When he looked up, he saw the sign for Jemez Springs. Everything now reminded him of that other drive. They were still dropping, literally putting a mountain between them and the dead man in Santa Fe.
“They see us,” Holliday said.
The car in front of them jerked with a new burst of speed. Connolly imagined Hannah’s panic. Her one chance was to lose herself in all the empty space, leaving the past behind the mountain. You could do that in the West. Now it was following her, a bogeyman always just over her shoulder. No time to be careful. She would have the gun on Emma, watching her steer, then looking out the window behind, trapped.
“Not too close,” Connolly said. “She has to stop sometime.”
“She’s not going to stop,” Holliday said quietly.
Connolly saw the few buildings of town, Emma’s Chevy streaking through, past the wide porch of the old hotel, the gas station. Suddenly a police car pulled into the street behind her. Our old friend the speed trap, Connolly thought. Emma had been so annoyed. But not now. Get out of the way, he wanted to scream, you don’t know. But the traffic cop, jolted from his lazy afternoon watch, kept on them, his one chance for a ticket. When they didn’t stop, he turned on his siren.
The noise cracked the air like a long scream. Connolly felt his own blood pump faster, triggered by the sharp wail, and he knew that Hannah’s would be racing. The siren wouldn’t stop. It surrounded them, louder and closer, as if the air itself were chasing them. He imagined Hannah turning to see-not just Connolly’s car now, but the lights and the siren, a whole posse. She was being run to ground.
“Idiot. He’s got to stop,” Connolly yelled to no one.
They flashed through the town and then they were back in the hills again, but the cop kept going, inching closer to the lead car. It’s not speeding, Connolly wanted to shout. You’re ruining everything. But that wasn’t the point anymore. Now it was Emma, hands clenched on the wheel, terrified, the air shrieking around her. And his own helplessness. He’d found out everything and it didn’t matter. He couldn’t help her.
When they started climbing the long hill, the police car gained on them, the siren still furious and insistent. Holliday, grim, was pushing their car as fast as it could go, flashing his headlights to get the cop’s attention. Nobody stopped. When Emma reached the top, the car shuddered for an instant, then banked into a sharp curve. Connolly saw it swerve. Then the squeal of tires as it slid toward the edge of the road, the crack as it hit the tree, so fast that it bounced away, fishtailing back in an uncontrollable circle until it flew off the road, plunging backward over the side. He heard the sound of metal crashing, louder even than the siren, a roar. Connolly’s mind went blank. He thought for a second that he could not see, but that was only because the car was gone.
At the top, he jumped from Holliday’s car even before it stopped, the momentum pitching him forward, past the traffic cop standing at the side of the road, over the rim, then down the hill in great leaps, sending up clouds of dust. The car was on its side, driver’s side up, steam rising from the hood. There was glass everywhere. Running, Connolly thought he heard a new siren, but it was his own screaming, shouting her name. He was still screaming for her when he fell against the car, unable to stop his run. Pain shot through his chest. He yanked the door handle, pulling with both hands until it finally came unstuck and popped open. The angle of the car made it snap back, hitting him on the shoulder, and he groaned, then pushed it again until it stayed open. She was flung over the steering wheel, her face covered with blood, not moving.
He reached in to pull her body out. Her head fell back. Was she breathing? He put his arm around her waist, pulling her toward him, straining with the weight. She was wedged against the steering wheel, so that finally he had to pull her out by her arms, the lower part of her body dragged along like a twisted stuffed animal. When she was halfway through the door, Holliday came to help lift her out.
“Is she dead? Is she dead?” Connolly was yelling, putting his ear against her mouth. There was a lot of blood, gashes along her arms from the windshield glass, her face almost covered with it.
Holliday quickly bent over, feeling for a pulse, checking for breathing. “She’s unconscious,” he said briskly. “Help me get her out of here.”
“We’re not supposed to move her!” Connolly shouted, out of his mind. “Don’t you know that? You’re not supposed to move her! You could break something.”
Holliday looked up at him, using the force of his stare to calm him, bring him back. “You’d better move her. This is going to blow.”
