Again, she pulled over to let the son-of-a-gun pass and again, instead of going on with his business on that empty side of the road, he deliberately took aim at the VW and attempted to side-swipe it. “What’s going on?” Maria repeated but not expecting an answer no more, since it was already obvious that Helena was doing all she could to get away from the pickup with no time to think about why she was doing it.

Side-swiping the Bug at the speed that both of the vehicles were going nearly knocked it over, but after getting her bearings, Helena was back on the road again. The pickup, having pulled over just ahead, was waiting for them and as Helena passed him up, he stepped on the gas and belligerently stayed close behind.

If belligerence was his only problem Helena could have coped with the chase, especially when she caught sight of a gas station down the road and thought for a second that they were saved, but no, the worst was yet to come. As he came up behind them again, measuring his vehicle with hers, she looked directly at her opponent, wanting a good look at the “asshole,” she thought, only to be horrified to see that aside from his cynical grin he had a rifle pointed right at her.

“HIT THE DECK!” she yelled at Maria who, never having heard that expression before except maybe somewhere in an old World War Two–era movie, nevertheless did just that. Helena, too, slumped as far as she could down in her seat just as they heard a blast fired and the truck peeled rubber and passed them up. He didn’t stay ahead of them very long, neither, but waited for them to catch up and pass him up again and just as they were nearing the gas station he pulled up behind them.

Helena drove up to a pump and when the attendant came around she told him to fill it up, check the oil, and wipe the windows while he was at it, too, please, hoping they might kill enough time so that the pickup-back-road terrorist would give up and just go on his way. But before she could hand the key to her gas cap to the attendant, the pickup drove right up to the other side of the pump. Everyone else seemed to freeze at that moment when the guy jumped out of his truck and started to walk directly toward the VW.

Helena got her bearings and rolled up her window. The guy (and once she got a good look at him did not look like much more than a two-legged fly in well-worn Laredo boots) held his denim jacket open with a hand in his pants pocket to reveal a gun he had stuck inside the belt of his jeans.