Provos got her memories straight again. She jogged Slick’s elbow. This time he caught her signal. She pointed to a trail leading off to the left, winding around behind several farm houses.
Slick whipped the car onto the trail. A cloud of dust flew up. In a moment a police car appeared behind, stirring up its own dust. Worse and worse; this looked like a dead end, so that they would be trapped. Why had Provos brought them here?
Provos pointed to a dilapidated barn. She held up her flat hand in a stop gesture.
“God, I hope you know what you’re doing, woman,” Slick muttered. He drew up to the barn and stopped.
Provos gestured them out of the car. She herself was the first out. She ran back the way they had come, through the cloud of dust, waving Slick back.
The police car came up—and Provos stumbled directly in front of it. The brakes screeched as it slid to a stop, barely missing her. She fell half over the hood, wailing.
There was only one man in the car. He got out and caught Provos as she started to fall. He didn’t see Slick circle the car and come at him from behind.
Then Slick put one hand on the cop’s head. He took a handful of hair and hauled back. The other hand held the open razor. It was barely touching the man’s exposed throat. “Now, take it easy,” Slick murmured in the man’s ear. “You better believe I’ll use this thing if I have to.”
Provos straightened up and walked to the police car. Colene and Esta followed. Then the two men, walking in lock-step, came too. The wicked razor remained poised. “You are going to drive,” Slick told the officer. “I have your gun. I will use it on you if you make a peep. You will radio that you lost the car and are searching. You will acknowledge radio contact without signaling that anything’s wrong. Do this, and you will get out of this with your life and health and car. Fail, and I will do what I have to do. All I want is transportation. Got it?”
The man nodded, slowly. A bead of sweat was trailing down the side of his face. He did know who Slick was, and what his business was.
Provos directed Colene to the front seat this time. The others got in back, and the cop took the wheel. Slick did have the gun; he lifted it as he withdrew the razor. It was aimed at the policeman, through the seat back.
The man made the report Slick had specified. He did not give any alarm. Colene knew that Provos would have remembered it if he had.
The car started on down the trail, and then onto a better road. Provos pointed. “Turn left,” Slick said. The man turned left.
Provos shook her head no. The man’s hand reached for the radio. “Don’t touch it!” Slick snapped before the motion was fairly started.
They came to the highway where all this had started. Provos pointed right. “Turn right,” Slick said.
At speed, they relaxed, because Provos had relaxed. She did know what she was doing. Occasionally she would signal them to slow, and Slick gave the order and the driver slowed. What mischief they avoided in this manner the others would never know, and that was just as well.
Then Provos signaled a stop. They stopped. She indicated by gestures that Slick should tie the cop’s hands behind him. Slick used the man’s own handcuffs for that. Then, following her directions, he looped cord through the handcuffs and tied the man to a telephone pole, a short distance from the police car. Then they walked away. True to their word, they had left the man alive and in health and with his car. But without his gun. Seeing that, the man elected not to cry out to any of the passing vehicles.
Provos waved to a pickup truck coming down the highway. It stopped. Provos glanced at Colene.
Colene took the initiative. She flashed her most winsome smile at the driver. “We lost our car, and need to get into town. Can we ride in the back?”
The driver was a youth not a lot older than Colene herself. He hesitated, staring down at her from the cab. Colene realized that he was trying to get a glimpse down inside her blouse. She leaned forward and drew her head back just enough so that he could get that glimpse. “Yeah, sure,” he said, probably not even aware that the eyeful had not been an accident. In certain circumstances, men were easy to manage.
The others climbed onto the back, but Colene joined the driver in front. “Gee, this is real nice of you,” she said brightly. Indeed, she felt positive; she enjoyed proving every so often that her stuff worked. “We were really in a bind.” She snuggled close.
It was no trouble at all to reach her house. “We’ll get off here,” she said. “It’s been great!” She kissed the youth on the cheek, then scooted out. By the time he realized that he didn’t even know her name, it would be too late.
They watched the truck depart. “Okay,” Colene said. “They don’t know about me yet, so my house isn’t watched. My folks won’t be home for another hour. So you can come in and phone for a taxi, Slick, and get far away. Provos and I will disappear.”
Then things started happening. They heard sirens approaching, and knew that the police had gotten the word. “Get out of here!” Colene cried to Slick. “They won’t know where you are if Provos and I distract them long enough.”
But Provos quickly caught hold of Slick’s arm and urged him toward the house. Colene was astonished. “But you can’t mean—” Yet suddenly it was falling into place. Provos had been helping so actively; surely this was what she had foreseen. There was now little chance for Slick and Esta to make a clean break; the pursuit was getting too close. No chance except the Virtual Mode. “This is awesome,” she finished.
A police car appeared. They ran around the house, into the back yard. And Colene paused, appalled. Dogwood Bumshed was gone.
Suddenly it came together: her father’s understanding when she told him about the Virtual Mode and the anchor in the shed. He had believed her—and had acted to prevent her from using it. By having the entire shed removed.
The back door of the house opened. Both her parents came out. They hadn’t even gone to work! They had set this up, and lain in wait for her return. They meant to keep her here, whatever way they could.
It was frightening, yet also touching. The members of her family did care for her; they wanted her with them. Yet they proposed to do it by force. It wasn’t enough that they knew she was well and halfway happy; they wanted her here. So they had betrayed her.
But Provos was forging right on toward the spot, seeming not to have noticed that it was gone. Policemen were appearing all around the property; they must have been waiting in ambush. They would not only trap Colene and Provos, they could catch Slick and Esta: disaster for them both. What did it matter on which side of the yard they were actually caught? They were all doomed.
Colene felt tears of frustration and dawning rage coming. She had worked so hard, and come so close, only to be balked right in sight of the anchor. Slick had faithfully performed his end of the bargain, and now he would be locked away in prison, or worse. And Esta would be returned to her stepfather for her daily torture and rape.
“Damn it!” she swore. “It’s not fair, it’s not right! It’s not supposed to be this way!”
“Come on, honey,” her father called. “We only want what’s best for you. That man’s a killer, and the girl’s a runaway, and the woman is crazy. But you don’t have to be. Give up this delusion. We love you.”
What could she say? Deep down she did love her folks, but she hated them too, for all the wasted years, and for getting straightened out only in her absence, and for finally betraying her like this. She could never trust them again. She would die in their captivity. By her own hand. She couldn’t live without Darius and Seqiro. And what would happen to them when Colene didn’t return with the rad numbering information?