Fatal

CHAPTER 21

Matt sped down the dirt drive with some confidence. The Land Rover was far better on the ruts than his street bike, but at the end of the drive, he could make a right turn and head to the wooded trail at the end of the road. The Harley certainly wasn't equipped for off-road riding, but from what he remembered, the trail was too rugged and narrow for a car of any kind, even the one pursuing them.

"Duck down a little bit and the windshield will keep things out of your eyes," he cried out.

The small windscreen was sloped to deflect air — and bugs — up and over the head of the driver and anyone on the passenger seat. Their arrangement, though, with Nikki in front, placed her face directly in the jet stream. She hunched over as he suggested and continued to be a perfect passenger, flowing with the turns of the bike rather than trying to help Matt make them happen, and keeping her exposed feet and ankles away from the scalding exhaust system.

As they neared the end of the drive, Matt risked a peek over his shoulder. Verne and Grimes were still a ways back, but it appeared as if they had made up some ground.

"Hang on tight!" he yelled as the end of the long driveway suddenly appeared.

He downshifted and just managed to lean through the ninety-degree right turn without sending the bike skidding out from under them. When he was a teen he had done some dirt-bike racing and even a little motocross, but the kids he topped in Geometry and English at school consistently trounced him on the track. Now what skills he did have were about to be sorely put to the test. They were on a six-hundred-pound touring machine headed toward the woods. He added just a bit of throttle and, engine screaming, they shot forward. Moments later he saw the high beams of the Land Rover dance against the trees as it, too, turned onto the road. After half a mile or so, the pavement turned to gravel, then to uneven, rocky dirt. The shocks on the Harley were more sluggish than those of an off-road machine and Matt had to slow a bit to keep the two of them from being bucked off.

"You okay?" he hollered.

Nikki nodded and ducked her head even farther down beneath the windscreen. The night was too cool and breezy for her to be comfortable in a set of scrubs. Her hands clutched his forearms with some strength, but he doubted she would be able to hang on tightly enough to remain aboard the passenger seat.

You bastard, Grimes, Matt was thinking, holding her in place. If it's the last thing I do, you're going to pay for this.

He scanned ahead, looking for the expected trail. They had already gone farther than he remembered. Instead of narrowing, though, the roadway actually seemed to widen and become more smoothly graded. Just then his high beam reflected brightly off the white of a billboard-sized sign up ahead, featuring artwork depicting happy boaters, fishermen, swimmers, tennis players, golfers, and barbecuers.

COMING SOON SHADY LAKE MANOR ESTATES A GATED PLANNED COMMUNITY WASHAW, WEST VIRGINIA THE PLACE TO BE IN THE EASTERN MOUNTAINS BUILDING LOTS GOING FAST RESERVE YOURS NOW

Planned community! so much for the narrow dirt-bike trails. They had just cruised through the forest that Matt had anticipated would separate them from Grimes and his henchman. In fact, they were out of Belinda entirely and into the next town. Trouble.

The lots of Shady Lake Manor Estates might have been going fast, but the landscaping and construction still had a long way to go. The land had been clear-cut, but at the moment, the place to be in the eastern mountains consisted of a maze of interconnected dirt streets demarcating large dirt lots. There was no lighting, and very little in the way of heavy equipment, and Matt wondered if the project might have gone under. He hoped so. To his way of thinking, such "communities" gouged the landscape as much as any strip mine. But while there was little in the way of construction paraphernalia throughout Shady Lake Manor, what there was, everywhere, were signs. Street signs, directional arrow signs; future-home-of signs, lot-number signs; a sign by a broad, shallow foundation hole that read: CLUBHOUSE; another nearby that boasted: CENTRAL POOL.

Well, Mr. and Mrs. Jones, that number 281 stuck in the mud over there may not look like much at the moment, but…

There was no question Verne was gaining on them now. Less than fifty yards separated them. There was virtually no terrain over which the Land Rover didn't have a heavy advantage. In fact, the situation at the moment was so one-sided that Matt actually had a vivid image of Grimes laughing at them.

