"The only one killing people is you," Kenner said. Thunder was rumbling and lightning flickered dimly behind the inky clouds. It was absurd to be having this conversation in the middle of a storm.
But it was worth it to get the guy alive.
"Hey, I'm not killing anyone," the guy said. "Not even you."
"You're killing little kids," Kenner said, "in the park. You're killing families on a picnic."
"Casualties are inevitable in accomplishing social change. History tells us that."
Kenner wasn't sure whether the guy believed what he was saying, had been fed it at college, or was just distracted by fear. Then again, maybe it was meant to be a distraction amp; He looked to his right, beneath his own vehicle. And he saw a pair of feet moving around the SUV and heading toward him.
Ah hell, he thought. It was disappointing. He aimed carefully and shot once, hitting the man behind the SUV in the ankle. The guy screamed in pain and went down on his back. Kenner could see him under the car. He wasn't young, maybe forty or forty-five. Bearded. He carried a machine gun, and he was rolling over to shoot Kenner fired twice. The man's head jerked back. He dropped the machine gun and did not move, his body sprawled awkwardly in the grass.
The man under the semi began to fire his own machine gun. The bullets were flying wildly. Kenner heard several thunk into his SUV. Kenner lay in the grass, head down.
When the shooting stopped, he yelled, "Last chance!"
"Fuck you!"
Kenner waited. There was a long pause. He listened to the sound of the rain. It was coming down very hard, now.
He waited.
The guy yelled, "Did you hear me, you f**king a**hole?"
"I heard you," Kenner said, and shot once.
It was a real desert downpour, Evans thought, gripping the steering wheel. The rain was coming down in dense sheets. Even with the windshield wipers going as fast as they could, he found it almost impossible to see the road ahead. He had dropped his speed to fifty, then forty. Now he was down to thirty. The pickup truck behind them had slowed, too. There was no real choice.
He passed one or two other cars, but they were all pulled over to the side of the road. It was the sensible thing to do.
The pavement was awash in water, and whenever the pavement dipped a little, it formed a lake, or a rushing rivulet. Sometimes he could not tell how deep the water was, and he didn't want to soak his ignition. He gunned the engine to keep it dry.
He didn't see any road signs. It was almost as dark as night out there, and he had his headlights on, but they seemed to make no difference. He could see only a few yards ahead through the rain.
He looked over at Sarah, but she was just staring forward. Not moving, not speaking. He wondered if she was all right.
Looking in the rearview mirror, he could sometimes see the lights of the pickup truck following him, and sometimes not. There was that much rain.
"I think we're almost to the park," he said. "But I can't be sure."
The interior of the windshield was starting to fog up. He rubbed it with the back of his arm and his elbow, making a squeaking sound on the glass. Now he could see a little better. They were at the top of a gentle hill, heading down toward "Oh shit."
"What?" Sarah said.
"Look."
At the bottom of the hill was a fifteen-foot culvert, the road passing over a series of large pipes carrying water from a small stream. Earlier, the stream had been little more than a silvery trickle in a rocky bed. But it had broadened and risen so that it now flowed over the surface of the road, the water moving swiftly.
Evans couldn't tell how deep it was. Probably not very deep.
"Peter," Sarah said. "You've stopped the car."
"I know."
"You can't stop."
"I don't know if I can go through this," he said. "I don't know how deep"
Six inches of water is enough to carry away a car.
"You've got no choice."
In his rearview mirror, he saw the lights of the pickup truck. He headed down the hill, toward the culvert. He kept his eyes on the mirror, waiting to see what the truck did. It had slowed as well, but it was still following as he drove the SUV down the hill.
"Keep your fingers crossed," Evans said.
"I've got everything crossed."
He entered the water. It was whooshing up on the sides of the car, spraying up as high as the windows, and gurgling under the floorboards. He was terrified that he would lose the ignition, but so far, so good.
He gave a sigh. He was approaching the middle now, and it wasn't that deep. No more than two, two and a half feet. He would make it okay.
