With a rough notion of where the hill was, he plunged on, searching for the small clearing where the Kawasaki Vulcan was chained. Getting to the motorcycle was requiring implicit faith in Lewis's directions and a hell of a lot of luck, but not nearly as much luck as he was going to need to get the five-hundred-pound bike back through the dense forest.
Locating the Vulcan turned out to be surprisingly easy. The key was maintaining a notion of where he was relative to the hills and keeping on until he hit the stream. Then he made a cautious right turn onto a narrow path and carefully inspected the woods until he spotted the bike.
Matt unlocked the machine and pushed it twenty feet or so over the uneven ground. Roots stopped him short, and even small rocks threw him off balance. He had estimated half a mile from the clearing where he had chained the motorcycle to the base of the hill. There was a chance that the damp, heavy air would swallow the noise of the engine, provided he didn't go too close to the men who were searching for them. But even if he managed to ride the bike through the forest to a spot equidistant to where Lewis was waiting, he would have to turn to the right and head back toward the hills where the guards were patrolling.
Were there any choices?
One possibility was to ignore Lewis's wishes and get the police and rescue squad involved immediately. Beyond trespassing in an area that wasn't even posted, they had really done nothing wrong, and whether their actions were lawful or not, their findings clearly showed the mine was guilty of storing and dumping toxic waste. Still, involving the Belinda police felt chancy at best. There was little sympathy for any of the Slocumbs in the official quarters of town, and it was well known that Police Chief Bill Grimes was tightly connected with Armand Stevenson.
Perhaps it would be worth contacting his uncle, he thought now. Hal was tight with Grimes, as he was with most of those in town.
Matt knew that if he didn't get help and something serious happened to Lewis, he would forever have trouble living with himself. But he would also have trouble living with himself if he betrayed the man's trust.
It was my clinical judgment, Lewis.
Well, screw yer clinical jedgment, boy. You jes signed our death warrant.
His stomach churning like a rock polisher, Matt checked the direction of the hill using his compass, started the engine, and swung the bike west into the dense forest. So much for clinical judgment.
Bushwhacking through heavy brush on a moonless night aboard a five-hundred-pound motorcycle built for the street was as challenging as running a disaster drill in the ER, and a hell of a lot more dangerous. Keeping his feet off the rests and his legs out straight for balance, Matt weaved between trees and under low-hanging branches, all the time trying desperately to keep from revving the engine too much. Brambles whipped across his visor and gouged his chin and lips. Once, the Vulcan skidded sideways on a thick root and fell over. Matt barely managed to keep his leg from being pinned underneath it or fried on the exhaust pipe. Five minutes… ten… Surely the engine noise had attracted attention by now. They probably had four-wheel ATVs and were already after the sound. Fifteen… It seemed like time to turn right toward the hill.
Hang on, Lewis.
Matt checked the compass, then cut the headlight and instead used the flashlight to illuminate the way. If they hadn't heard the growl of the 900cc engine by now, they would soon. Half a mile out, half a mile back. He checked the odometer every couple of minutes, as well as the compass. So far, so good. When he reached four- tenths of a mile, he stopped and cut the engine. Immediately, he was enfolded in a heavy silence. He waited a minute to let his senses adjust. Somewhere in the distance he thought he could hear voices. He had left Lewis about seventy-five yards from the hill — a bit less than a tenth of a mile. It was time to search on foot.
Matt leaned the bike against a tree and cautiously moved forward. The men's voices were clearer now, coming from somewhere to the right. He still couldn't make out any words, but the tone seemed urgent.
'Lewis,' he whispered loudly. 'Lewis, it's me.'
He moved another ten yards toward the hill. From somewhere far to his right, he heard a whining, high- pitched engine noise — probably an ATV.
'Lewis! Where are you?'
He felt as if he was the right distance from the base of the hill, but there was no way of knowing whether he had ridden too far before turning right, or not far enough. There was also the possibility that Lewis was either captured or, worse, beyond responding.
The whining engine seemed closer now, and Matt sensed himself beginning to panic. He cursed and called out to Lewis again, this time in a near-normal voice. Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind and hauled to the ground. He landed heavily, but keeping his wits he spun away from his assailant and whirled, preparing to be hit. Lewis knelt beside him, a finger to his lips.
'Per a damn doctor ya ain't so bright sometimes,' he said, pausing every few words to catch his breath. 'They ain't so far away now thet they woun't hear ya if'n you bellered much louder 'n thet — even over the racket a thet damn Honda they're ridin'.'
'How do you know that?'
'They 'uz here. Two of 'em. Not twen'y feet thet way. Dang near run me over.'
'The bike's fifty yards from here. Can you make it?'
'Jes gimme a hand an' Ah kin. This sucker's startin' ta bother me.'
Lewis's bravado could not mask his obvious pain and shortness of breath. Again Matt slipped his arm around his waist. This time it seemed as if he was leaning on him more.
'Hospital?' Matt asked hopefully.
'Ah'd go ta hell first.'
By the time they reached the Vulcan, Lewis was coughing again.
'This isn't going to be easy,' Matt said, helping him to straddle the passenger seat. 'The bike didn't do that well navigating through these woods.'
'Then you'd best move quickly. Thet thang they're drivin's made fer these woods.'
'Can you handle it?'
'Jes crank 'er up an' go, brother,' Lewis said.
He set his right hand on Matt's shoulder and grasped his shirt, holding his left arm in tightly to splint his chest. Matt had constructed emergency kits in the saddlebags of both the Harley and the Vulcan. But this wasn't the time to play doctor. He hit the starter and began slowly retracing the route he had taken in from the path. Within seconds, they heard an increase in the engine noise behind them and to the left. There was no way they were going to sneak off.
'Bust it!' Lewis ordered. 'Don' worry none abot me. Ah'll manage. Head thet way. It'll be shorter.'
Matt switched on the high beams and set his foot on the gearshift. He had never tested the Kawasaki off road at any speed, but now was the time. With a slight twist of the accelerator, the Vulcan shot forward into the heavy brush. The next quarter mile was as terrifying as anything Matt had ever done on a motorcycle. He drove between twenty and thirty, paying attention only to the larger trees. The dense undergrowth he simply plowed through. The Vulcan bounced mercilessly over roots and rocks. Several times, he felt as if Lewis was about to be thrown, but somehow the man managed to regain his grasp and hold on. Branches snapped across Matt's visor and ripped at skin that was already lashed raw. More than once they went airborne, landing with just enough momentum to remain upright. Then, after a series of vicious jolts that had Matt close to laying the bike down, they broke free of the forest and onto the path, headed away from the hills. Matt decelerated momentarily. There was no sound other than the steady thrum of his engine.
'You okay?' he asked.
'Jes get me back to the farm,' Lewis grunted. 'An' All thank ya not ta take me fer no Sunday drives agin.'
Just minutes after their arrival at the farm, Lewis's brothers were in action. Kyle wheeled Matt's motorcycle back to the barn, removed the first-aid kit from the saddlebag, and then concealed the bike beneath a tarp. Frank helped Matt bring Lewis to a tattered couch in the large, cluttered living room. Above them, a balustrade ran along the second-floor hallway, fronting several doors. Matt watched as Lyle opened a closet there and began removing all manner of rifles, shotguns, and even two semiautomatic weapons.
'What's he doing?' Matt asked.
'Them mine people's pretty crafty bastards,' Frank said matter-of-factly, gesturing up at the arsenal. 'We don'
