As she was flung against the door she had just closed, Summer didn’t even bat an eyelash. She congratulated herself on getting positively used to flirting with death.
They skidded left out of the gates that marked the entrance to Albermarle Estates. The objects on the seat between them happened to catch Frankenstein’s eye.
„What the hell’s that?“ he asked, indicating the little pile of twisted black wires. With his vision, they probably looked like snakes. Snakes from hell. To match the car. A bat out of hell carrying snakes from hell.
Summer giggled.
He glanced at her. Both his eyes were visible again, though neither opened wider than a slit. She only hoped he could see.
„Keep your eyes on the road,“ she admonished him. Not that it would probably do much good, but at least he hadn’t crashed them. Yet.
„What are they?“ He really did sound perplexed.
„Spark plug wires,“ Summer explained, settling deeper into her seat. Then, at his astonished glance, she added, „To keep them from following us. The nuns did it to the Nazis in
The Sound of Musk.
Hey, I like movies.“
Frankenstein glanced at her again. His lips twitched, and then he started to laugh.
16
Their luck ran out on Route 165 just south of Tellico Plains. Or, rather, their gas did.
Summer was ‘driving. It was full daylight by this time, but she was so tired that she could barely focus. Her hands, which she had wiped as well as she could on her pants, were no longer black with grease but merely faintly gray, with black rims around the nails. She couldn’t look at them without feeling queasy. Beside her, Frankenstein frowned down at a map he had found in the glove compartment. For the last fifteen minutes he’d been trying to use it to plot the escape route that afforded them the best possible chance of avoiding detection. Something, either his blurred vision or the same exhaustion that plagued Summer, was making it an uphill task.
„We want to keep heading south on 165. We should run into a gravel road running east-west in about half an hour. I can’t find it on the map, but I’ve been up this way before. I know it’s there.“ His voice was rough-edged with weariness.
Putt. Putt. Sputter. Putt. The Chevy seemed to be having a coughing fit. Summer frowned and pushed on the gas. For an instant the car responded. Then it gave another consumptive snort and started to slow down.
„Jesus, we forgot about the gas!“ Frankenstein sounded as horrified as she felt.
Summer stared down at the gas gauge in stupefaction as the Chevy’s speed slowed to a crawl. How could they have forgotten something so important? But what could they have done even if they had remembered? It hit Summer like a baseball bat between the eyes: They didn’t have any money. She had forgotten to retrieve the thirty dollars from her house.
All that for nothing.
„Pull off the road.“
They were in the mountains now, and the road – all the roads – were uphill. Steep, forested slopes slanted skyward on Summer’s left; on her right was a sheer drop of perhaps a thousand feet. Up ahead, more mountains rose out of the early morning mist. Snow caps blended with drifting white clouds in the distance.
A hawk dipped and swooped overhead as Summer pulled off onto the rocky shoulder. They were about halfway up a tortuous two-lane mountain road with no sign of civilization in any direction. They hadn’t spotted another vehicle since they’d passed a coal truck skirting Tellico Plains.
„Now what?“ Summer asked, shifting into neutral – she’d really gotten very good at shifting – and setting the emergency brake before the Chevy could roll downhill.
Frankenstein shrugged and opened his door. She had pulled to the left, across the northbound lane, so the car would hug the mountain rather than perch precariously on the edge of the cliff.
Summer got out too, absently tugging on her broken bra strap to get her pertinent assets back where they belonged. Muffy crawled out after her, slunk to the edge of the road, and threw up in the tall grass.
Muffy had always been prone to travel sickness.
„Now we walk.“ Frankenstein already had the back door open. Besides textbooks, and the baseball cap, the backseat yielded four cans of unopened beer remaining in a plastic ring-pack, a zip-up hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of high-topped basketball shoes. From the looks of them, they were at least size eleven.
„Must be a big kid.“ Frankenstein gave the shoes a cursory glance and set them alongside the beer, cap, and sweatshirt at his feet.
„Walk!“ His previous remark just registered on Summer’s consciousness. She was so tired, she could barely stand, much less contemplate putting one foot in front of the other. „You’ve got to be kidding!“
„Nope. Unless you can fly.“ Frankenstein turned and headed back the way they had come. Too weary to do anything except lean against the car and watch him retreat, Summer was relieved when at last he bent, picked up something from the roadside, and headed back toward her. For a moment there she had feared she and Muffy were being abandoned.
She was almost too tired to care.
„What’s that for?“ she asked when he was once again within hearing range. He was carrying a rusty metal rod about three feet long.
„To break into the trunk. To see if there’s something in there we can use.“
He inserted one end of the rod in the crack by the lock. After a few mighty heaves – Summer was impressed with the way his biceps bulged beneath the short sleeves of the T-shirt when he bore down – the metal on both sides of the lock was bowed and bulging.
But the trunk was still locked.
Summer began to grin.
Except for the new cut in his cheek, Frankenstein’s face didn’t look quite so fearsome this morning, or maybe she had grown used to the way he looked. Both his eyes were ringed with truly magnificent shiners, but they were open wide enough so that she could actually discern the color of his irises without having to squint. His facial bruises ran the color gamut from purple to yellow to green. So when what little normal-hued facial skin he still possessed flushed bright red with annoyance and exertion, she merely admired this cheerful addition to an already impressive array of colors.
„What are you laughing at?“ he snarled when his dozenth effort to pop the lock failed.
Summer told him, and added helpfully, „Looks to me like what you need is a can opener.“
Frankenstein shot her a killing glare. Summer grinned at him. He gave a downward heave on the rod – and it bent almost double.
But the trunk was still locked.
Summer giggled. Frankenstein swore.
Withdrawing the rod from the crack, he stared at its twisted shape for a bitter moment before throwing it aside.
