Jake braked. The truck slowed.

"Let's ask-"

"No."

"This is a mistake."

"Don't say a word."

We rolled to a stop. The guard looked us over, bored, then waved us through. Before I could speak, Jake hit the gas.

A sudden thought.

Back at the museum, Jake never asked about Blotnik.

I hadn't given him time?

He already knew that Blotnik was dead?

I looked sideways. Jake was a black silhouette, long neck corrugated by the bony tube of his throat.

Sweet Jesus. Did Jake have an agenda of his own?

Jake accelerated hard. The truck lurched forward.

My palms slapped the dash.

The terrain turned desolate. My world narrowed to the two red blurs at the Citroen's rear.

Purviance goosed it to seventy, then eighty.

We ran hard through desert older than time. I knew what stretched to either side of the highway. Terra-cotta hills, furnaced valleys, Bedouin camps with their shoddy huts and slumbering herds. The Judean wilderness. A moonscape of bleaching bones and seeping sand, tonight all lost to the fog.

Mile after mile of stillness. Nothingness. Now and then a rare lamp bathed the Citroen in artificial light. Seconds later, our truck would blink through. I'd see my hands, salmon surreal, bracing the dash.

Purviance edged toward ninety. Jake matched her.

The Citroen rounded curve after curve, taillights winking into our vision, then out, then in again. Our truck strained. We began to drop back.

The tension in the cab was palpable. No one spoke as each of us focused on those pulsing red eyes.

We hit a b.u.mp. Jake downshifted. The front wheels went airborne. The rear followed. My head whiplashed as the truck slammed down.

When I looked up, the Citroen's taillights were disappearing in mist.

Shifting back into fourth, Jake gunned it. The lights ballooned. I stole a peek in the side-view. No one behind us.

In my memory, what happened next happened in slow motion, like an instant replay. In reality, the whole thing probably took a minute and a half.

The Citroen entered a curve. We followed. I remember glistening blacktop. The needle nearing ninety. Jake's hands, tight on the wheel.

A car appeared on the other side of the highway, headlights blurry ribbons slashing the mist. The ribbons wavered, then swooned toward the Citroen.

Purviance jerked the wheel. The Citroen pitched right, dropped two tires onto the shoulder. Purviance jerked again. The Citroen hopped back up onto the pavement.

The oncoming car crossed the center lane, illuminating the Citroen. I could see Purviance's head wagging back and forth as she fought the wheel. Steady red told me her foot was slammed to the brake.

The oncoming car veered wide, away from the Citroen. Action and reaction. The Citroen also veered wide, and again bit gravel.

Purviance cut hard to the left and regained the blacktop. Inexplicably, the car then surged back to the right. The Citroen bounced from the road, and careened off the guardrail. Sparks flew.

Panicked, Purviance fought to go left. The Citroen hit slickness, hydroplaned, and spun.

The oncoming car was now hurtling toward us, tires straddling both lanes. I could see the driver's head. I could see a pa.s.senger.

I braced for the impact.

Jake jerked the wheel. We shot right and our front tire dropped.

The car thundered past.

Our rear tire dropped.

Jake's leg pumped, his hands death-locked the wheel.

We bolted and pitched, stones and gravel peppering the guardrail.

I planted both hands against the dash and tried to keep my elbows flexed. I dropped my chin to my chest.

I heard metal slam metal.

I looked up to see the Citroen's headlights lurch sideways. They hung a moment, then nose-dived into darkness.

I heard an eruption of metal, sand, and dirt. Another. A wailing horn. Steady. Terrible.

Our speed choked back. The guardrail clicked past slower and slower.

The truck had barely stopped when Jake flipped open his cell phone.

"s.h.i.t."

"No signal?"

"Piece of c.r.a.p." Jake tossed the phone on the dash and jabbed at the glove box. "Flashlights."

While I found Mag-Lites, Jake dug flares from the back of the truck. Together, we sprinted up the tarmac.

The guardrail gaped jagged and curled. We peered past, down the hill. The fog was a dense ocean, swallowing our beams.

As Jake set flares, I hopped the barrier and scrambled down the slope.

In the basin, my light picked out a trail of shapes. A hubcap. A side panel. A side-view mirror.

The Citroen was a pitch-black hump in the darkness. I probed it with the Mag-Lite.

The car had impacted, flipped, and landed on its roof. Every window was shattered. Steam or smoke hissed from under the crumpled hood.

Purviance was half in, half out the driver's-side door, twisted like a rag doll tossed to the floor. So much blood smeared her face I couldn't see skin. Her jacket was saturated.

I heard crunching, then Jake was beside me.

"Jesus Christ!"

"We've got to get her out," I said.

Together, Jake and I tried to ease Purviance free. Her body was slick with mist and blood. We kept losing our grip.

Above, a truck braked to a stop. Two men got out and started shouting questions. We ignored them, concentrated on Purviance.

Jake and I changed sides. Nothing worked. We couldn't get a good angle.

Purviance moaned softly. I grabbed my light and ran the beam the length of her body. Flecks of gla.s.s glistened on her clothing and in her blood-soaked hair.

"One foot's wedged among the pedals," I said. "I'll go in through the other side."

"No way."

I didn't wait to argue. Circling the Citroen, I sized up what remained of the pa.s.senger window. Big enough.

I dropped my light, doubled over, and squeezed through head-first. Pulling with my elbows, I wriggled to the driver's side.

Groping like a blind man, I determined I was right. One of Purviance's feet was broken and jammed behind the brake.

Using outstretched arms, I tried gentle twisting. The foot remained lodged. I shoved harder. No go.

An acrid smell was irritating my nose. My eyes were watering.

Burning rubber!

My heart thudded my rib cage.

Bellying closer, I dropped my upper body over the seat, yanked the zipper of Purviance's boot, grabbed the heel, and tugged.

I felt some give.

Another hard pull and Purviance's heel was loose. Using my fingers, I shoehorned her foot.

"Now!" I screamed when the toes slid free.

As Jake tugged, I wormed the foot through the pedals. Then I muscled back-a.s.s out the window.

Smoke was pouring from the engine.

Voices were shouting from the highway. I didn't need a translator.

"Get back!"

"It's going to blow!"

Circling the Citroen, I grabbed Purviance under one arm. Jake had the other. Together we tugged her free and eased her to the ground.

Jake dived for the car.

"We've got to get clear!"

Jake was enveloped in smoke. I could see his lanky form darting forward and back.

"Jake!"

Jake was a madman, racing from one shattered window to the next.

"I can't do this alone!"

Jake left the car and helped me drag Purviance another five yards. Then he raced back to the Citroen and began kicking its trunk.

"It's going to blow!" I was screaming now.

Jake's foot pistoned again and again.

Something popped. The hissing grew louder, the smoke thickened.

Were we still in range? A powerful blast would turn auto parts into deadly missiles.

Grabbing Purviance by her upper arms, I turned and began inching backward. Her body was dead weight. Was she already gone? Was I doing her more harm than good?

Foot by foot I dragged.

Three yards.

My hands grew slippery with blood. My palms and fingers were cut by millions of gla.s.s slivers.

Five.

Sirens whined in the distance.

My fingers tingled. My legs were dead. But I was hyped on adrenaline. Some fierce internal energy pushed me on.

Finally I decided I was far enough. I allowed Purviance to settle to the ground. Dropping to my knees, I felt her throat.