Show of Evil

But it didn't. He could hear it, chung, chung, chung, chung over his head. The car skewed beneath him, its wheels spinning helplessly on the snow-packed road. He lost control, slammed on the brakes, and sent the car into a wild spin. It teetered on the edge of a ditch, then spun out the other way and plunged off the road. Stampler saw the trees hurtling towards him, crossed his arms over the steering wheel, and put his head against them as the car swiped one tree and crashed into the one beyond it. The bonnet flew up and shattered the windshield. Stampler's arms took the brunt of the blow. Numbly, he felt for the door handle, pulled it back, and tumbled out of the car. Small whirlwinds of snow spun around him and he looked up. The chopper was fifty feet over his head. He dived into the trees and started running.

Hawk looked around at the forest that encroached on him. Tree limbs reached treacherously out over the road.

'I'm not sure I've got enough room to put down here,' he yelled. 'But it's a helluva lot safer than trying to follow him up this damn mountain.'

He lowered the helicopter slowly to the ground. The rotors thrashed at the tree limbs, snapping them off, scattered the debris into the air. Hawk eased it down, felt the skids hit the ground and settle in.

'Okay, we're down,' he said, and Vail, Flaherty, and St Claire scrambled out. Vail vaulted the ditch and took off after Stampler, with Flaherty close behind. St Claire wasn't as lucky. He slipped on the muddy bank and fell, twisting his ankle.

'KeeRIST!' he yelled. Vail turned, raced back to him.

'Just get goin',' St Claire said. 'It ain't broke. Here, take this.'

He pulled the .357 from under his arm and handed it to Vail. When Vail hesitated, St Claire said, 'Hell, you might not use the damn thing, but it's one helluva good scare card.' Vail took the gun and ran off into the forest.

Stampler stumbled out into a clearing, gasping for breath, clutching at the pain in his side. He was in front of the shambles of a wooden office building, boarded up and rotting. He stared around at the snowy landscape. His gaze settled on the muscular steel framework of a lift. It was vaguely familiar, the relic, now idle and rusted. A large sign said:

CLOSED

TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

KENTUCKY COAL AND MINING COMPANY

Even obscured by snow, the place began to take on an air of familiarity. Memories began nibbling at his mind and with them a gnawing sense of apprehension. In his mind, he heard the sound of the lift clinking and groaning as it lowered men into the guts of the earth. Blackened faces and haunted eyes filtered through his flashback like demons in a nightmare.

He remembered awakening on his ninth birthday, seeing the hard hat with the ominous lamp on the front perched on the chair beside his bed, and the fear that went with his 'present'. He remembered shrinking down on the bed, trying to keep from crying, knowing that on this day he was going down into the hole, that fearful pit, for the first time; being so terrified, he threw up on the way there; and the boss man standing right where he was standing now in front of the office, looking down at him, grinning, telling him today he was going to become a man. 'Stampler!'

Stampler turned and, there, across the snowy clearing, stood Vail. Perhaps fifty yards away, on the opposite side of the clearing. From the corner of his eye he saw another man emerge from the forest, a younger man, who joined Vail. They stood and waited for him.

Stampler started across the clearing, past the ghostly silhouette of the lift shaft, heading for the opposite side of the clearing, the snow squeaking underfoot as he made his way across a low mound that separated him from his nemesis. 'Stampler!'

Vail raised his hand. He was aiming a gun at him. The other one, the younger one, also had a pistol, but he stood with his gun hand lowered at his side. The ground seemed to groan underfoot. Vail aimed the gun over Stampler's head and fired a shot. Its thunder echoed through the trees and snow showered down from the limbs. Stampler stopped, glared across the white expanse at Vail.

'You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, would you, Counsellor?'

'Don't kid yourself.'

Stampler leered at him. 'Know what it's like, now, don't you, Marty? Blood for blood. We're not that different, you and me.'

Vail did not answer. He pondered the question, thinking about the carnage of the last twelve hours; about Abel and Jane fighting for their lives; about Shoat and Dr Rifkin and a good cop and poor Molly Arrington, innocents all, sacrificed on Stampler's altar of vengeance. And about Rebecca, who had planted the seeds of Stampler's hate and also had the blood of Alex and Linda on her hands. Five people dead, three in just half a day, and two gravely injured. And of all his targets only Vail had escaped the madman's wrath.

Stampler slipped back into his Crikside accent for a moment. 'Now,