Zelazny, Roger - Novel 07 (13 page)

 
          
 
We were back on the road in a matter of
seconds, with nothing else in sight. It was open country all around us, and I
was not certain exactly where we were, not that it mattered. We moved fast.

 
          
 
I was beginning to feel safe when we passed
Cornudo Hills and took a turn to the northwest. I judged it had been about an
hour since we had left the hospital. I felt some of the tension go out of me
even as I wondered whether my absence had yet been noted. Even if it had, the
trail was already beginning to cloud. More miles, more time...

 
          
 
Another half-hour and I was beginning to think
we could make it. It was then that the driver spotted the police.

 
          
 
"Cops back of us," he announced.
"They are not coming fast or blinking, though. Might just be a normal
patrol."

 
          
 
"Might not, too," Quick said,
leaning to the side and looking up. "Nothing in the sky, though," he
added. "Of course, that doesn't prove anything, not when the terrain's
this irregular. A flier could be circling anywhere, waiting for a car to call
it in. If they are onto the break, cars will be alert all over the area and the
fliers making regular passes."

 
          
 
"He's picked up a little speed," the
driver said. "Gaining on us. Should I try to run for it?"

 
          
 
"No," I said. "That will draw
attention. It may be nothing."

 
          
 
I rolled down the window.

 
          
 
"If they stop us and find that gun,"
Quick said, "they will take a closer look and they'll be bound to
recognize you. So you might as well be ready to use it."

 
          
 
"I know," I said.

 
          
 
"Getting closer," the driver said.

 
          
 
"Any weapons in sight?" I asked.

 
          
 
"No. Not that that proves anything. There
is a gun under my seat, too. Anybody want it?"

 
          
 
"Pass it here," Quick said.
"Between the seats, not up where they can see it."

 
          
 
The driver leaned forward, straightened. Quick
took the pistol from his hand.

 
          
 
"They are moving out to pass now. Maybe
they will just go by."

 
          
 
Seconds later, I heard the siren.

 
          
 
I turned. They were right alongside us.
Nothing to lose now. I fired twice at the right front tire and hit it.

 
          
 
"Go!" I shouted.

 
          
 
We did. There was gunfire behind us and the
rear window was broken, but Quick and I were already crouched. None of us was
hurt.

 
          
 
When I looked back shortly thereafter, the
patrol car was drawn up by the side of the road. A dip, a curve, and they were
out of sight.

 
          
 
"They're on the radio by now," our
former driver said.

 
          
 
"Sure," the present driver said.
"It shouldn't be too long now and they'll be on us from the air. Any
suggestions?"

 
          
 
"We don't know how far away the nearest
flier is," Quick said. "It could be several minutes off."

 
          
 
"So? Catch us now or catch us in a couple
minutes—what difference does it make?"

 
          
 
"So, we keep going. No sense trying to
get out of sight if they know we're here. They would just block off the roads,
bring in a lot of men and start beating the bushes. Keep going till we actually
see a flier."

 
          
 
"By then it's too late."

 
          
 
"Maybe not. There are four of us in here.
They can't tell who's who from the air. When we see the thing, you pull over.
One of us gets out and takes off. The rest keep going. What'll they do?"

 
          
 
"I don't know. Chase the man and call for
another flier maybe."

 
          
 
"Great. There can't be another one too
close by. We gain a lot of distance. They close again, we drop another. That
might be enough for you and Rod to make it. If not, you drop him and keep
going. For all they know, he's driving. —Rod, it looks as if you might get that
chance to live off the land pretty soon."

 
          
 
"Maybe so," I said.

 
          
 
"Who goes first?" the other driver
asked.

 
          
 
"I don't care," Quick said. "Is
there more ammo for this piece?"

 
          
 
"Yeah, almost a full box.*

 
          
 
"Pass it back."

 
          
 
It came.