"Peter amp;" Sarah pointed ahead.
There was a large eighteen-wheeler coming down the road toward them. Its lights were flaring. It wasn't slowing down at all.
"He's an idiot," Evans said.
Moving slowly in the water, he turned right, moving farther toward his side of the road, to make room.
In response, the truck moved directly into his lane.
It did not slow down.
Then he saw the logo above the cab.
It said in red letters, "A amp;P."
"Peter, do something!"
"Like what?"
"Do something!"
Several tons of roaring steel were coming right at him. He glanced in the rearview mirror. The blue pickup truck was still behind him, closing in.
They had him front and back.
They were going to drive him off the road.
The semi was in deeper water now, roaring forward. The water plumed high on both sides.
"Peterrrrr!"
There wasn't any choice.
He spun the wheel and drove off the road, plunging into the water of the rushing stream.
The SUV nosed down, and water came over the hood, up to the windshield, and for a moment he thought they were going to sink right there. Then the bumper crunched against the rocks of the streambed, and the wheels gained purchase, and the car straightened.
For a thrilling moment he thought he was going to be able to drive the car along the streambedthe river wasn't that deep, not reallybut almost at once, the engine died, and he felt the rear end pull loose and spin around.
And they were carried helplessly along in the river.
Evans turned the ignition, trying to start the engine again, but it wasn't working. The SUV moved gently, rocking and bumping against rocks. Occasionally it would stop, and he considered getting out, but then it would begin to float downstream again.
He looked over his shoulder. The road was surprisingly far back. Now that the engine was out, the car was fogging up quickly. He had to rub all the windows, to see out.
Sarah was silent. Gripping the arms of her seat.
The car came to a stop again, against a rock. "Should we get out?" she said.
"I don't think so," he said. He could feel the car shuddering in the moving water.
"I think we should," she said.
The car started to move again. He tried the ignition, but it would not start up. The alternator whirred and sputtered. Then he remembered.
"Sarah," he said. "Open your window."
"What?"
"Open your window."
"Oh." She flicked the switch. "It doesn't work."
Evans tried his own window on the driver's side. It didn't work, either. The electrical systems were shot.
On a chance, he tried the rear windows. The left window opened smoothly.
"Hey! Success."
Sarah said nothing. She was looking forward. The stream was moving faster, the car picking up speed.
He kept rubbing the fogged windows, trying to see, but it was difficult and suddenly the car gave a sharp jolt, and afterward the movement was different. It went swiftly ahead, turning slowly in circles. The wheels no longer touched rock.
"Where are we? What happened?" Together, they rubbed the windshield frantically to get it clean.
"Oh Jesus," Sarah said, when she saw.
They were in the middle of a rushing river. Muddy brown, and moving fast, standing waves of churning water. There were big tree branches and debris moving swiftly along. The car was going faster and faster every second.
And water was coming in through the floor now. Their feet were wet. Evans knew what that meant.
They were sinking.
"I think we should get out, Peter."
"No." He was looking at the standing waves of churning water. There were rapids, big boulders, sinkholes. Maybe if they had helmets and body protection, they might try to go into the current. But without helmets they would die.
The car tilted to the right, then came back up. But he had the feeling that sooner or later it would roll onto its side and sink. And he had the feeling it would sink fast.
He looked out the window and said, "Does this look familiar? What river is this?"
"Who cares?" Sarah yelled.
And then Evans said, "Look!"
Trooper Rodriguez saw the SUV bouncing and spinning down the river and immediately hit his car siren. He grabbed the bullhorn and turned to the picnickers.
"Folks, please clear the area! We have a flash flood now. Everybody move to higher ground, and do it now!"
He hit the siren again.
"Now, folks! Leave your things for later. Go now!"
He looked back at the SUV, but it was already almost out of sight, headed down the river toward the McKinley overpass. And right beyond McKinley overpass was the cliff's edge, a ninety-foot drop.
The car and its occupants wouldn't survive it.
And there was nothing they could do about it.
