A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [144]
Singleton went through the next village far too fast, scattering people and brushing past a cart stopped at an angle in the road. The cart went winding, and someone cried out in pain.
Rutledge slowed, keeping Singleton in sight but trying not to hit anyone in his path. And they were out into the open again, moving far too fast for safety in the stormy light. Rutledge thought Singleton had a very good idea who was behind him, even if he couldn’t see the motorcar for its bright headlamps.
There was a long straight stretch, enough for Rutledge to gun the motor and make an attempt to pass, but Singleton swung the lorry into his path, and it was all Rutledge could do to keep from plowing headlong into a stone wall where the road angled to the right.
Hamish was shouting now, telling him to watch what he was doing.
“Kill us both, and he’ll go free,” Hamish reminded him.
Rutledge fell back. For the next mile or two there was a double bend, first one way, then a short interval, then the other way.
He wasn’t sure the lorry could make that at speed, but Singleton had got the hang of driving it now and in the dark made the adjustments necessary to keep his lumbering vehicle on the road, though it swayed dangerously, the load it was carrying sometimes shifting with the curves.
The road was straight again, houses and a barn flashing past, a roadside pub and then a long looping bend.
Singleton wasn’t prepared for it. He swung the lorry too hard around the first part of the bend, then overcompensated as he began to slip sideways on the rough surface. Dust flew up from his wheels and he lost speed as he struggled to keep himself upright.
The bend ended in another short, straight stretch, and then a copse of trees loomed ahead at the next bend. And then in the lorry headlamps a single bicyclist stood out with shocking clarity.
He had been lucky this far, Singleton had. The road had been empty and he had had the time and the strength to keep the wheel under control. But his first reaction as he saw the bicycle was to swerve, his tires failed to grip, and the side and rear of the lorry began to slide inexorably toward the oncoming bicycle.
It was like slow motion. Rutledge could see the bicycle, and then as the lorry slowly lost traction, it blotted the rider from view. The scream of the brakes was almost human, and like a juggernaut the lorry moved on, across the road now, blocking it from verge to verge. In the glow of the headlamps the bicycle rose in a gleaming silver arc, rising above the truck like a winged thing, and then the silver faded and it was lost to view.
Rutledge was braking with all the power of his arm, knowing it wasn’t going to be in time, that either the bicycle could catch him or he would slam at speed into the side of the lorry.
He fought the wheel, heard the bicycle crash into something just to the left of him, and saw himself sliding too, this time sideways, and his brakes could do him no good.
Somehow Rutledge managed to gun the motor at the last, forward momentum clashing with his sideways slide.
He wound up in a field by the road, came to a jarring stop, and was out of the motorcar while it was still rocking heavily.
The lorry was crashing into the wood, trees snapping as the weight of the vehicle mowed into them, metal rending with a high-pitched whine that was earsplitting.
He couldn’t see what had become of the rider, and his greatest fear was that whoever it was had been caught beneath the lorry wheels and dragged.
Suddenly everything was quiet.
From the verge of the road he heard a whimper, and went quickly toward it, cursing himself for not bringing his torch. There wasn’t a light for miles, it seemed, except for the lorry’s headlamps and his own.
She was lying in stubble and high grass, and he stumbled over a stone and nearly went headfirst into her.
He and Hamish saw her at