He cranked the wheel and took the uphill fork, hoping to lose them in the ghost town. Amazingly, the Galaxie’s engine wound up without protest. Ash wondered how long that would last. The rough road followed the meandering stream, whose crystal-clear water flowed over noxious yellow silt, tailings from the old gold mine nearby.
He raced uphill, rounded a corner and bounced onto what was once the main street of the old town. A few windowless, roofless shells of buildings stood on either side, their wooden planks burned silver by the sun in some places and painted black by rot underneath.
Further down, the mostly intact saloon still stood, and far beyond, a wooden tower loomed over the far end of town. A chute ran out of sight behind a rusted chunk of machinery that bristled with rivets. In between, the road made a right-angle turn to a covered bridge that crossed a gulch, twenty feet deep. It was the only other way out of town.
Ash slowed as he rounded the turn. The bridge was anything but solid. As a teenager, he’d walked across it more times than he could count, but he’d never dreamed of taking a car through there. Sunlight shone down through holes in the bridge’s roof, giving a ghostly glow to the weather-beaten floor.
There had to be another way. Maybe he could ditch the car and take off on foot. Maybe hide in the saloon. Traces of painted letters still showed on its one remaining glass window. The boardwalk in front of it was missing half its planks. Trying to hide there would be hopeless, he realized.
The pickup crested the hill behind him, closing in, kicking up rocks from its tires. Salvador leaned out the window of the bouncing truck, pulling the assault weapon tight against his shoulder, aiming at the Galaxie.
Ash nailed the gas and headed for the bridge.
No way it would hold him. If one board gave out, he’d be dead. The car would plummet twenty feet to the rocky floor of the gulch, and that would be the end of it. But he’d rather take his chances with the bridge than with Andres and his tattooed killers.
The dark tunnel of the bridge loomed. Beyond, the dirt road continued through the grass and pine trees. He focused on that and centered the Galaxie’s wide nose between the wooden posts.
The darkness of the bridge swallowed him, punctuated by flashes of sunlight. The rumble of the engine echoed around him. A chorus of creaking wooden beams. Crackles, like firecrackers. The whole car bounced.
Ash’s stomach gave way as the bridge sagged beneath him. Moolah yelped in panic. They were only a car-length away from the far end. But it might as well have been a hundred miles.
He pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The weight of the car shifted back onto its haunches as it leaped forward.
The front tires dropped off the end of the bridge onto the dirt. A screaming sound pierced the air as the rear tires spun. The car tilted back as the bridge splintered beneath them.
He let off the gas. The tires slowed and grabbed, then kicked the car up onto solid ground. The Galaxie traveled a few yards and skidded to a halt diagonally across the dirt road. Behind him, the bridge toppled into the gulch, trailing planks and splintered posts. Dust billowed out around it as it fell.
On the far side of the gulch, the pickup’s wheels locked up. The truck slid toward the edge. The tires stopped just inches from the drop-off. Lazaro stuck his head out of the window, gaping down into the gulch.
Ash didn’t give them time to come to their senses. He kept driving, following the overgrown road through the scattered pine trees, trying to put as much distance as he could between him and the pickup trapped on the other side of the gulch.
He caught himself breathing so hard it made him dizzy. He fought to get himself under control, calm down, but he didn’t dare pull over. This was the only head start he had.
He tried to roll down the window for some air. The two chrome cranks confused him, until he discovered that the small one rotated the triangular vent window. He got both windows open, letting in a blast of fresh mountain air.
Moolah climbed over the seat into the back, then came up behind him and pressed his snout into the wind. The sheer delight in Moolah’s squinting face made Ash smile. He reached over and rubbed the dog’s head.
“Don’t worry, buddy. It’s all downhill from here.” It would be only a couple of miles to the county road. But beyond that, he had no idea what to do.
As they rattled along the dirt track, he finally started to relax behind the big steering wheel. The car floated along in a way that hypnotized him, as if the Galaxie were steering him, instead of the other way around.
Without warning, the engine stumbled, shooting a cold jolt of panic through him. He looked over the old dashboard, but there was nothing that could tell him what was wrong: no tachometer, no check-engine light, nothing.
Then he spotted the gas gauge, where the needle hovered over the big white E.
To be continued . . .
Find out what happens next in The Spider Thief.
Click here to read more at http://LaurenceMacNaughton.com.
CONSPIRACY OF ANGELS
Laurence MacNaughton
Copyright © 2012
All Rights Reserved.
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Conspiracy of Angels Page 28