Visions of Fear - Foundations of Fear III (1992)

by David G. Hartwell (Ed. )

  make a U-turn or pull off the highway, but all he could do

  was gape at the truck.

  He cried out, legs retracting, as a horn blast sounded

  behind him. Snapping up his head, he looked at the

  rearview mirror, gasping as he saw a yellow station

  wagon bearing down on him at high speed. Suddenly, it

  veered off toward the eastbound lane, disappearing from

  the mirror. Mann jerked around and saw it hurtling past

  his car, its rear end snapping back and forth, its back

  tires screeching. He saw the twisted features of the man

  inside, saw his lips move rapidly with cursing.

  Then the station wagon had swerved back into the

  westbound lane and was speeding off. It gave Mann an

  odd sensation to see it pass the truck. The man in that

  station wagon could drive on, unthreatened. Only he’d

  been singled out. What happened was demented. Yet it

  was happening.

  He drove his car onto the highway shoulder and

  braked. Putting the transmission into neutral, he leaned

  back, staring at the truck. His head was aching again.

  There was a pulsing at his temples like the ticking of a

  muffled clock.

  What was he to do? He knew very well that if he left

  his car to walk to the truck, the driver would pull away

  and repark farther down the highway. He may as well

  face the fact that he was dealing with a madman. He felt

  the tremor in his stomach muscles starting up again. His

  heartbeat thudded slowly, striking at his chest wall. Now

  what?

  With a sudden, angry impulse, Mann snapped the

  transmission into gear and stepped down hard on the

  accelerator pedal. The tires of the car spun sizzlingly

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  before they gripped; the car shot out onto the highway.

  Instantly, the truck began to move. He even had the

  motor on! Mann thought in raging fear. He floored the

  pedal, then, abruptly, realized he couldn’t make it, that

  the truck would block his way and he’d collide with its

  trailer. A vision flashed across his mind, a fiery explosion

  and a sheet of flame incinerating him. He started braking

  fast, trying to decelerate evenly, so he wouldn’t lose

  control.

  When he’d slowed down enough to feel that it was safe,

  he steered the car onto the shoulder and stopped it again,

  throwing the transmission into neutral.

  Approximately eighty yards ahead, the truck pulled off

  the highway and stopped.

  Mann tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Now

  what? he thought. Turn around and head east until he

  reached a cutoff that would take him to San Francisco by

  another route? How did he know the truck driver

  wouldn’t follow him even then? His cheeks twisted as he

  bit his lips together angrily. No! He wasn’t going to turn

  around!

  His expression hardened suddenly. Well, he wasn’t

  going to sit here all day, that was certain. Reaching out,

  he tapped the gearshift into drive and steered his car

  onto the highway once again. He saw the massive truck

  and trailer start to move but made no effort to speed up.

  He tapped at the brakes, taking a position about 30 yards

  behind the trailer. He glanced at his speedometer. Forty

  miles an hour. The truck driver had his left arm out of

  the cab window and was waving him on. What did that

  mean? Had he changed his mind? Decided, finally, that

  this thing had gone too far? Mann couldn’t let himself

  believe it.

  He looked ahead. Despite the mountain ranges all

  around, the highway was flat as far as he could see. He

  tapped a fingernail against the horn bar, trying to make

  up his mind. Presumably, he could continue all the way

  to San Francisco at this speed, hanging back just far

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  enough to avoid the worst of the exhaust fumes. It didn't

  seem likely that the truck driver would stop directly on

  the highway to block his way. And if the truck driver

  pulled onto the shoulder to let him pass, he could pull off

  the highway, too. It would be a draining afternoon but a

  safe one.

  On the other hand, outracing the truck might be worth

  just one more try. This was obviously what that son of a

  bitch wanted. Yet, surely, a vehicle of such size couldn’t

  be driven with the same daring as, potentially, his own.

  The laws of mechanics were against it, if nothing else.

  Whatever advantage the truck had in mass, it had to lose

  in stability, particularly that of its trailer. If Mann were

  to drive at, say, 80 miles an hour and there were a few

  steep grades— as he felt sure there were— the truck

  would have to fall behind.

  The question was, of course, whether he had the nerve

  to maintain such a speed over a long distance. He’d

  never done it before. Still, the more he thought about it,

  the more it appealed to him; far more than the alternative did.

  Abruptly, he decided. Right, he thought. He checked

  ahead, then pressed down hard on the accelerator pedal

  and pulled into the eastbound lane. As he neared the

  truck, he tensed, anticipating that the driver might block

  his way. But the truck did not shift from the westbound

  lane. Mann’s car moved along its mammoth side. He

  glanced at the cab and saw the name k e l l e r printed on

  its door. For a shocking instant, he thought it read k ille r

  and started to slow down. Then, glancing at the name

  again, he saw what it really was and depressed the pedal

  sharply. When he saw the truck reflected in the rearview

  mirror, he steered his car into the westbound lane.