Matt scanned ahead for some way to put more distance between them. The Land Rover was way too close to consider trying to search out a place to hide. The only hope he could see was to work toward the far side of Shady Lake Manor by making sharp, unpredictable turns, and hope that they could find the opening to a narrow track and escape into the woods. He tried cutting across some lots and hit a steep slope of firm, packed dirt that sent the Harley airborne. The landing was anything but smooth. Nikki cried out as her head snapped forward against the windshield. Behind them, Verne took the same jump with ease.

Back on one of the streets, Matt sped onto rolling, sparsely treed land that was probably a golf course in the making. They were bouncing viciously now. Matt did his best to avoid the major pits and rises, but they were moving too fast for him to do much in the way of prevention. Then, up ahead, his headlight glinted off a vast, uniform darkness. Before he could completely analyze the situation, they were airborne again, sailing over the edge of what was one day to be Shady Lake.

"Sit up straight and hang on!" he screamed.

Just as Nikki did so, the bike landed with surprising gentleness on the side of a steep embankment, maybe twenty-five feet high. At the bottom of the slope, as far as Matt could see, was water. What there was of the lake could have been six inches deep or six feet. There was no way to tell. They were out of control, speeding and skidding downward toward the smooth blackness. But Matt had been riding motorcycles of one kind or another for most of his life. By staying upright, using his outstretched feet, and delicately playing the front and rear brakes, he was able to skid the Harley into a right-hand turn and onto a stony rim just a foot or so from the water.

Nicely done, he thought.

He cut the lights and braked to a stop. Nikki sighed loudly, straightened up, and sank back against him. He quickly stripped his jacket off and helped her get it on.

"I knew I'd hate this," she groaned.

"What are you talking about?"

"This is my first time on a motorcycle. Now I know why I said no thanks so many times."

"But this isn't exactly — "

"Rutledge!"

High up and behind them, Verne had pulled to a stop at the rim. The twin beams of the Land Rover knifed out over the huge crater. Against the bright night sky, Matt could make out Grimes's silhouette, standing hands on hips on the edge of the embankment.

"What?" Matt yelled up, using the light from the Rover to scan the nearly empty lake. The sides, as far as he could see, were too steep to ride back up, but he sensed he was viewing only a small portion of the excavation. The lake bed itself was lined with three-or four-inch stones, extending up a foot or so beyond where they were standing. If the water wasn't too deep, and if the stones covered the entire bottom, it was possible they could ride across. Big ifs. And ride across to what?

"There's no way out of there except on foot, Matt. Come up and let's talk."

"Sounds good to me. You've always been an upstanding, trustworthy guy. Just turn off those lights and we'll be right up."

"Rutledge, my man has a rifle and he's a damn good shot. Come out of there now and I can keep you from getting killed."

"Just how do you plan on doing that?" he asked, buying a little time. "Nikki," he whispered, "how're you holding up?"

"My kidneys are still bouncing, and my heart hasn't slowed down from that little ride down the cliff, but at least I'm not thinking about my headache anymore. Where are we?"

Matt was pleased to hear her humor, and if anything, her voice sounded stronger.

"We're in Disneyland a year or two before Mickey arrives," he replied. "Listen, if you can handle it, I'm going to try and motor around the lake just in case the slope gets any less someplace and we can drive out. Can you hang on?"

"Would it be easier if I was on the back?"

"Not if you fall off."

"I can do it."

"Keep your feet on those rests at all times. If you hit the exhaust with your bare tootsies, you're going to need smaller shoes."

"Rutledge, this is your last chance!"

"Okay, we're coming, we're coming," Matt called out, buying time. "Nikki, you all set?"

"Is there something I should be holding on to?"

"Those railings beside your seat, or else me."

She slipped her arms around his waist, squeezed tightly, and pressed her cheek against his back.

"Go," she said.

Matt squinted through the darkness to gauge how far ahead he could see in order to skirt the water's edge without turning on his headlight. Then he picked up a stone and threw it across the water as far as he could. Along with a splash, he heard the distinct click of rock hitting rock. That far out at least the water was very shallow.

"Rutledge!"