„Jesus!“ he bellowed, without apparent provocation. Summer jumped in reaction to the shout, then followed the trajectory of his outraged gaze.
Muffy trotted daintily away from his foot.
„Goddamned dog peed on my foot!“ He banged his fist down hard on the trunk. The trunk popped open.
Summer couldn’t help it. She laughed so hard she had to sit down on the ground. She laughed so hard that when Muffy crawled into her lap all she could do was bury her face in the dog’s talcum-scented fur to try to muffle her cackles. She laughed so hard that her sides ached, and she thought she might die from being unable to catch her breath.
Then she caught a glimpse of Frankenstein’s sour expression, and laughed some more.
„She does that,“ she gasped semiapologetically when she could spare enough air for speech.
„She does that? The dog goes around peeing on people’s feet and all you can say is, she
does
that? Jesus.“
„She doesn’t much like men – and anyway, she saved your rear back at my house. And she got the trunk open.“
„7 got the trunk open.“
„You wouldn’t have gotten it open without Muffy’s help.“
„Out of gratitude I might let her live, then.“ Frankenstein finished wiping his foot on the grass at the edge of the road and headed back for the trunk. He disappeared from view as he rummaged inside.
From the safety of Summer’s lap Muffy barked once, a delicate little yap.
„What’s she barking at?“ Frankenstein’s head emerged from the trunk.
„I think she’s saying she’s hungry.“
„She’s
saying
she’s hungry? Give me a break. You’re not one of those dotty women who treat their dog like a kid, are you?“
„She’s not my dog. She’s my mother’s. And she’s not dotty. My mother, I mean. Not Muffy.“ Fatigue was tangling her tongue.
„She’s not much like you, then. Your mother, I mean.“ Frankenstein seemed to get the drift of her speech remarkably well. His eyes appeared briefly over the top of the trunk. „You don’t live with your mother, do you?“ He sounded faindy alarmed.
„No, I don’t. She moved to Santee, South Carolina, with my dad when he retired. He died five years ago. She still lives in San tee, but she travels most of the time.“
„So what are you doing with the mutt?“
„Baby-sitting.“ Summer made a face. „My sister Sandra – Mom’s visiting Sandra – says her oldest boy is allergic to dog hair. Personally, I think she’s lying. Muffy doesn’t like Will, her husband.“
„I just bet Will doesn’t think much of Muffy, either.“
„Probably not.“
Frankenstein slammed down the trunk, only to have it bounce up again, narrowly missing hitting him in the nose. He jumped back and shot Summer a look that dared her to grin.
She grinned anyway.
„Get off your lazy butt and get over here and help me with this.“ He sounded disgruntled. Summer’s grin broadened.
„Help you with what?“
„We’re going to push the car over the cliff. Any questions?“
About a million, but Summer only managed to sputter, „W-why?“
„Because I think it’ll be fun. Why do you think? They saw it, that’s why. They can identify it. They find it, they find us. We would have had to get rid of it pretty soon anyway. There’s probably a
BOLO
out on it by now.“
„A BOLO?“
„Be on the lookout for. I told you, those guys back there are cops. At least, one of them is: the one with the mustache. He works for Cannon County. I used to see him around. Name’s Carmichael. He knows me, too.“
Summer shivered. She was suddenly no longer amused. „Are you sure?“
„Sure as a date with a hooker. Now, want to help me push this car?“
Not really, Summer answered mentally, but she stood up anyway. Frankenstein opened the driver’s door, took off the emergency brake, and put one hand on the steering wheel. Summer walked behind the car and braced herself against the back bumper. She didn’t enjoy pushing, but she had done it before. The ‘66 Mustang she had driven all through high school had had a carburetor problem. The engine had died almost every time she stopped at a traffic light. Until she saved up enough to get it fixed, she had done a lot of pushing.
„Yo, Rosencrans!“
Summer peered around the side of the car. It was impossible to see over it because of the defiantly upright trunk lid.
„We’re on a hill. The transmission is in neutral. That tell you anything?“
Summer pondered.
„Get out from behind the car, doofus. Push from the front. That way, when it starts rolling backward, you won’t get run over.“
Good point. Too tired even to take offense at being called „doofus,“ Summer moved to the front of the car.
„Ready?“
Summer nodded.
„I asked if you were ready?“ It was a bellow.
„Yes!“ Summer bellowed back, after checking that Muffy was safely ensconced in the grass. Muffy was sprawled on her belly, her head on her paws, watching alertly. From the look of her, nothing short of a dish of Kal Kan was going to get her to move.
Smart dog, Summer thought as her own stomach rumbled.
„When I say let go, let go! Got that?“
Summer nodded again. Then, remembering that he couldn’t see her, she yelled, „Yes!“
Frankenstein muttered something that sounded vaguely uncomplimentary under his breath. Then the car started to roll backward.
Very little pushing was required. The Chevy started slowly, but as Frankenstein maneuvered it across the road it picked up speed. At the end it was really rolling, so fast that Summer had to trot to keep up.
„Let go!“ Frankenstein yelled. Summer already had. He leaped away from the car and Summer watched, fascinated, as it sailed over the edge. For one glorious moment, it hung suspended against the backdrop of mountains and sky and trees, looking for all the world like a hideously overweight bat. Then its back end pitched downward, and it dropped from sight.
Seconds later the crash came, or rather a series of crashes. Then silence. No explosion. Nothing spectacular at all. The Chevy didn’t even catch fire.
Of course, they’d been out of gas.
„Can’t see it from the road.“ Satisfaction was plain in Frankenstein’s voice as he glanced around at her. He still stood on the rocky shoulder, looking down. His eyes flickered over her once, then moved beyond her up the road.