Part 7 (1/2)

No way. The d.a.m.n place is even farther now. And surely she couldn't be wrong a second time. And surely she couldn't be wrong a second time.

A ma.s.sive bramble of cactus sat between her and the rise, but she didn't let it deter her. She skirted to-ward the mountains, thinking she needed to go west eventually. By the time she cleared the cactus, the sun swam in an ocean of pink and orange. She checked her watch. Already past seven. Armen would be sitting in Capulets wondering where she was.

She reached the top of the rise, and her heart sank-more sand and scrub-gra.s.s as far as the eye could see. To make matters worse, in the distance an arroyo sliced east to west interposing itself in her path, beyond that an even steeper rise. She looked wistfully back the way she came but couldn't spot her car.

”Griffith's can't be too much further.” Now her saner self argued that this was madness. If she was really honest she'd admit she was wrong and turn around.

”I'm not wrong.” She picked up the pace.

The sun slipped behind Pike's Peak. Grays and purples replaced the muted browns. Night comes quickly on the desert plains. Once the sun sets behind the mountains, deep shadows race across the sand. She hadn't reached the arroyo before she found herself walking in darkness.

Bonnie promised herself henceforth she'd keep a flashlight in the trunk. ”Especially, Alice, if you insist on stranding me in the middle of nowhere,” she bellowed.

The sound of a car engine startled her. From the west, a set of headlights bounced in her direction. Some-one, maybe even Wendy Newlin, had seen her broken down car and was coming to her rescue. Bonnie waved, ignoring a nagging voice which insisted Wendy's haci-enda lay south, not west.

Standing there, she played with the notion Alice had repented and in a fit of automotive remorse was com-ing to make amends. The ridiculous thought brought back a cartoon memory from her childhood-Beanie and Cecil, the seasick sea-serpent. In Beanie's dark-est hour, Cecil would come charging in yelling, ”I'm comin', Beanie Boy!”

”I'm waiting, Alice girl,” she whispered. She waved again.

The car's high beams blazed on, pinning her in blinding light.

Bonnie s.h.i.+elded her eyes. What was this idiot up to?

Too soon came her answer. The sound of an en-gine revving higher screamed out of the light. In panic, Bonnie pitched herself to one side.

A red pickup truck whipped past, spraying her with gravel. It spun into a hard turn. Her heart wanted to stop with the realization it was Jesse Poole's truck.

”Oh, s.h.i.+t!” She picked herself up and ran.

The squeal of protesting metal grew louder. Light enveloped her. Her bleeding knees burned. Sensing the truck closing on her, she hurled herself to the side.

The b.u.mper clipped her foot. A stab of pain shot through her ankle. Screaming, she fell.

Surrounded by a halo of light, the truck crashed through a patch of yucca.

Bonnie struggled to her feet. Her ankle shrieked in protest. A wave of nausea swept over her. Any mo-ment, she expected the truck door to open. Jesse Poole, the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, would chase her down.

Gravel churned behind her.

The truck reversed hard and spun to face her, pin-ning her again in the high beams.

Gears ground, and the truck crept forward.

”Leave me alone, you little a.s.shole.” She limped backward unable to take her eyes off the truck. The truck closed the gap. Then the ground vanished be-neath her feet. She flailed through the air. The back of her head smacked something hard. The world exploded in fireworks and faded to black velvet.

BONNIE WOKE TO A HEADACHE THAT PROMISED TO sever skull from shoulders. Her hand came away sticky from her scalp. A hard something poked her spine. She s.h.i.+fted, and her ankle screamed. Nausea punched her stomach.

She vomited. Wave after wave of convulsions gripped and shook her. Minutes later, she rolled away from the vomit, her throat raw, mouth tasting of bile.

She lay back, exhausted. Overhead, a full moon s.h.i.+ned down from a strip of sky. A corridor of stars winked.

Where the h.e.l.l am I?

She remembered the truck and sat bolt upright. New agony shot through head and ankle. She bit her lip, not wanting to cry out.

Oh G.o.d, don't let him find me here.

She lay still, and in stages, reason a.s.serted itself. The moon hadn't yet risen when she'd walked earlier. The blood on her head was tacky, some of it dried. Hours may have pa.s.sed. Her tormentor was gone. She shuddered, buried her face in her hands, and wept.

When she lifted her face from her hands, a knife had been taken to the moon. Flat along one side, a jagged sliver of the orb was missing. What remained illuminated her surroundings.

She lay at the bottom of a sandy tunnel. Behind her head, hard-packed earth formed a slanting wall. This wall partially obscured the moon. Across from her, an opposite wall lifted from the sand. Together the walls defined and limited the portion of the night sky she could see.

The arroyo. Stumbling backward from the truck, she'd tumbled into the sandy trench, hit bottom, and knocked herself out. Why hadn't her pursuer simply followed her down and finished the job he'd started?

”Hey, I'm not complaining, G.o.d. I'll take whatever you give me.”

But now what?

Theoretically, she could sit right here until someone found her. Her ankle and head seconded that option. Surely someone would notice Alice sitting in the ditch and come looking. But would they think to look on the other side of the mesh fence, or would they stick to the road? How many times had she seen an abandoned car and kept on driving?

Unfortunately, even when she was parked at school, Alice looked like an abandoned car. Most folks would think the owner just wised up and walked away.

Bonnie sighed. She could be here for days.

And it was getting darker. Already the moon had s.h.i.+fted-a mere sixty percent of its area s.h.i.+ned down. She didn't fancy the idea of spending a long moonless night at the bottom of a pit.

A six foot length of weather-beaten two-by-four lay just out of reach. Gritting her teeth, she dragged her protesting ankle to the board. As her fingers wrapped around it, she felt like laughing, and the compulsion scared her.

Don't go hysterical, lady.

Ignoring splinters, she hoisted herself to her feet. The pain in her ankle threatened to send her back into oblivion. Breathing like she'd just run a marathon-not that she'd ever do something so stupid-she clung to the precious two-by-four, a drowning woman in a dry river of sand.

Her head almost reached the lip of the arroyo, but the top may as well have been a hundred feet above her. No way could she climb out. And stretching out before her, the dry stream bed seemed endless.

Leaning heavily on her prop, she took a step. A bolt of pain lanced up her leg and brought tears to her eyes. Her ears rang.

”That wasn't so bad.” She fought down the urge to argue with herself.

A handful of steps left her sweating and gasping for air. She felt dizzy and leaned on her board until the feeling pa.s.sed.

One benefit of standing was that she purchased additional hours of moonlight. Her panorama broad-ened and now the friendly face of the man-in-the-moon smiled down on her.

”I can do this,” she shouted to the moon. ”d.a.m.n straight, I can do this.”

She counted steps, forcing herself to take two more than the first time before she stopped. On the next trial she added five. Each time she halted, the ringing in her ears grew more insistent.