Goin' Down To Georgia
"No!" Liza Henderson's life flashed before her eyes as she prepared to meet her maker."Damn! Damn! Damn!" Screeching expletives probably wasn't a good way to make it through the pearly gates, but hey, she was about to get flattened by a tire careening off a chicken hauler.
Liza gripped the wheel of her ancient F-250. Lurching off the road, she bounced across a gravel verge and came to rest in a tangle of kudzu vines.
She felt as if time hiccuped when the chicken hauler—sans one tire—sideswiped a truck pulling a double-wide trailer, sending both vehicles sliding, blocking the westbound lanes. That was bad enough, but the comedy of errors wasn't quite over. When a molasses truck joined the melee, it turned into a sticky wicket.
Not only had State Highway 441 north of Magnolia Bluffs, Georgia, been transformed into a gooey, feathery chicken hell, the three truck drivers had abandoned their mangled rigs and were about to come to blows.
The good news was that no one appeared to be hurt. The bad news was that Liza was trapped in a sea of greenery.
She was prying her fingers from the steering wheel when a state trooper tapped on the passenger-side window.
"Ma ... read full excerpt from Goin' Down to Georgia ebook
