Ghosts In the Heart. Michael J.D. Keller

of the slope with the fewest natural impediments. This would have to do.

      From his refuge in the concealing darkness, Karim watched with wonder as the figure he found so inexplicably ominous simply dropped out of sight. Cautiously, he rose and walked over to the edge of the pavement. In the dimly obscure canyon that spread out before him, he could see the weakening beam of the flashlight flicker, he could hear the crack of breaking branches, and the crunch of rushing footsteps fighting their way through one obstacle after another. The man was trying to get across what Karim could now identify as an extended valley-like depression. From the way the light repeatedly changed course, sometimes retracing its movements, at other times abruptly shifting directions, veering one way and then another, it seemed that the man’s passage was encountering difficulties. Nevertheless, the sounds of his frantic movements gradually became faint, and then faded away entirely. Whatever his objective, wherever he was going in that trackless night, he was advancing toward it. Shaking his head, Karim turned away. Only Allah knew what this man was seeking. No longer looking across the gully. Karim did not see the headlights of a vehicle approaching from the north. Nor did he see the second car racing in pursuit.

      Mckenzie had not bothered trying to climb down the sharply pitched slope. Instead, he leaped forward, hurling his body into the darkness; landing in a seated position several feet below the highway. Raising one hand to protect his face, he allowed gravity to take him wherever it wanted. With the flashlight gripped tightly in his other hand, he rolled, slid, and tumbled in a barely controlled fall. He could feel rocks and slashing branches beat against him, tear his clothes, and punish his body. When this wild ride ended, he would have cuts, bruises and scrapes of all types, but none of that concerned him now.

      His momentum came to an abrupt stop against a solidly rooted tree that left his ribs aching from the impact. Staggering to his feet, he flicked on the flashlight and assessed his position. He had reached the bottom of the ravine. Behind him and up the slope was the blocked road where he had left his car. His goal, the highway he had to reach, was ahead of him across the floor of this overgrown wasteland.

      The dim and fluctuating light from the flashlight reminded him that the batteries were close to failure. To save whatever small power he had left, Mckenzie tried to identify a path, and then struggle forward in the faint glow of moonlight, snapping on the flashlight only as a last recourse. Sometimes, he made progress while at other times his movement became disoriented and chaotic. Again and again a promising path dead-ended in the face of an impassable obstacle - huge boulders, a dense thicket of brush, a maze of trees upended by wind or surging water. He had nearly concluded that the floor of this hellish valley was nothing but an unsolvable puzzle when he literally fell into the solution. Pushing through a high patch of weeds, he stumbled forward as his foot suddenly dropped off into space. The run-off water from the road above had cut a ditch across the uneven ground. Little more than a narrow trench, it still offered an unimpeded route toward the other side of the ravine, and the highway waiting for him there.

      He heard the snarling growl of automobile engines coming from the north even before he saw the approaching headlights. Snapping on the light he looked at his watch. Three forty three a.m. He had run out of time. He was still at the bottom of the ravine with a steep hillside to climb to reach the road; and she was coming. There was no way to signal, to wave her to a stop. He was out of time.

      * * * * *

      Fear! Yes, she was afraid and confused as well. Why was this happening? Who was this crazy person chasing her? As her rear view mirror filled with the blindingly high beams of the pursuing Citroen, the heavier dark sedan surged forward and struck her rear bumper. As she fought to keep control of her rented Renault, she experienced other emotions. Anger!! Fury! Did this murderous bastard think she was going to curl up and die for him? If this pile of shit thought she was going to collapse into a sobbing helpless victim, he didn’t know her. He didn’t know Mireille Marchand.

      She downshifted and slid through the sharp turn just as Jeremy, the stunt driver on The Diamond Thief had taught her. Whoever was operating the Citroen had not received the same skilled training. He skated back and forth across the pavement as he battled to stay on the road. In those few seconds, she shifted gears again and accelerated. The headlights of her pursuer receded as she gained a measure of distance.

      Her Renault was not as fast as the Citroen, but it was more maneuverable. After recovering from her early shock, she had used that capability to keep a tenuous lead over the larger vehicle. The twisting, curving road was actually working to her benefit, allowing her to employ the driving skills she had acquired, almost as a lark, when working on the film. Then to her dismay, she ran out of curves.

      Speeding over the small rise, she saw the road before her stretch off into the darkness, a straight uninterrupted line. Once again she could see the Citroen fill her mirror as its powerful engine propelled it toward her. Instead of ramming against the rear of her vehicle, it swung to the left and pulled up beside her as if intending to pass. The two cars ran abreast, side by side, down the darkened highway. Mireille turned to look at her tormenting pursuer. There were two men in the car, and one of them had also turned his head. For a millisecond their eyes connected and she thought she could see him grin - a sneering humorless expression of triumph.

      The Citroen swung hard to the right smashing against the Renault, causing her vehicle to swerve wildly. The steering wheel jerked loose from Mireille’s hands as she lost control of the car. She felt the Renault careen off the highway and then it was tumbling, rolling, crashing down a hillside. She screamed.

      * * * * *

      At the bottom of the ravine Alexander Mckenzie watched in horror as the Renault was forced off the road. It left the highway front end first as if the driver was still trying to direct the movement. Then it bounced, spun sideways, and overturned. The vehicle rolled down the slope, metal crunching against rock before it came to rest back on its wheels at the lowest point in the gully.

      Mckenzie had become a participant in his worst nightmare. So many times he had visualized this scene, the dark green Renault falling helplessly into an abyss. Now, he saw it not as if in a film or newsreel, but as an interactive drama. It had happened before his very eyes; and the car had come to a halt no more than thirty feet away.

      For a moment, he was transfixed by the sight, unable to move even the slightest part of his body. Then the odor of gasoline reached his nostrils, and a small flame took shape near the rear of the car. In that flickering light that threatened to burst at any moment into an raging conflagration, he could see movement inside the Renault. Disregarding rocks, bushes, broken ground or the threat of an fiery death, he ran toward the car.

      She was alive!