Michael Palmer - Fatal

"Bike?"

"Motorcycle. Please."

She let him pull her upright, then used his arm for balance.

"Sit up in front of me until I'm sure you can hold on," he said. "Just keep your feet right here, away from the engine, or you'll be burned. Hold on to my arms or the handlebars. Ready?"

"Ready. How did you — ?"

"I'll explain everything after we're out of here."

Headlight off, Matt accelerated. He slowed briefly as they passed Larry.

"Is he dead?" Nikki asked.

"I don't think so. He's taking a voyage on the good ship Ketamine."

"Matt!"

"It's them."

Ahead, the dirt drive swung sharply to their right. Through the trees, they could see headlights bobbing toward them. Matt waited until the approaching high beams were just about to reach them, then he threw on his own high beam and accelerated. Before a startled Verne could react, the motorcycle had sped past. Matt caught enough of a glimpse of Bill Grimes in the passenger seat to see his recognition. Through the rearview of the bike he saw the Land Rover make a rapid two-part U-turn.

"Hold on tight, Nikki," he said. "This isn't going to be easy."

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.