  He shuddered, dread and satisfaction mixed together,

  as he saw that the truck driver was speeding up. It was

  strangely comforting to know the man’s intentions definitely again. That plus the knowledge of his face and name seemed, somehow, to reduce his stature. Before, he

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  had been faceless, nameless, an embodiment of unknown terror. Now, at least, he was an individual. All right, Keller, said his mind, let’s see you beat me with

  that purple-silver relic now. He pressed down harder on

  the pedal. Here we go, he thought.

  He looked at the speedometer, scowling as he saw that

  he was doing only 74 miles an hour. Deliberately, he

  pressed down on the pedal, alternating his gaze between

  the highway ahead and the speedometer until the needle

  turned past 80. He felt a flickering of satisfaction with

  himself. All right, Keller, you son of a bitch, top that, he

  thought.

  After several moments, he glanced into the rearview

  mirror again. Was the truck getting closer? Stunned, he

  checked the speedometer. Damn it! He was down to 76!

  He forced in the accelerator pedal angrily. He mustn’t go

  less than 80! Mann’s chest shuddered with convulsive

  breath.

  He glanced aside as he hurtled past a beige sedan

  parked on the shoulder underneath a tree. A y
oung

  couple sat inside it, talking. Already they were far

  behind, their world removed from his. Had they even

  glanced aside when he’d passed? He doubted it.

  He started as the shadow of an overhead bridge

  whipped across the hood and windshield. Inhaling raggedly, he glanced at the speedometer again. He was holding at 81. He checked the rearview mirror. Was it his

  imagination that the truck was gaining ground? He

  looked forward with anxious eyes. There had to be some

  kind of town ahead. To hell with time; he’d stop at the

  police station and tell them what had happened. They’d

  have to believe him. Why would he stop to tell them such

  a story if it weren’t true? For all he knew, Keller had a

  police record in these parts. Oh, sure, we’re on to him, he

  heard a faceless officer remark. That crazy bastard’s

  asked for it before and now he’s going to get it.

  Mann shook himself and looked at the mirror. The

  truck was getting closer. Wincing, he glanced at the

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  speedometer. Goddamn it, pay attention! raged his

  mind. He was down to 74 again! Whining with frustration, he depressed the pedal. Eighty!— 80! he demanded of himself. There was a murderer behind him!

  His car began to pass a field of flowers; lilacs, Mann

  saw, white and purple stretching out in endless rows.

  There was a small shack near the highway, the words h e l d

  f r e s h f l o w e r painted on it. A brown-cardboard square

  was propped against the shack, the word fu n er a ls

  printed crudely on it. Mann saw himself, abruptly, lying

  in a casket, painted like some grotesque mannequin. The

  overpowering smell of flowers seemed to fill his nostrils.

  Ruth and the children sitting in the first row, heads

  bowed. All his relatives—

  Suddenly, the pavement roughened and the car began

  to bounce and shudder, driving bolts of pain into his

  head. He felt the steering wheel resisting him and

  clamped his hands around it tightly, harsh vibrations

  running up his arms. He didn’t dare look at the mirror

  now. He had to force himself to keep the speed unchanged. Keller wasn’t going to slow down; he was sure of that. What i f he got a flat tire, though? All control

  would vanish in an instant. He visualized the somersaulting of his car, its grinding, shrieking tumble, the explosion of its gas tank, his body crushed and burned

  and—

  The broken span of pavement ended and his gaze

  jumped quickly to the rearview mirror. The truck was no

  closer, but it hadn’t lost ground, either. Mann’s eyes

  shifted. Up ahead were hills and mountains. He tried to

  reassure himself that upgrades were on his side, that he

  could climb them at the same speed he was going now.

  Yet all he could imagine were the downgrades, the

  immense truck close behind him, slamming violently

  into his car and knocking it across some cliff edge. He

  had a horrifying vision of dozens of broken, rusted cars

  lying unseen in the canyons ahead, corpses in every one

  of them, all flung to shattering deaths by Keller.

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  Mann’s car went rocketing into a corridor of trees. On

  each side of the highway was a eucalyptus windbreak,

  each trunk three feet from the next. It was like speeding

  through a high-walled canyon. Mann gasped, twitching,

  as a large twig bearing dusty leaves dropped down across

  the windshield, then slid out of sight. Dear God! he

  thought. He was getting near the edge himself. If he

  should lose his nerve at this speed, it was over. Jesus!

  That would be ideal for Keller! he realized suddenly. He

  visualized the square-faced driver laughing as he passed

  the burning wreckage, knowing that he’d killed his prey

  without so much as touching him.

  Mann started as his car shot out into the open. The

  route ahead was not straight now but winding up into

  the foothills. Mann willed himself to press down on the

  pedal even more. Eighty-three now, almost 84.

