But as he turned into the next steep bend he forgot everything but the handling of the truck. The wind suddenly pounced with the ferocity of a wild beast. The engine stalled and the truck came to a shuddering standstill. It was as if they’d run into a brick wall, and they were headed right into the teeth of the wind and received its full blast. Rain like a jet from a hydrant made the windshield creak. It was impossible to see through the torrents of water that hammered down on the truck.
Cursing, Dan started the engine again, let in his clutch. The truck jerked forward, shuddered against the wind, then suddenly began to rock violently. There was a crash as cases of grapefruit, torn from under the slapping tarpaulin, thudded on to the road.
‘Christ!’ Dan gasped. ‘The load’s going!’
More cases crashed on to the road as he threw the truck into reverse, began to back down the incline to the shelter of the mountain-side round the bend.
The truck wobbled and he felt the off-side wheels lift.
‘We’ll be over,’ he thought, stiff with fear. He wanted to open the cab door and jump clear, to save himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the truck and his load.
The truck began to slide towards the edge of the road, and, struggling desperately to steer against the skid, Dan gunned the engine, shooting the truck backwards, took the bend with the rear wheel almost over the edge, reached shelter. He braked, cut the engine, scarcely believing they were safe, and sat back, every muscle in his body fluttering, his mouth dry.
‘That was something,’ he said, shoved his cap to the back of his head, wiped his streaming forehead with his sleeve. ‘That was certainly something.’
‘What are you going to do now?’ the girl asked. She was as calm as a patchwork quilt.
He couldn’t bring himself to speak, but climbed down into the rain to inspect the damage.
In the light of the headlamps he could see the wooden cases scattered all over the road. Some of the cases had broken open: bruised yellow balls glistened in the rain. He would have to wait for daylight now, he thought, too bitter even for anger. There was nothing else for it. He was stuck on the mountain with a lost load the way he’d been stuck last year.
Soaking wet, tired beyond endurance, he dragged himself into the cab.
The girl was sitting in his place, behind the steering-wheel, but he was too tired to ask her to move. He slumped in the other corner of the cab, closed his eyes.
Before he could think of any plan for the next day, before he could estimate what he had lost, he was asleep, his head falling on his chest, his eyelids like lead weights.
Then he dreamed he was driving the truck. The sun was high above the mountain and a soft wind sang as the truck skimmed down the downhill stretches. It was fine, driving like that. He didn’t feel tired any more. He felt fine and he gunned the engine and the speedometer needle showed seventy, flicking back and forth. His wife, Connie, and his kid were at his side. They were smiling at him, admiring the way he handled the truck, and the kid yelled for him to go faster, to outrace the wind, and the truck seemed to fly over the road with the grace and speed of a swallow.
Then suddenly the dream became a nightmare. The steering-wheel crumpled in his hands as if it were made of paper and the truck gave a great bound in the air, swerved off the road and plunged over and over and over, and he woke with Connie’s screams in his ears, shaking, ice round his heart.
For a moment he thought the truck was still falling because the engine was roaring and the truck was lurching, then he realized that the truck was rushing madly downhill, its headlights like a flaming arrow flying through darkness. Stupefied with shock and sleep, he automatically grabbed for the handbrake, shoved his foot down on the brake pedal. His hand and foot found nothing, and then it dawned on him he wasn’t driving at all, but that the girl had charge of the truck.
Before his befuddled brain could grasp what was happening, he became aware of another sound: the wailing note of a police-siren behind them.
He was awake now, alarmed and angry.
‘What the hell do you think you’re up to?’ he shouted at the girl. ‘Stop at once! My load’s loose and the cops are after us! Can’t you hear them? Stop, I tell you!’
She paid him no attention, but sat behind the wheel like a stone statue, her foot slowly forcing the gas pedal to the boards, building up the speed of the engine, forcing the truck faster and faster until it began to sway dangerously. The wooden cases behind clattered and banged under the tarpaulin.
‘Have you gone crazy?’ Dan bawled, frightened to touch her in case he caused her to swerve off the road. ‘You’ll have us over in a moment. Pull up, you little fool!’
But she was deaf to him, and the truck hurtled on through the rain and the wind into darkness.
Behind, the siren screamed at them, and Dan leaned out of the cab window, stared back the length of the swaying truck, rain beating on his face and head. A single headlight flickered behind them. Dan guessed they were being chased by a State cop on a high-speed motor-cycle. He turned back to the girl, shouted: ‘That’s a speed cop behind. He’s gonging us. You can’t get away from him. Pull up, will you?’
‘I’m going to get away from him,’ the girl said, her voice pitched high above the roar of the engine and the wind. And she laughed that odd metallic little laugh that had already set his teeth on edge.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Dan said, moving closer to her. ‘We’ll only hit something. You can’t beat a cop in this truck. Come on, pull up.’
Ahead the road suddenly widened.
This is it, Dan thought. The cop will shoot past and turn on us. Well, it’s her funeral now. She’ll have to stand the rap. They can’t touch me. The mad, stupid, irresponsible little fool!
It happened the way he thought. There was a sudden roaring of an engine, a dazzling searchlight of a headlamp and the speed-cop was past them; a broad squat figure in a black slicker, his head bent low over the handle-bars.
‘Now you’ve gotta stop,’ Dan shouted. ‘He’ll sit in the middle of the road and cut speed. You’ll have to stop or you’ll hit him.’
‘Then I’ll hit him,’ the girl said calmly.
Dan peered at her, had a sudden feeling that she meant what she said.
‘Are you nuts?’ he bawled, then his heart gave a lurch. Glenview! The tolling bell, someone’s been lucky to escape, the odd metallic laugh, I’m nobody from nowhere. Then I’ll hit him. She was crazy! A lunatic! The cop was after her to take her back to Glenview!
Dan drew away from her, his eyes starting from his head, scared sick. He’d have to do something. She’d kill the cop, kill him and herself. She wouldn’t care what she did. If he could get at the ignition switch! But dare he try? Suppose the move upset her, caused her to pull off the road? He looked through the cab window, his breath laboured, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. They were climbing again. To their left was a white wood fence, guarding the long drop to the twisting road they had left miles behind. If she pulled to the left they were finished, but if she turned right they had a chance: a slim one, but they might get out before the gas tank went up.
He became aware that the cop was signalling them to stop. The sign on the back of his carrier was flickering: Police. Stop!
‘You’ve gotta stop, kid,’ Dan shouted desperately. ‘He doesn’t want you, he wants me. You’ve got nothing to be scared of...’
The girl laughed to herself, leaned forward to peer at the flickering sign. She seemed to be aiming the truck at it.