Necessity

54 The Jeep gathers speed, rushing the fence. She’s got her foot hard and flat on the gas and she’s braced against the wheel again, heedless of the pain in that arm, tensing her left hand and arm around the baby in a grip an ape couldn’t pry loose, lowering her head instinctively to protect her eyes if the windshield goes, hearing the thunder of the overstrained engine and the high whine of the gearboxes, feeling the seat pitch around as the tight shoulder and lap belts yank her around with it, aware of the Bronco speeding toward her from behind and everything it means.

She’s not sure whether the screaming is Ellen’s or her own.

Impact. Ellen is nearly torn from her grasp. A great rending racket all around her—compound of tearing metal and crunching glass and screeching friction. She knows only a desperate need to keep her foot jammed down on the throttle. She’s got the fingers of her right hand locked around the wheel and for a moment the pressure of her own weight is so great that she’s sure either the wheel will shatter or her arm must break. The seat is lurching, turning, tipping to the side. She blinks and tries to see through squinted eyes; images flash but she has no clear idea of what’s happening; things jerk back and forth, there’s still the cry of the engine, the right side of the Jeep is up in the air somehow and it’s threatening to turn over and crush her but then it rights itself, slamming down, sliding off something, skidding sidewise before the wheels get purchase and the seat jerks forward violently enough to slam her skull back against the padded headrest.

The wheels are bumping on things now, spi

A tree looms straight ahead. She pulls the wheel to the right and feels around with her foot for the pedal. The Jeep obeys: a slow turn to the right, a grinding climb past the big tree.

“Ellen—Ellen darling—we made it through!”

55 It wasn’t the windshield that broke, thank goodness. The outside mirrors are gone—one empty of its glass, the other torn completely from the vehicle—nothing left but the jagged base of its mounting. There are horrendous scratches across the hood and the front of it is buckled up in an odd shape. The Jeep feels as if it has been twisted askew.

But the engine continues to pull well and she’s gathering speed along the pioneer road, feeling as if the Jeep is crabbing sidewise. She manages to shift gears one-handed while the Jeep lurches back and forth within the guiding ruts of the road.

She reaches up to adjust the rear-view mirror and gets a glimpse of the Bronco back there beyond the gate: they’ve got the gate unlocked and a man is swinging it out of the way and the Bronco starts forward.

Beside the gate she flashes on the swirl of mangled metal that somehow she broke through. It looks utterly impenetrable.

The road curls amid the trees; she loses sight of things in the mirror. How far to the airstrip now? Can’t be more than a minute or two.

Has Charlie had time to find it?

“Take it easy, Ellen. It’ll be all right soon. Calm down, that’s a good girl. I know this is a hell of a trial for you. Hang in there, darling.”

A bend up ahead; past it another. She doesn’t remember any of this; she only came out here a couple of times and she wasn’t driving and you never remember roads if you haven’t driven them yourself.

Then without warning she’s out of the trees and there it is—a long cleared strip ru

High to her left she sees the airplane descending toward her on its approach run.

“Charlie.” She whimpers his name.

He’ll need most of the runway to stop it. She’d better be at the far end to meet him.

She puts the Jeep forward into the wide field until the wheels begin to hum and whine on the hidden steel mats under the grass; she accelerates up through the gears, not needing the four-wheel drive any longer but there’s no time to take it out of dual range now so the gears keep whining and the engine keeps straining but she’s up to forty-five and that’s the end of the field coming up ahead.

She turns it around and stops.

Can’t do anything but wait for him to bring the plane down. Then she’ll drive right out to meet it and jump in with Ellen and they’ll be out of this nightmare place for good.

The baby is silent. She looks down at her. Wide-eyed and contented. Sucking her thumb.

“You’re all right. You’ll do, kid.”

She sits in an unaccustomed quiet, engine idling, stick in gear, clutch to the floor. The airplane drops closer. I love you, Charlie.

The airplane is on its invisible ramp now, lined up with the opposite end of the field, coming in straight toward her. Half a minute to touchdown.

And then two things:

The Bronco comes slashing out of the trees up there alongside the far end of the runway—

And the helicopter swoops into view low across the treetops. It dips and sways out over the middle of the airstrip—hovering. Beneath the rotor she sees grass whipping flat against the steel mesh.

Her heart leaps to her throat.

They’re going to block the runway …

No. Wait.

The helicopter is climbing—rising straight up as if on an elevator—and the Bronco has turned alongside the runway; it’s coming down the side of the field toward her but the runway itself is clear.

God knows why but they’ve made room.

Maybe they’re just stupid.

Who cares. You can make it, Charlie. Come straight in and pick me up and somehow we’ll get out of here. I’ve still got the damn gun if we need it …

The thing went caroming all over the inside of the Jeep back there—a wonder it didn’t go off—but now it’s in plain sight on the floor in front of the passenger seat. She reaches down and picks it up.

When she looks up again she sees the airplane climbing away, steeply banking. What?

The helicopter is scooting around up there—its movements don’t seem to make much sense. The Bronco has halved the distance to her Jeep and if she doesn’t move now they’ll have her but Jesus Christ, Charlie, what are you doing to me?

Ru

Receding into the sky.

The helicopter goes after him now, following him toward the clouds.

Oh Charlie you good-for-nothing bastard. You betraying son of a bitch.

She stomps the accelerator and pops the clutch and the baby cries out when the Jeep lurches into motion.

Hauling the wheel around one-handed she sends it off the field. Slams into the trees—downhill into raw wilderness smashing through brush, skidding past tree trunks, knocking down saplings, bursting into a daisy-flowered meadow, sliding half sideways down the steep slope.

God please help me.

56 In a frantic lunge against despair she rams the Jeep forward, seeking openings among the trees; the wheel chatters in her hand and she’s clutching the baby protectively in her arm and both limbs are cramped but she can’t let up. No telling how close they may be behind her and it won’t be long before they catch up because she’s breaking the trail for them. Got to find a way off this mountain …