essentially a gentle person. His whole thinking was centred on
protecting and cherishing life, he could not pull the trigger.
With the truck fifteen feet away, he threw himself aside, and Johan
Akkers swung the wheel wildly, deliberately driving for him.
He caught Berg a glancing blow with the side of the truck, hurling him
into the earthen bank of the stream.
The truck went past him, slewing out of control. It hit the bank
farther down the stream in a burst of earth and loose pebbles, swaying
wildly as Akkers fought the bucking wheel. He got it under control
again, jammed his foot down on the accelerator and went roaring on down
the river bed, leaving Conrad lying in the soft sand below the bank.
As the truck hit him, Conrad felt the bone in his hip shatter like
glass, and the breath driven from his lungs by the heavy blow of metal
against his rib cage.
He lay in the sand on his side and felt the blood well slowly into his
mouth. It had a bitter salt taste, and he knew that one of the broken
ribs had pierced his lung like a lance and that the blood sprang from
deep within his body.
He turned his head and saw the radio set lying ten paces away across the
river bed. He began to drag himself towards it and his shattered leg
slithered after him, twisted at a grotesque angle.
David, he whispered into the microphone. I couldn't stop him. He got
away, and he spat a mouthful of blood into the white sand.
David picked the truck up as it came charging up the river bank below
the concrete bridge of the Luzane, bounced and bumped over the drainage
ditch and swung on to the road. It gathered speed swiftly and raced
westwards towards Bandolier Hill and the highway. Dust boiled out from
behind the green chassis, marking its position clearly for David as he
turned two miles ahead of it.
After crossing the Luzane the road turned sharply to avoid a rocky
outcrop, and then ran arrow-straight for two miles, hedged in with thick
timber and undulating like a switchback, striking across the water shed
and the grain of the land.
As David completed his turn he lowered his landing gear, and throttled
back. The Navajo sank down, lined up on the dusty road as though it was
a landing-strip.
Directly ahead was the dust column of the speeding truck. They were on
a head-on course, but David concentrated coldly on bringing the Navajo
down into the narrow lane between the high walls of timber. He was
speaking quietly to Debra, reassuring her and explaining what he was
going to attempt.
He touched down lightly on the narrow road, letting her float in easily,
and when she was down he opened the throttles again, taking her along
the centre of the road under power but holding her down. He had speed
enough to lift the Navajo off, if Akkers chose a collision rather than
surrender.
Ahead of them was another hump in the road, and as they rolled swiftly
towards it the green truck suddenly burst over the crest, not more than
a hundred yards ahead: Both vehicles were moving fast, coming together
at a combined speed of almost two hundred miles an hour, and the shock