Matt shifted into first and gunned the Harley ahead. If there was a rifle crack from overhead, he didn't hear it. Ten, twenty, thirty mph. The magnificent bike surged forward over the stones. Over his shoulder he could see that the Rover had backed up and was now paralleling them overhead, a short distance back. The darkness made speed difficult, and Matt finally gave in and switched on his light for a short while. The lake, while not quite as vast as he had thought, was an oval, maybe half a mile long and a quarter mile across. If, in fact, it had actually been a shady lake, there might have been some trees overhead to slow up or even detour Verne and Grimes. But as things stood, they were having no trouble racing along twenty or thirty feet above them. The engine noise from the Harley reverberated off the water and the steep walls, making it impossible to tell if they were being fired on or not.

It was then that Matt spotted the opening up ahead. It was a massive, corrugated steel tunnel built through the embankment on their right. The opening was about six feet across, and the floor was three feet or so above the stony track where they were riding. From the way it was positioned, it had to have been constructed to empty the lake. He judged that there was enough of a slope up to the floor so that they could make it over the edge and inside — provided they came at it head-on, through the water. If the depth at the center of the lake was greater than a foot, though, they probably wouldn't make it across on the Harley. Matt thought about looping out into the lake and then back toward the tunnel, but that would still leave Grimes and Verne directly above them. Riding across from the other side made more sense — provided, of course, they made it.

He switched on the high beam of the Harley, checked the odometer as they passed the tunnel, and accelerated again. The shifting stones made it challenging to keep the bike upright. Thirty felt barely controllable, but he pushed the bike to thirty-five. Overhead, the Land Rover kept pace.

Nikki continued to be the perfect passenger, holding on tightly, yet staying relaxed enough not to affect Matt's delicate balancing act. The woman was tough.

To their right, the embankment continued steep and high. The slim hope that there would be a gentler slope at the end of the lake vanished. If anything, the grade was even sharper. As they passed the hairpin end and sped down the other side, Matt watched the odometer until he was at the point directly across the lake from the tunnel. Then he cut off his headlight and made a sharp left-hand turn into the water. If Nikki was startled at the move, she hid it

well. Matt plowed ahead as fast as he dared. The water — probably from recent heavy rains — was six or so inches deep, and the stony bottom was identical to the track on which they had been riding. If the depth increased much, passage would probably be impossible. If they stalled and couldn't get restarted, Matt had decided to leave the bike where it was and try to make it to the tunnel on foot.

"Come on, baby," he urged. "You can do this."

Through his rearview, he could see the lights of the Rover shining directly out over the lake. Confusion at last, he thought, smiling.

Come on, bike!

They were at least at the center of the lake now and the depth was holding. If he could keep the Harley upright while maintaining his speed slow enough to prevent water from splashing up into the electrical system, they were going to make it across. His fear now was that even though he entered the water at the right spot, he hadn't held a straight enough line during the crossing. Behind them, the Land Rover was on the move again, continuing around the lake toward the spot where they had started. With luck, neither Verne nor Grimes knew anything about the tunnel. If that was the case, in Matt's perfect scenario, he, Nikki, and the Harley would vanish like something straight out of Siegfried and Roy.

He waited as long as he dared, then flicked on the headlight. They were no more than fifty yards from shore, and the tunnel was there, just twenty feet or so to the right.

"Hang on tight!" he hollered over his shoulder.

The arms around him tightened a notch. He swung right, straightening the path to the opening, and called on the Harley for some more speed. Engine screaming, they exploded out of the water, up the low bank, and hurtled into the tunnel. The corrugated steel ceiling flashed past less than a foot above their heads. The bike jounced viciously over the floor. Ahead, there was only darkness. Ten yards, twenty, fifty. Matt slowed. The end of the tunnel was just ahead. He cut the light and rolled out into a dry streambed that sloped gently downhill. Braking to a stop, he checked behind them. The metal tunnel was built into concrete, with a massive metal door that was, gratefully, open all the way. It seemed that Shady Lake was something of an engineering marvel — a reservoir that provided recreation and a source of water for the pools and golf course. It wasn't clear where the water to fill the lake would be diverted from. Maybe that's why the construction had stalled, Matt mused, smiling.

Lights off, they cautiously followed the streambed through the rolling outline of what one day was to have been the golf course. Behind them, toward the lake, there was only darkness.

"How are we doing?" Nikki asked softly, her cheek still pressed against Matt's back.

"Well, I think we're going to make it out of this place," he said, mopping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "The question now is: Where to from here?"

"Boston," she said firmly. "Take us to Boston."