Runner

bullets hit the car?'

'I don't think so. What does that sound like?'

'You'll know when you hear it. We're alive and the engine still runs, and I think we're going to have to get rid of this car anyway. It'll just be easier with no holes in it.' Jane looked in the rearview mirror every few seconds. 'They're not following us. I wonder what's keeping them.' She looked again. 'I get it.'

'Get what?'

'There weren't five of them back there, only three. They must have gone ahead to set up the roadblock, and the others have been coming along behind us. Now they'll be waiting for us somewhere along this road.'

'What can we do?'

'There was a turnoff for a county highway back there. We'll head for that as fast as we can. Most likely the two who were following us will have heard we're coming back this way, and they'll be trying to block the road so we'll have one roadblock ahead and one behind. If we're faster than they expect, then maybe we can make the turn and never meet them.'

Christine felt the car accelerating again, and pushed her body back into the seat. 'Don't you think we could turn on the headlights?'

'I can make out the broken white line. As long as I keep it a foot to my left, we'll be okay. Just check your lap belt so it rides around your hips, tighten the chest belt so it's comfortable and holds you still, and let this happen.'

Christine was silent, just did as Jane had said. Jane watched the dark road, concentrating on keeping her speed as high as she dared, and steering partly by the memory of the road she had from driving it in the opposite direction and partly by staring down at the blur of lines coming at her from the darkness like projectiles, then slipping past her left tire. After a couple of minutes she caught herself letting the moonlight on a stretch of bare ground ahead fool her into interpreting it as part of the pavement, but she managed to correct the car's course and stay on the road. She looked into the rearview mirror for a second, but saw no sign of the cars from the roadblock, not even a glow of headlights approaching the top of the rise. Jane returned her eyes to the road ahead, and after the next turn, the rise was out of sight.

A set of headlights appeared far ahead of them, then another set. 'Two cars,' said Christine. 'Do you think it's the others?'

Jane squinted at the two sets of headlights coming toward them. One car pulled to the left as though to pass, but it was the front car. Now there was one car coming at them in each lane. Jane switched on her headlights.

The car approaching in Jane's lane blinked its high beams on, then off.

Jane switched on her brights and left them on. She kept her foot on the gas pedal, maintaining her speed toward the car in her lane.

'Don't play chicken with them!'

'I'm not playing,' said Jane.

The pair of cars stayed together, streaking toward them. In one of the cars, the driver punched the horn three times, then stiff-armed it, holding it down so the sound started high and seemed to go down the scale as the cars approached.

The row of four headlights kept growing bigger and brighter. The two cars seemed to be linked, impossible to separate, impossible to avoid. Christine put her hands in front of her face. 'Oh God oh God,' she said.

The car in Jane's lane wavered a little, then altered its course slightly and moved to the shoulder of the road to allow Jane to pass between the two cars, but Jane muttered, 'It's not that easy.' She pulled onto the shoulder, too, so she was once again on a course to collide with the car.

'Stop! You're crazy!' Christine shouted.

The driver of the car that was approaching them had no choice except to veer farther to the left and sail off the shoulder in the only direction that was open, into the sloping field below the road.

Jane and the remaining car passed each other at high speed, and she looked into the rearview mirror as she moved along the highway. The car in the field was stopped, enveloped in a cloud of dust. Jane couldn't tell how badly it was damaged. The car on the road pulled over. Its white backup lights came on, and it backed up until it was close to the spot where the other car had stopped. Jane saw the dome light go on and off, and someone ran from the car across the road, and then she lost sight of them.

Jane drove faster now, searching for the junction she had remembered, and then took the turn. She glanced at Christine. 'You okay?'

Christine was breathing heavily, as though she had run a race. There were tears running from her widened eyes. 'I can't believe you did that.'

'I didn't chase them. They chased us.'

'You know what I mean.'

'They're hired hands. That means they're willing to kill us for money. It doesn't mean they're willing to die for money.'

'You bet our lives on that? And my baby's life, too. You weren't just trying to get past. You wanted to force that car off the road.'

Jane turned to look at her in curiosity. 'Of course.' Then she returned her eyes to the road and kept driving.

CARL MCGINNIS LAY on his back, exactly where the white car had thrown him, on the damp, weedy slope beside the shoulder of the road. He could smell the sweet aroma of crushed plants near his head. He knew he was hurt badly. He suspected he might be in some kind of shock, and he suspected that if he moved what was waiting for him was pain, so he had not tried to move yet. Breathing was difficult, so he supposed he must have broken some ribs. He lay there staring up at the sky with an expression like a man listening.

Steve Demming's head and torso appeared above him, a deeper darkness bending to block the night sky. 'Carl, I know it hurts. But can you tell me how bad it is?'

Carl was unable to make out Demming's face well enough to read his expression in the dark. He was too frightened to complete the inventory of his injuries. He knew there must be a reservoir of pain waiting, and it would burst and overwhelm him if he moved in the wrong way. He had heard impatience and frustration in Demming's voice. What Demming wanted was to hear Carl say, 'I'm all right,' and then watch him get up and walk it off. Carl could tell that he wasn't going to be able to stand up. He stared up at Demming's dark shape against the sky, but was unable to gather enough air into his lungs to calm his impatience.

Carl heard a cell telephone buzz, then Demming's voice again. 'Yeah?' There was a long pause. 'I hear you. Jesus, what a night. You might as well keep coming and meet us. We're still set up here. Carl got hit by her car. Yeah. It looks that way. Okay. Bye.' Carl heard Demming's heavy footsteps receding, and then some low conversation with Pete Tilton.

Carl heard one of the car doors open and shut, and the sound of the car engine as one of the two men moved the car off the road and parked it on the shoulder, then the same thing repeated as they moved the other car. Then there was silence again. He couldn't move his head enough to see, but he supposed they were sitting together talking inside one of the cars, while he was out here in the open, alone and helpless. After a while Carl heard more cars approaching from a distance.

Steve Demming got out of the car and leaned against the hood while he watched the headlights of the two women's vehicles coming toward him. The hot, humid air outside the car reminded him of how alien this place was to him. San Diego air was dry and flowing, either fresh from the ocean or fresh from the desert. This air was thick with moisture, and it seemed heavy, like something draped on him. As he waited, it seemed to him that the chirping of crickets was growing even louder. He sighed. This should have been a simple, easy errand, like going to pick up a stray dog at a pound. It occurred to him that he was as miserable at this moment as he had been in his life.

The two cars dipped forward a bit as the two women applied their brakes, and then they rolled off onto the shoulder. When they stopped, their headlights illuminated big clouds of dust in the air. One set of lights went out, and Demming saw the tall, slender shape of Sybil Landreau silhouetted for a moment in the headlights of the other car before the second set of headlights went out. A moment later he saw Claudia's shorter form trotting toward him. The two women joined Demming at the front of his car. 'How bad is he?' asked Claudia.

'Bad,' Demming said. 'He can barely breathe. If you listen, you can probably hear it from here. When I talked