Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [108]
“We can conceal ourselves in the cabins,” suggested Stephens.
“That’s one idea,” said Muldaur. “But right now they’re between us and the cabins.”
“We could head down,” said Giancarlo. “See what’s down the mountain.”
“We know what’s down there,” said Zak. “Smoke and fire.”
The walkie-talkie in Zak’s pocket crackled. “They must have gone down the mountain. We’ve been on all the roads up here and can’t see them anywhere.”
“We heard shots. Did you get one of them?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, they didn’t come past us.”
“Then they had to have gone down.”
“Repeat. They didn’t come past us. Check in the woods. They were hiding in the woods before. Flush them out and chase them this way.”
The Ford came speeding past again, stopped in the center of the intersection, and then careened back along the south side of the lake, where they’d recently shot at the cyclists. “Now!” said Muldaur as he pushed his bike across the tinder-dry forest floor.
49
Zak had forgotten how far the beginning of the downhill run was from the intersection. At least a minute of riding on the flat, maybe two. He could hear the white Ford speeding up. Once again, they found themselves in an all-out race for their lives. This time Muldaur took the first hard pull, towing the four-man pace line for twenty seconds, pulling so hard he strung the other three out behind him, each seeking as much shelter behind the man in front as possible. When Muldaur signaled and moved to the right to avoid a pothole, so did the rest of them in a syncopated rhythm like a caterpillar. They were traveling in excess of twenty-eight miles an hour, no mean feat on mountain bikes.
As Muldaur swung wide and dropped toward the rear of the queue, Zak took the second pull, putting his head down and dropping his chain to a smaller cog in the rear. Behind, he could hear the Ford gaining. Feeling he couldn’t trust Stephens, whose turn would be next, Zak took a longer pull than Muldaur’s: he was determined to get them to the top of the hill before the Ford caught them. After that, they would be in free fall. Zak was breathing so hard he thought he was going to break a rib.
“This is a pretty good workout,” Muldaur shouted from behind. He barely had enough air to speak.
“Great workout,” gasped Zak.
“Maybe we should do this every year.”
“What? Hire guys with rifles to chase us?”
“Yeah.”
Before Zak could think of anything else to say, he heard a shot from behind them. There was too much wind in his ears to hear anything else, but he knew the Ford was closing in. Then suddenly the four bicycles careened down the beginning of the long descent. True to form, Giancarlo surged into the lead and was soon sixty yards in front.
Zak and Muldaur rode side by side. They could hear Stephens’s bicycle behind them as he lost ground. Zak heard a clattering and cocked his head to one side, thinking somebody had fallen. “Lost the rifle,” said Muldaur, pulling ahead.
They sailed down one long stretch of road and turned a corner to the left, all four of them picking up speed.
Zak didn’t see Scooter until Scooter fired at them.
In fact, he caught only a quick glimpse of the Porsche and Kasey in the background, and then they were behind him. Muldaur, who had been in front of Zak, had aimed his bike at Scooter, who, probably because of his earlier experience with Zak, fired just the one shot and then dived away from the road frantically lest he get run over again. It was enough of a distraction for them all to get past unscathed.
The road was straight for almost two hundred yards, and Zak heard more gunshots behind them. Then the road arched to the right, and Zak, taking advantage of the arc, pulled to the far right-hand side of the road to get out of sight as soon as possible. It was getting smokier and smokier.
They sped down the mountainside in a loose phalanx, aware that there were at least two SUVs chasing them now. All in all, Scooter had gotten off three shots, but nobody seemed to be hit. Muldaur was a couple of bike lengths