Lionel eased off the gas. He feathered the brakes until we’d decelerated to somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty miles per hour, then slammed them, and after continuing to slide forward a few car lengths despite the antilock safeguard, he punched the gas pedal and executed a skidding left turn across the centerline onto a private dirt lane. Clouds of blue smoke billowed around us, accompanying the eardrum-rupturing shriek of abused tires. Cloaked in its own bank of smoke, the Mercury screeched by on the main road, yawing in a controlled slalom as its driver reacted to Lionel’s maneuver. The driver jerked to a halt, reversed, and turned onto the farm road; a shark cruising through the spray of pebbles and mud in our wake.

Going by Lionel’s description, this had to be a carload of the Mares of Thrace trying to chase us down. What were they to Mandibole and Redlick? Enforcers? Protection details of religious fundamentalists often scribbled outside the lines. The freaky animism-tinged hoodoo I’d encountered in Horseheads was indicative of fanatics. Fanatics are, by definition, dangerous. The notion of squaring off with cultists in the woods was an unpleasant prospect. Considering my wealth of personal experience with getting shot at, I’d assume another team of the bastards was en route. I understood why Lionel had detoured off-road. The SUV was sturdier, more powerful, and a four-wheel drive. Its weight would serve it well in the slop. I worried about the tactic anyhow. Shotgun notwithstanding, if our pursuers ran us to ground and shooting started, we might lose. This assessment altered my personal rules of engagement somewhat, and not in their favor.

One moment a faint, magical crest of golden-red sunset shone from the rim of the world. Then down came the curtain. The Mercury engaged high beams. Blinding glare filled our mirrors.

Lionel had the SUV flying down the private road. Both hands on the wheel, expertly managing its violent wrenches that threatened to catapult us into the ditch with each rock or pothole. He acclimated to the handling and pushed the vehicle. The speedometer needle crept higher. Barbed fence was strung parallel to the road on the passenger side. On the driver’s side, a steep bank dropped into darkness. The panorama shook like a stop-motion film. I smiled as the euphoria drugs flooded my bloodstream.

“When I run out of road, I’m gonna have to make a decision.” Lionel slipped his glasses into his breast pocket, like taking his hand from the wheel for a couple of seconds was no big thing.

“You won’t run out of road.” I watched the Mercury. We maintained the gap. The driver had skills, but he or she could only work with the tools at hand. The car wasn’t an all-terrain vehicle. “You’ll engage four-by-four and make a road.”

He laughed. We passed a sward of flattened earth and a clutch of hay wagons and tractor blades. Ahead, the road bent toward the flank of a forest. Cottonwood and willow trees promised boggy terrain. The road degraded into a rutted trail. Good news for our team. The worse it got, the better.