we need now's a little ground fire to make this a dream vacation.'
The chopper swung over the low ridge and dropped down closer to the road. Snow flurries splattered against the windshield. Below them the two-lane blacktop was still discernible although the snow was beginning to cover it. They had seen only three cars in the last twenty minutes. Hawk's gaze jumped from window to windshield as he roared two hundred feet over the rugged terrain. Beside him, Vail was navigating from a roadmap. They were following the state road that led to Crikside. Behind them, St Claire and Flaherty also scanned the road, Flaherty with a pair of binoculars. Hawk glanced at the clock.
Nine-twenty-two.
'How am I doing?' he yelled.
'We're about ten miles from the place. It's just over the next ridge.'
'I can't even see the next ridge,' Hawk said.
'It's eight or nine miles ahead of us. He can't be far ahead of us, not with the road conditions the way they are.'
'I thought we'd pick him up before this,' Hawk answered. 'He must be driving like a madman -
'He's coming here,' Vail answered with finality. 'He just stopped off in Winthrop long enough to satisfy his blood lust, claim another victim.'
'I think we missed him,' Hawk said.
'We ain't missed him,' said St Claire. 'Marty's right, been right all along.'
'You having one of your nudges?' Flaherty asked without taking his eyes off the road.
'This ain't a nudge, it's a reality,' Vail said, imitating St Claire's gruff voice. Their laughter eased the tension.
Flaherty leaned forward, the binoculars tapping the side window. 'I got some tracks,' he said.
'Where?' the others asked, almost in unison.
'Right under us. They're blowing off the road, but there's a car somewhere in front of us. Can we get lower?'
'This thing don't do well underground,' Hawk answered. But he dropped down another fifty feet.
'See anything?' Flaherty asked Vail.
'I can't see that far up the road. I'm not sure how close we are to that ridge. Maybe we ought to gain a little altitude. I can't tell exactly where we are on this map.'
'There it is,' said Flaherty.
They peered down in front of the chopper. Through the rushing snowflakes a car was visible racing through the storm.
Flaherty said, 'It's black… I can't tell the make, but it's a two-door.
'Gotta be the son-bitch,' St Claire said. He stuffed a fresh wad of tobacco into his cheek.
'We're coming up on that ridge,' Hawk said. 'We could be a couple hundred feet short.' He pulled back on the throttle, easing the chopper's speed.
'You're right on top of him,' said Vail. 'Slow her down a little more.'
Hawk cut the power a little more. He was heading for the ridge at about fifty miles an hour.
Below them, Stampler heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. He looked out the car window. It was no more than a hundred feet above him. To his right was another ridge, thick with pine trees. Ahead of him he saw a turnoff. A faded sign said:
KC&M
HILLSIDE DIVISION
Stampler hit the brakes and almost lost it. The car skittered across the road, showered up snow as it ripped through a low drift, and then swung back on the road. He got the car under control and turned into the road. A wooden horse was stretched across the entrance. Stampler tore through it, showering bits of wood into the trees. The macadam road was pitted by disuse and bad weather. He was having trouble keeping the sedan on the road. But he was climbing up the side of the ridge, forcing the chopper to gain altitude.
