With a hard press on the gas and a sharp flick of the wheel,
the BRZ slid into the left lane.
William kept deepening the throttle.
The engine roared, and the blue coupe gradually pulled up alongside the truck cab—window to window.
Inside the cab, Bob had already noticed someone tailing her for a while.
But she wasn't afraid—far from it.
She had three reasons to feel confident:
1. She was built like a linebacker.
2. A fully-loaded semi is a hundred-ton battering ram—one wrong move and it crushes cars like soda cans.
3. There was a shotgun resting on the passenger seat within arm's reach.
In America, you rely on yourself for safety.
The cops are there to catch criminals, not protect you.
And as a Black woman out in the sticks?
Let's just say her civil rights were… conditional.
Of course, the shotgun wasn't chambered.
Illinois wildlife regulations are clear:
having a loaded, uncased gun inside a vehicle is generally illegal.
An unloaded shotgun on the seat, however—
perfectly fine.
Bringing a loaded one?
That'd just be handing small-town deputies an excuse to shoot you.
Plenty of them wouldn't hesitate—ammo bills go straight to the state.
But in this moment, legality was the least of Bob's concerns.
If someone tried hijacking her cargo, the police weren't going to recover anything for her.
A full trailer meant full responsibility.
So she kept one eye on the blue BRZ pacing her flank,
and with her right hand, she grabbed the shotgun—
single-handedly racking a shell into the chamber.
"Motherf—… just my damn luck," she muttered, jaw clenched.
Still, she didn't fire.
If the coupe was simply trying to pass, pulling the trigger would send her straight to prison.
---
Inside the BRZ, William glanced right, confirming they were perfectly aligned with the cab.
Then he looked to Mandy.
"Mandy.
You're driving."
She froze for half a second—
then understood.
Without hesitation she reached over, grabbed the wheel,
and climbed across the center console, settling onto William's lap.
Their bodies pressed together, sharing the cramped driver's space.
Skin against skin—heat against heat.
But William didn't have time to enjoy the moment.
The moment Mandy's foot took over the accelerator, William shifted his weight, sliding out from under her and giving her full control of the driver's seat.
He climbed into the passenger seat, twisted around, and grabbed a black leather duffel from the back.
It had been empty—until now. He unzipped it in front of Mandy, but her attention was fixed entirely on the highway ahead. She never noticed the sleight of hand.
From his storage space, William retrieved a pre-made bomb, flicked the delayed detonator into the active position, then zipped the bag shut.
He rolled down the window and leaned halfway out.
At the same time, Bob—one hand on the steering wheel, the other unconsciously hovering near her shotgun—kept glancing toward the blue BRZ pacing her truck. From her angle, she couldn't clearly see who was inside.
Only when William leaned out and locked eyes with her did recognition strike.
Her expression froze.
"Bloody hell—it's you!
You're that girl's boyfriend!
What the hell do you want!?"
Bob visibly relaxed after recognizing him. In her mind, the Gallaghers were pushovers—loud but harmless. She never imagined William would do anything drastic. Her right hand lowered the shotgun slightly.
She didn't know William was here for her life.
Bob wasn't exactly a saint. She'd ditch Monica later anyway and was an extremist on top of that.
William felt zero hesitation.
Killing her was no different than squashing a cockroach.
"Bob! In your next life, try being a decent person.
And if you're lucky—don't reincarnate in America."
William shouted the words across the gap—
but Bob couldn't make out a single syllable.
The roar of engines, wind, and road noise swallowed his voice. She just saw his mouth moving.
Frowning, she lowered her window and leaned her head out.
"What!? What did you just say!?"
William didn't bother repeating himself.
He simply hurled the black bag into the cab.
Bob blinked—confused.
"...???"
By the time comprehension flickered in her eyes, William was already back in his seat.
"Go! Floor it! Put distance between us and that truck!"
Mandy didn't speak.
She just tightened her grip on the wheel and buried the accelerator.
She didn't have William's racing skills, but driving fast in a straight line wasn't rocket science.
The BRZ—a lightweight JDM sports coupe—left the hundred-ton semi eating dust.
Hundreds of meters separated them in seconds.
Bob stared at the leather bag, curiosity overriding caution.
Expensive bag.
Suspicious timing.
Why throw it at her?
With one hand on the wheel, she unzipped it.
Inside—
green circuit boards,
white plastic-wrapped blocks,
all held together with yellow packing tape.
Any bomb tech would have recognized it instantly:
a timed explosive device.
"What the hell is—"
BOOM.
A blast like thunder split the sky.
Mandy flinched, gripping the wheel with white knuckles.
[Ding! — Plot character Bob Tamietti deceased.
Congratulations, host — Energy acquired: 1000 points.]
A towering fireball erupted behind them, visible even in the rear-view.
Fuel from the truck's massive tank fed the inferno—
turning William's explosives into a miniature sun.
"Damn…
forgot about the fuel tanks.
That was… bigger than expected."
William rubbed his forehead.
And then it hit him—
the system was slowly nudging him toward becoming a butcher.
If someone weak-willed used it, they'd probably end up slaughtering people just to farm energy.
Fortunately, he wasn't that kind of lunatic.
At least… he thought not.
Mandy, meanwhile, stared at him with wide, shining admiration—fear replaced by awe.
Being able to make bombs was high craft in America—
most people didn't even know black powder recipes.
But honestly…
anything William did, Mandy would have worshipped.
Ultimate dere warrior indeed.
Half an hour later, the BRZ was miles away from the blast site.
"Mandy—see that dirt mound?
Drive around it. Behind it."
Instead of sticking to the highway, William directed her into the scrubby wasteland.
Soon, they reached the back of the mound.
The BRZ rolled to a stop.
A damn good car—
and William felt a pang of regret.
But this was the murder weapon.
And murder weapons don't go home.
He pulled a gas can from the trunk and drenched the sports car.
Moments later, flames climbed the chassis—
orange tongues consuming blue paint.
Mandy stared at the burning BRZ.
"You burned the car...
so how the hell are we getting back?"