Evans couldn't think, couldn't planit was all he could do to hang on. The SUV rolled and turned in the churning water. The vehicle was sinking lower, and the water now sloshing at knee height was freezing cold, and seemed to make the car more unstable, its movements more unpredictable.
At one point he banged heads with Sarah, who grunted, but she was not saying anything either. Then he banged his head on the door post, saw stars briefly.
Ahead, he saw an overpass, a roadway held up with big concrete stanchions. Each stanchion had caught debris floating downriver; the pylons were now wrapped with a tangled mat of tree branches, burned trunks, old boards, and floating junk, so that there was little room to pass by.
"Sarah," he yelled, "unbuckle your seat belt." His own belt was now under the chilly water. He fumbled with it, as the car rolled.
"I can't," she said. "I can't get it."
He bent to help her.
"What are we going to do?'
"We're going to get out," he said.
The car raced forward, then slammed into a mass of branches. It shuddered in the current, but held position. It clanged against an old refrigerator (a refrigerator? Evans thought) that bobbed in the water nearby. The pylon loomed above them. The river was so high, the road overpass was only about ten feet above them.
"We have to get out, Sarah," he said.
"My belt is stuck; I can't."
He bent to help her, plunging his hands into the water, fumbling for the belt. He couldn't see it in the mud. He had to do it by feel.
And he felt the car begin to move.
It was going to break free.
Sanjong was driving furiously along the upper road. He saw Peter and Sarah in their SUV, riding the current toward the bridge. He saw them crash against the pylon, and hold precariously there.
The traffic on the bridge was swarming away from the park, passengers panicking, honking horns, confusion. Sanjong drove across the bridge, and jumped out of his car. He began to run across the bridge, toward the car in the water below.
Evans hung on desperately as the SUV rolled and spun in the churning water. The refrigerator clanged against them, again and again. Branches stuck through the shattered windows, the tips quivering like fingers. Sarah's seat belt was jammed, the latch was crumpled or something. Evans's fingers were numb in the cold. He knew that the car wouldn't stay in position very long. He could feel the current pulling at it, dragging it laterally.
"I can't get it open, Sarah," he said.
The water had risen; it was now almost chest high.
"What do we do?" she said. Her eyes were panicky.
For an instant he didn't know, and then he thought I'm an idiot and he threw himself bodily across her, plunged his head underwater, and felt for the door post on her side of the car. He dragged a three-foot length of the seat belt away from the post, and brought his head back up, gasping for air.
"Slide out!" he yelled. "Slide out!"
She understood immediately, putting her hands on his shoulder and shoving as she slithered out from the belt. His head went back under the water, but he could feel her getting free. She moved into the backseat, kicking him in the head as she went.
He was back up above the water, gasping.
"Now climb out!" he yelled.
The car was starting to move. The branches creaking. The refrigerator clanging.
Sarah's athleticism stood her in good stead. She slipped through the rear window, and hung onto the car.
"Go for the branches! Climb!" He was afraid the current would take her if she held onto the car. He was scrambling back into the rear seat, then squeezing himself through the window. The car was pulling loose, trembling at first, then distinctly moving, rolling around the debris pile, and he was still half out the window.
"Peter!" Sarah shouted.
He lunged, throwing himself forward into the branches, scratching his face but feeling his hands close around large branches and he pulled his body clear of the car just as the current ripped it away, dragging it under the bridge.
The car was gone.
He saw Sarah climbing up the debris stack, reaching up for the concrete railing of the roadway. He followed her, shivering from cold and fear. In a few moments, he felt a strong hand reach down and pull him up the rest of the way. He looked up and saw Sanjong grinning at him.
"My friend. You are a lucky one."
Evans came over the railing and toppled onto the ground, gasping, exhausted.
Distantly, he heard the sound of a police siren, and a bullhorn barking orders. He became aware of the traffic on the bridge, the honking horns, the panic.
"Come on," Sarah said, helping him up. "Somebody's going to run over you if you stay here."