Duggai lets himself down onto his left side and scrabbles with his hand in the wet weeds but he cannot find the knife.
The need for speed and distance overpowers everything else now. He leaves the knife behind, drags himself one-legged across the gravel and stickers, makes for the trees.
He looks back. The lamplit windows are only faint smudges of light.
Freedom.
But to keep it he must make distance. Against the twisting needles of pain he hobbles over the top of the hill and into the forest beyond. Twigs and stones lacerate his bare soles.
Finally there is the road.
He remembers coming through the town manacled in the back seat of the Department of Corrections sedan seven months ago. It is not more than two miles to the edge of town. If he keeps moving he can be there in an hour even on one leg.
He puts his good foot onto the road and limps into the drenching darkness.
2
Mackenzie’s corded forearms wrestled the steering wheel. Insects crashed into the Jeep’s windshield, leaving smears; on the highway ahead lay a black watery heat mirage. A roadside sign flashed past: “Industry we do desire.… Interested? Please Inquire!” The painted letters had been faded gray by the sun.
He left the blacktop at the head of the pass. The Jeep rattled across the rails of the cattle-guard and Mackenzie put it recklessly down the washboard ruts of the dirt road. Everything shook; there was a clattering din. Impelled by haste he didn’t let up until he passed the turnoff to the Recreation Area. Then the road narrowed and began to twist and he was forced to drop it into second gear.