  To his left was a broad terrain of green hills blending

  into mountains. He saw a black car on a dirt road,

  moving toward the highway. Was its side painted white?

  Mann’s heartbeat lurched. Impulsively, he jammed the

  heel of his right hand down against the horn bar and held

  it there. The blast of the horn was shrill and racking to

  his ears. His heart began to pound. Was it a police car?

  Was it?

  He let the horn bar up abruptly. No, it wasn’t. Damn!

  his mind raged. Keller must have been amused by his

  pathetic efforts. Doubtless, he was chuckling to himself

  right now. He heard the truck driver’s voice in his mind,

  coarse and sly. You think you gonna get a cop to save you,

  boy?Shee-it. You gonna die. Mann’s heart contorted with

  savage hatred. You son o f a bitch! he thought. Jerking his

  right hand into a fist, he drove it down against the seat.

  Goddamn you, Keller! I’m going to kill you, if it’s the

  last thing I do!

  The hills were closer now. There would be slopes

  directly, long steep grades. Mann felt a burst of hope

  within himself. He was sure to gain a lot of distance on

  the truck. No matter how he tried, that bastard Keller

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  couldn’t manage 80 miles an hour on a hill. But I can!

  cried his mind with fierce elation. He worked up saliva in

  his mouth and swallowed it. The back of his shirt was

  drenched. He could feel sweat trickling down his sides. A

  bath and a drink, first order of the day on reaching San

  Francisco. A long, hot bath, a long, cold drink. Cutty

  Sark. He’d splurge, by Christ. He rated it.

  The car swept up a shallow rise. Not steep enough,

  goddamn it! The truck’s momentum would prevent its

  losing speed. Mann felt mindless hatred for the landscape. Already, he had topped the rise and tilted over to a shallow downgrade. He looked at the rearview mirror.

  Square, he thought, everything about the truck was

  square: the radiator grille, the fender shapes, the bumper

  ends, the outline of the cab, even the shape of Keller’s

  hands and face. He visualized the truck as some great

  entity pursuing him, insentient, brutish, chasing him

  with instinct only.

  Mann cried out, horror-stricken, as he saw the ro a d

  r e p a ir s sign up ahead. His frantic gaze leaped down the

  highway. Both lanes blocked, a huge black arrow pointing toward the alternate route! He groaned in anguish, seeing it was dirt. His foot jumped automatically to the

  brake pedal and started pumping it. He threw a dazed

  look at the rearview mirror. The truck was moving as

  fast as ever! It couldn't, though! Mann’s expression froze

  in terror as he started turning to the right.

  He stiffened as the front wheels hit the dirt road. For

  an instant, he was certain that the back part of the car

  was going to spin; he felt it breaking to the left. “No,

  don’t!” he cried. Abruptly, he was jarring down the dirt

  road, elbows braced against h
is sides, trying to keep from

  losing control. His tires battered at the ruts, almost

  tearing the wheel from his grip. The windows rattled

  noisily. His neck snapped back and forth with painful

  jerks. His jolting body surged against the binding of the

  safety belt and slammed down violently on the seat. He

  felt the bouncing of the car drive up his spine. His

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  clenching teeth slipped and he cried out hoarsely as his

  upper teeth gouged deep into his lip.

  He gasped as the rear end of the car began surging to

  the right. He started to jerk the steering wheel to the left,

  then, hissing, wrenched it in the opposite direction,

  crying out as the right rear fender cracked into a fence

  pole, knocking it down. He started pumping at the

  brakes, struggling to regain control. The car rear yawed

  sharply to the left, tires shooting out a spray of dirt.

  Mann felt a scream tear upward in his throat. He twisted

  wildly at the steering wheel. The car began careening to

  the right. He hitched the wheel around until the car was

  on course again. His head was pounding like his heart

  now, with gigantic, throbbing spasms. He started coughing as he gagged on dripping blood.

  The dirt road ended suddenly, the car regained momentum on the pavement and he dared to Took at the rearview mirror. The truck was slowed down but was

  still behind him, rocking like a freighter on a storm-

  tossed sea, its huge tires scouring up a pall of dust. Mann

  shoved in the accelerator pedal and his car surged

  forward. A good, steep grade lay just ahead; he’d gain

  that distance now. He swallowed blood, grimacing at the

  taste, then fumbled in his trouser pocket and tugged out

  his handkerchief. He pressed it to his bleeding lip, eyes

  fixed on the slope ahead. Another fifty yards or so. He

  writhed his back. His undershirt was soaking wet, adhering to his skin. He glanced at the rearview mirror. The truck had just regained the highway. Tough! he thought

  with venom. Didn’t get me, did you, Keller?

  His car was on the first yards of the upgrade when

  steam began to issue from beneath its hood. Mann

  stiffened suddenly, eyes widening with shock. The steam

  increased, became a smoking mist. Mann’s gaze jumped

  down. The red light hadn’t flashed on yet but had to in a