They skirted the edge of the old town, but it seemed deserted.
'You think he panicked and took off?' Sally asked.
'I doubt it.'
They bypassed the cabin and moved swiftly through the trees, paralleling the dirt road. The truck was now less than a quarter mile ahead. Tom heard something and stopped, his heart pounding. It came again-the low calling of an owl. He pressed her hand and they continued on. In a few more minutes he saw the faint outline of the chain-link fence running through the trees.
He gave her a leg up.
She grasped the chain link and he lifted, the fence rattling in the quiet. In a moment she was over. He followed. They ran along the outside of the fence line and in a few moments Tom saw the gleam of moonlight off his stolen truck, still parked where he had left it near the locked gate. Except now the gate was wide
open.
'Where the hell is he?' Sally whispered.
Tom squeezed Sally's shoulder and whispered, 'Keep to the shadows, head down at all times, and get in the truck as quietly as possible. Then I'll start the engine and drive like hell.'
Sally nodded. She crept around to the passenger side, crouching below the level of the cab; Tom eased open the door and climbed in the driver's side. In a minute they were in the cab. Keeping his head below the level of the windows, Tom fished out the keys, inserted them in the ignition. He pressed down the clutch and turned to Sally.
'Hold on tight.'
Tom threw the switch and the truck roared to life. He jammed it into reverse and gunned the engine, the truck backing up while he spun the wheel. In that same moment a pair of bright headlights went on from a turnaround at the edge of the woods. There was a sudden thwang! thwang! of heavy-caliber rounds hitting steel, and the interior of the truck exploded in a storm of shattered glass and plastic.
'Down!'
Throwing himself sideways on the seat, he rammed it into first and floored it, the truck fishtailing onto the road, spraying a shower of gravel. Jamming it into second, he accelerated as he heard more rounds hitting the car. The wheels were spinning, and the back of the truck slewed back and forth. He raised his head up but could see nothing: the windshield was a spiderweb of shattered glass. He punched his fist through it, ripped out a hole big enough to see out of, and continued accelerating, the back fishtailing as they tore down the dirt road.
'Stay on the floor!'
He made the first turn and the shooting temporarily stopped, but he could now hear the roar of a car engine behind them and knew the shooter was coming after them-and a moment later the Range Rover skidded around the corner, its headlights stabbing past them.
Thwang! Thwang! more shots came from behind, hitting the roof of the cab, showering him with broken bits of plastic from the roof light. The truck was now moving fast and he jerked the wheel sideways and back, making them a weaving target. He felt the rear suddenly fishtailing and vibrating and he knew that at least one of the rear tires had been shot out.
'Gas!' Sally screamed from the floor. 'I smell gas!'
The tank had been hit.
Another thwang! followed by a dull shuddering whoosh. Tom instantly felt the heat, saw the glow from behind.
'We're on fire!' Sally screamed. She had her hand on the door handle. 'Jump!'
'No! Not yet!'
He steered the truck around another curve in the road, and the firing ceased for a moment. Up ahead, Tom saw where the road skirted the edge of the cliff. He gunned the engine, accelerating straight for it.
'Sally, I'm taking it off that cliff. When I say out, jump. Roll away from the wheels. Then get up and run. Head downhill toward the high mesas. Can you do it?'
'Got it!'
He gunned the engine, the cliff approaching. He grabbed the door handle and half opened the door, keeping the accelerator floored.
'Get ready!'
A beat.
'Now!'
He threw himself out, hitting the ground and rolling, regained his feet running. He could see Sally's dark figure on the far side, scrambling to her feet, just as the flaming truck disappeared over the cliff, the engine screaming like a diving eagle. There was a muffled roar and a sudden orange glow from the bottom of the cliff.
The Ranger Rover slamming on its brakes just in time, skidding to a stop at the cliff edge. The door opened. Tom had a glimpse of a shirtless man leaping out, a handgun in one hand and a flashlight in the other, with a rifle slung over his shoulder. Tom ran toward the steep slope just beyond the cliff, but the man had spotted Sally and was running after her, gun drawn.
'Hey, you son of a bitch!' Tom screamed, angling toward the man, hoping to draw him off, but the man kept on after Sally, rapidly gaining ground as she
limped from her leg wound. Fifty feet, forty. . . any moment he'd be close enough to put a bullet through her.
Tom pulled his .22. 'Hey, you bastard!'
The man coolly dropped to one knee and unshipped the rifle. Tom stopped and braced himself in a three-point stance, aiming with the .22. He'd never hit the man, but the shot might distract him. It was worth his last shot-it was Sally's only chance.
The man snugged the gun against his cheek and took aim. Tom fired. Instinctively, the man dropped to the ground.
Tom ran at him, waving the revolver like a madman. 'I'll kill you!'
The man rose back up and took aim, this time at Tom.
'I'm coming for you!' Tom cried, still charging.
The man squeezed the trigger-as Tom threw himself to the ground and rolled sideways.
The man looked back toward where Sally had been-but she was gone. He threw the rifle over his shoulder, drew his handgun, and came running after Tom.
Tom scrambled to his feet and ran downhill, sprinting for all he was worth, leaping over boulders and fallen trees, glad that the man was now chasing him. The beam from the man's flashlight roved crazily over his head, flickering through the low branches of the trees. He heard a double crack! crack! of a handgun, the sound of a round smacking a tree to his right. He dove forward, rolled, was back on his feet and leaping diagonally down the hillside. The man was about a hundred feet behind.
The light beam stabbed past him. Two more shots whacked trees on either side. Tom leapt, wove, dodged, zigzagged among the trees. The hill was getting steeper and the trees thicker. The man behind was keeping up, even gaining. He had to keep drawing him off, to get him well clear of Sally.
He deliberately slowed, cutting to the left, farther from Sally. More bullets ripped past him, tearing a piece of bark off a tree to his right.
Tom kept running.
24
WEED MADDOX SAW he was steadily gaining on Broadbent. He'd stopped three times to fire, but each time he was too far away and the pause only let Broadbent regain the ground he had lost. He had to be careful; Broadbent had some kind of small-caliber weapon, no match for his Clock, but still dangerous. He had to take care of him first, and then do the woman.
The hill got steeper, the trees thicker. Broadbent was now running down a sloping draw with a dry watercourse at the bottom. He was fast, damned fast, but Maddox was gaining. His training in the Army, his exercise regimen, his running and yoga, all this was the payoff. Broadbent wasn't going to escape.
He saw Broadbent veer to the left. Maddox cut the corner with a diagonal, gaining even more ground. Another few minutes and the son of a bitch would be lying at his feet, his head open like a purse. Broadbent kept dodging, trying to put trees between him and his pursuer. The hill was plunging downward ever steeper, the draw
