It was the road that ran through Heaven. The road back to the highway. To reality.
Matt gunned the engine and let the bike fly. One hundred yards, fifty, ten. He was almost there.
He screamed up to the intersection, leaning hard right to take the turn onto the blessed road.
Then heard the blasting horn and screaming engine before he could turn his head left to see where the sound was coming from.
The logging truck, tearing down the one-lane road at ninety miles per hour.
The logging truck that was feet away from him.
There was no room to get over. The truck filled every inch of the roadway. The shoulder was a steep berm of dirt and rocks.
Matt could see the grillwork bearing down on him. Count the bugs splattered over the H symbol.
H for Harvester? Or for Heaven?
Matt twisted the handlebars sharply to the right. The bike’s front tire cut into the rubble of the berm, and for a moment he thought he’d make it over the top.
Then he hit a rock.
Matt threw himself off the bike, wrenching himself sideways before the momentum could hurl him into the truck’s path.
Matt rose in the air for so long he felt he’d learned to fly. Then he realized he wasn’t soaring. He was falling. He slammed into the hard earth with a whoompf as the air was pounded out of his lungs. His head came down on a rock and everything went black.
Then there was a shriek of tearing metal as the truck slammed into the Buell Blast, smashing it into fragments.
But Matt didn’t hear it.
CHAPTER NINE
And I awoke and found me here on this cold hill’s side.
The words, dragged up from some high school English class, flashed through his mind before he could open his eyes and realize where he was. Then came the pain. It shot through his body, every muscle screaming as he pulled himself back into consciousness.
The ground was hard under his back. Small rocks dug into his skin. In his rush to get away from Heaven, he hadn’t bothered with his helmet, and it was a miracle that the stone that left the goose egg on his head hadn’t split his skull open.
Whatever had happened to his body was nothing to compare with the damage to his bike. The sun was just cresting the mountains as Matt managed to force his eyes open, and in the gentle, golden light of dawn the roadway twinkled like a sea of stars. It was tiny shards of metal that had once been a motorcycle now reflecting the new day.
Matt pulled himself to his feet and staggered down the berm to the road, staring at the wreckage and realizing what would have happened to him if he’d been a second slower. Did the driver even stop? Or had he decided that what he’d hit had been just one more bug to smear his grillwork?
Where the hell did that thing come from? Matt wondered. This road isn’t long enough for a truck to build up that much speed.
Except, he realized, he had no idea how long the road was or where it went. The person who’d told him it ended right after the Heaven town limit had been Joan. It hardly seemed like the most egregious of the untruths she had told him.
There were scraps of metal and plastic scattered along the roadway over the length of three football fields. That was what was left of the Blast, which had gone out in a way that suited its name. A shred of nylon told him his pack had met the same fate.
How far was it back to the highway? Matt tried to remember how long the ride had taken him. He hadn’t been paying attention as he enjoyed the scenery, but it had been hours, certainly. Even if he’d been taking the curves as slowly as thirty miles per, walking back would take days. Days without food, water and shelter. All his supplies had been in his pack; now they were atoms.
And that was days of walking if he was in perfect shape. But as Matt took the step from the berm onto the asphalt, every inch of his body screamed out in pain. He’d twisted his right ankle severely-at least he hoped it was only a twist. His left wrist throbbed where he had slammed it into a rock on his landing. And he was pretty sure he’d cracked a couple of ribs.
He could start walking-limping, really-and hope for a ride, of course. Somebody could come along.
But the truck that had smashed his bike had been the only vehicle he’d seen on this road. Even if there were other loggers heading to the highway, if they drove like this one, they’d never stop to pick up a hitchhiker.
He couldn’t fault them. If he had to drive through Heaven, Washington, on a regular basis, he’d go as fast as his wheels would take him, too.
If Matt tried to walk back to the highway, he might well die on the way. Even if he made it, he’d be so hungry and thirsty and freezing by the time he got there he wouldn’t be able to do anything more than pray someone would pick him up and drop him off at the next motel. But Labor Day was long gone, and traffic was thin through the mountains. He might make it to the intersection only to die there.
That left him only one choice.
One terrible, hateful choice.
The sun broke free of the mountain and as it poured its light on the road, Matt could see it burning back up even more brightly. He staggered down the tarmac and kicked away a piece of fender. His axe lay underneath, astonishingly untouched by the crash. There was still some black ooze on the edge of the blade, but the rest of the head shone brightly in the new day’s sun.
Matt picked up the axe and hefted it in his hand. Then he turned around. A hundred yards in front of him he could see the first houses that marked Heaven’s boundary. And the bright, cheery banner that hung over Main Street:
Welcome home, Matt.
CHAPTER TEN
The main street was as deserted as it had been when he’d ridden in yesterday. Matt stood in the middle of the road, the axe dangling from one hand, and wondered what he should do next.
He didn’t have to wait long. The front door of the general store cracked open and a pair of dark eyes peered out. Then it was flung open. The same little girl who had led the procession the day before ran out into the street.
“It’s Matt!” she shouted, twirling in a circle to make sure her voice penetrated the buildings on both sides of the street. “He’s back.”
Matt stared at the little girl, as if hoping to see through her skin and learn if there were tumors there waiting to take her over. The axe was comfortable in his hand, but he would have used it on himself before he could raise it against a child.
“You know me?” he said.
“Know you?” she squealed. “I’ve been praying for you to come.” She turned back to the general store, to the door that had swung closed after her. “Everybody come out! It’s Matt! He’s come, just like I dreamed he would!”
The general store’s door fluttered as if it was trying to make up its mind. Then it opened slowly. An old woman appeared in the doorway. She was dressed like one of the town’s men, dirty jeans and a flannel shirt, but she wore a faded calico bonnet over her gray hair. Her skin was sun-browned and leathered; Matt thought she looked like a walnut in a hat. But her eyes were coal-black and diamond hard, and as she stepped out into the
