Day Three
July 23, 1952
Wednesday Morning
The engine was dead and the world was quiet. River got out and found he was fifty yards off the road. A magpie flew overhead and clouds were building up over the mountains. The windshield was spider-webbed with cracks, the rear glass was gone, the metal looked like someone had taken a hundred-pound sledge to it. The 18-wheeler was down the road so far it was barely a speck. The key was still in the ignition. River turned it and the vehicle started. He smiled, listened for strange noises and got none. The tires weren’t flat. He surveyed the terrain from there to the road and picked the path least likely to get him stuck. Three stressful minutes later he was back on the road heading south.
A wobble came from the tail end.
Something was bent.
It felt like the wheel, that or the axle.
At fifty the shaking got violent enough that he had to ease back to keep from tearing the stupid thing apart. He kept his right hand pressed against the knife wound.
In the rearview mirror, he checked his face.
It wasn’t pretty.
He didn’t care.
Suddenly a thought came to him.
The gun-where was it?
The knife was there, on the floorboard to the right, but the gun wasn’t visible.
He twisted to see if it was on the back seat.
It wasn’t.
Damn it.
He pulled to the side, left the engine running with the clutch in neutral, and searched under the seat. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere.
It was gone.
It must have flown out the window during a roll. If he went back he might be able to find it, but then again-maybe not.
What to do?
He was weak.
The sane thing to do was to abort before he ended up dead. He kept the front end pointed south with his foot on the pedal. There were no other cars. He was alone in the universe.
Five minutes passed.
The knife wound was losing its pain, receding more into a dull throb.
He checked the rearview mirror and saw something he didn’t expect.
A car was back there, a quarter mile or so, too far to see how many people were inside or if they were male or female.
It wasn’t closing.
It wasn’t dropping back.
It was a perfect shadow.
River watched it for a number of heartbeats, then took his foot off the pedal, coasted to the side of the road and stopped. He picked the knife off the floorboard, secured it behind his back under his belt and stepped out.
The sky spun.
He leaned against the vehicle to keep from falling.
A drop of blood dripped into his eye.