 
          
 
"Wait a minute," our previous driver
said. "Til go first. If you are figuring on shooting it out with them, I don't
want to be second—armed or unarmed. I wouldn't have a chance. Drop me first and
HI give them a good run for it. Then if you get a turn at it, do whatever you
want."

 
          
 
"Okay, fair enough/'

 
          
 
"Those .38 longs?" I asked him.

 
          
 
"Yep."

 
          
 
"Then give me a dozen or so," I
said.

 
          
 
"Check."

 
          
 
He pulled a handful and passed them over. I
dropped them in my pocket.

 
          
 
Quick continued his survey of the sky.

 
          
 
"Nothing yet," he said. "Wonder
how they found us so fast? Think they picked up those two dockhands? Or just
luck?"

 
          
 
I shrugged.

 
          
 
"Doesn't much matter now," I said.

 
          
 
"No."

 
          
 
It was several miles—and again, I was almost
beginning to believe we might make it—when Quick caught sight of the flier,
topping a range of hills, dropping, coming in low.

           
 
"Okay, this is it," he said.
"Pull over."

 
          
 
We did, and the other driver scrambled out.

 
          
 
"Luck," I said.

 
          
 
"Thanks."

 
          
 
He took off, sliding and running down the
hillside off the road's shoulder.

 
          
 
"What was his name, anyway?" I asked
as we moved forward again.

 
          
 
"Bob," Quick said. "That's all
I know."

 
          
 
The pilot of the flier could not seem to make
up his mind at first. He took the craft up higher and began circling. I suppose
he could see Bob and us both at his new altitude.

 
          
 
"Keeping an eye on us while he calls for
instructions," Quick said. "Bet they tell him to chase Bob."

 
          
 
"I don't suppose our next changeover is
any too soon," I said.

 
          
 
"Sorry," said the driver. "I
wish it were, too. Listen, they know where we are right now. If we stay on this
drag, they'll box us in. What say I try a side road? I am not familiar with
them around here, though. Are either of you?"

 
          
 
"No."

 
          
 
"No."

 
          
 
"What do you think?" he asked.

 
          
 
"Go ahead," I told him. "Pick a
good one."

 
          
 
But there were no decent turnoffs for the next
five or six miles. The flier, true to Quick's prediction, had finally dropped
and vanished. I imagined that cars from
Taos
would be heading down the road toward us
now.

 
          
 
"Better make it the first one that comes
up," I said.

 
          
 
He nodded.

 
          
 
"I think I see it now."

 
          
 
He slowed as we approached it. It led down to
the right. It was surfaced, but years overdue for maintenance.

 
          
 
It slowed us, but I heard myself sigh after
the first mile or so. It did not peter out, did not worsen. There was no one in
sight, anywhere.

 
          
 
The sun still had a long way to go. On foot,
after dark, my chances might be better, I decided.

 
          
 
"I don't suppose there's a canteen of
water aboard?" I asked.

 
          
 
The driver chuckled.

 
          
 
"Afraid not," he said. "I
wasn't figuring on anything but taxi service."

 
          
 
"Next time you'll know better," I
said. "Pull over by those trees up ahead and drop me off."

 
          
 
"Okay."

 
          
 
"That is not the plan," Quick said.

 
          
 
"No, but it's a better one," I said.
"If I can stay out of sight till after dark I can do a lot of hiking
before morning."

 
          
 
We reached the trees, came to a halt.

 
          
 
"See you around," I said.

 
          
 
I got out and headed away. The driver called
something after me. It sounded like "Good luck."

 
          
 
It was minutes later and some distance from
there that I heard the flier. I was under the trees, on the ground, motionless,
in a moment. I did not even look up. I just waited for it to pass.

 
          
 
But it did not.

 
          
 
The sounds of its engines reached a maximum
and held there. Finally, I looked up. It was circling.

 
          
 
Damn! Why? It had not been in sight when I had
gotten out. It should be looking for the car. Unless ... I spat out some dust.
Unless they had a personnel detector of some sort—infrared, a heat spotter—and
were scanning the area, had picked up my outline.