Chapter 7: Route 6

The van stayed three cars back on the interstate, then two, then one.

Ryan watched it in the mirror and kept his speed.

"He isn't hiding anymore," he said. "He wants us to see him."

"Why?"

"To push us where he wants us."

A sign for Exit 41 came up on the right, with orange cones behind it.

Ryan swore and braked.

The ramp ahead was shut, and the only open lane curved off onto the old road, where the van's grille filled the whole mirror.

"Hold her," he said.

"I am holding her."

"Hold her harder."

The van hit our bumper.

The car jerked, and Bean woke up and screamed. I curled around her with my back against the door.

"Erin, are you hurt?"

"Drive!"

He took the old road at sixty, and the dark trees went by in a smear.

Then a long chain-link fence came out of the night on the right, with a hand-lettered sign. WESTBRIDGE DEVELOPMENT. NO TRESPASSING.

My whole body went cold.

"This is it," I said. "This is where he left me."

Ryan didn't answer. His knuckles were white on the wheel.

The gate stood open, chained loosely to its post.

"Brace," he said, and drove through it.

Gravel sprayed. The car bounced over ruts, past a concrete mixer and a stack of pipes, then a dark trailer with a window light on.

The van followed, closer, its headlights blazing through our rear glass.

"Ryan!"

"I see it."

He cut the wheel hard to the left around the trailer and floored it toward the back fence.

The van tried to follow and clipped the pile of pipes.

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