Hijacked, Part Two

Well I did see about that! My hijacker ordered me to drive ever further into the warren of streets until we came to some waste ground. The ever-present danger of the situation now seemed to be worsening and the following moments will live forever in my mind. At the time it seemed that a surreal sequence of events occurred.

I hadn’t switched off the engine but as it was so silent the gunman was seemingly unaware of this. He asked for money or valuables but I told him I had neither. He then asked me about the contents of the glove compartment? Unfortunately it only contained my son’s camera. He waved his gun, first at me and then at the glove compartment, which I took to mean, he wanted me to get him the camera. I just stared at him and told him to get it himself.

After glaring at me for what seemed like ages, he reached over, opened the glove compartment and took out the camera. Images of the recent photographs my son had taken of the family flashed before my eyes and my anger returned, “How dare you take that, get out of my car”. Looping the camera strap around his wrist he actually started to back out of the car, keeping the gun trained on me as he did so.

 Then he ordered his companion out of the back seat and turned back to me with the words I was dreading to hear, Now you get out of the car.” A survival instinct or some other force moved my hand and, selecting first gear, I simultaneously slammed my foot onto the accelerator. The car lurched forward taking everyone by surprise, including me, and since the gunman had one leg and most of his body out of the passenger door at that moment, he was swung round and disappeared from view.

Thinking back, the open back door must have hit him on the way past. I could see street lights at the top of the road and as the car careered forward at speed, the hairs on the back of my neck rose in anticipation of the shot The door was still swinging wildly but I wasn’t about to stop to close it. My companion tried to scramble over into the front passenger seat, but I told her to stay put and drove like someone possessed, ignoring red lights, anything and everything, just to put distance between myself and that piece of waste ground.

Eventually I came to a fortified police station and I knew the nightmare of events was finally over. Apparently, according to the police, this kind of occurrence was common at that time. For me, however, it was most certainly a very uncommon event and one I wish never to repeat.

PS. I kept that car for as long as I could and when the front panels were crumbling with rust, I had a friend attach metal aeroplane parts to strengthen the bodywork. Finally when its days where over, I had the steering wheel mounted on a plaque.

Mary Perioli.