“Chicken!” Matt crowed his insult, his eyes wild, adrenalin buzzing through his body. “Come on, Jonas, race me!” He swerved again and knocked against Jonas’ machine, sent him and Zoey shooting off course, back towards the breakdown lane. They’d reached Turkey Shoot Ridge and the dirt road to Angel Rock.
Matt was wired, yelling and whooping as he made one more reckless charge. Jonas braked again. He skidded past the exit road, kicking up pebbles from the scrub margin, losing control and swerving wide across the lanes, scraping the metal barrier and bouncing off again, fighting to keep his bike upright as it curved back towards the scrub.
There was a moment—a stretched, endless, slow motion moment—when it looked as if Jonas and Zoey would make it. He regained his balance and slammed on his brakes. I almost breathed. But Matt charged him again, rode straight at him and forced him sideways. Jonas’ already skidding wheels met the scrub, skidded some more and threw him back on to the road.
And that was the end.
They were travelling at speed, just like the cops said. Jonas’ wheels went from under him. Metal crashed and scraped along the tarmac. Zoey was thrown clear, but Jonas went under the Harley and was trapped, slamming into the central barrier, breaking his neck and dying there, on the spot.
Which left Matt Fortune circling the crash site like a slow, black vulture, his fringed jacket flapping open, surveying the wreck and beginning to understand what he’d done. He rode up to Jonas and saw that he was dead. Then Zoey, still breathing, eyes still open, slipping away. He leaned over her as she lost consciousness, his expression weird—a mixture of the guy who makes the winning basket and a photo-fit picture of a mass-murderer. He’d won the Jonas Zoey Matt game, but he had to kill to do it.
I still didn’t breathe. Matt’s face mesmerized and terrified me.
He watched Zoey’s eyes close. He circled round her, once, twice, then, looking up and down the highway to make sure that there were no witnesses, he rode through a gap in the central barrier and headed back into town.
12
I got my voice back beside the broken bodies of Jonas and Zoey.
“You killed him,” I whispered again.
Devil-angel Matt’s face showed no emotion.
“That’s the truth you’ve been hiding ever since it happened,” I accused. “And now I know it too.”
The back wheel of Jonas’ bike spun silently in the sun.
“So?” Matt turned to me with his empty eyes. “What are you going to do, crazy girl? Who will believe you?”
Hunter stepped in, fixing Matt with his powerful gaze. “Everyone—that’s who. Face it, Matt—your time is up.”
His iron-grey eyes held Matt, who reacted like a trapped animal, twisting and writhing to escape.
“It’s no use struggling,” I told Matt calmly. “Hunter’s power is too strong. You’re guilty. You have to face it.”
But Matt didn’t have the courage. In his own warped, weak mind he began to wriggle out of it. “Jonas wimped out on me—that’s why he crashed. The guy should have given me a race.”
“You hounded him,” I replied.
“I was fooling around, that’s all.”
“You never meant to kill him?” I gestured towards Jonas’ limp body, his limbs twisted at odd angles, his head thrown back and to one side.
“Yeah, it was an accident.”
I shook my head. “If it wasn’t for you, Jonas would still be alive. He and Zoey would be together.”
Lying on the warm tarmac surface, Zoey stirred. She turned her head and tried to raise her arm.
“You believed she was dead too. You relied on that.”
“You keep your dirty mouth shut!” Matt’s anger erupted at last. He lunged at me and managed to get one hand around my throat before Hunter zapped him and he slumped to the ground.
“Time to leave,” Hunter decided. This time he held my hand as he invited the beating souls into our space and made my wings lift me from the scene of the crash. He left devil-angel Matt to trail painfully behind, through the whirling grey mist and hordes of wailing death-heads, towards the distant point of light.
We were directly under the cross. Rain was driving into our faces.
“Logan, get up there!” I hissed.
I felt him stiffen with surprise.
“Please!” I begged. “Trust me. Ride alongside Matt.”
Logan gave in to my plea and broke ranks. He swerved around Lucas and Jordan to catch up with Matt and Bob.
“Dude, you’ve got to get through this!” Matt was telling Bob.
“Don’t tell me what f need to do!” Bob swerved angrily away, leaving space for Logan to ride between them.
Behind us, the whole procession slowed almost to a halt. We’d reached the turn off for the back road to Angel Rock.
“You!” I told Matt Fortune, leaning out towards him and burning him with my gaze. “You don’t get to tell Jonas’ dad what to do!”
Bob jerked his head up to look at me. I had his full attention and Matt’s too.
“This is all down to you,” I said “You killed him, Matt. And now you’re going to pay.”
The rain poured down as Matt’s engine snarled. On my right-hand side, Bob Jonson heard my accusation and reacted as if someone had passed a thousand volts through his body. He gripped his handlebars and gritted his teeth, stretching his lips in a weird smile of realization. “Is that right. Matt? You killed my son?”
“He was there. He made Jonas race, forced him right off the road,” I said, loud and clear. “Tell him, Matt. Tell it like it was.”
But Matt denied it. “She’s crazy,” he muttered, pushing on up the hill by Turkey Shoot Ridge, into the driving rain. Way in the distance, thunder rattled. Bob’s face suffered another jolt of fury as Matt rode off. When he turned to look at me with the startling blue eyes he shared with Jonas, it was as if the months of agony, drunkenness and despair had suddenly burned off and he was left with the gleaming nugget of truth. “Thanks, Darina,” he mouthed. He opened the throttle and roared after Matt.
In his mirror Matt saw Bob come after him. He picked up speed, raising a heavy spray which enveloped Bob as he drew close.
“Follow them!” I begged Logan, who hesitated then again gave way. I felt the bike surge forward, heard the thunder roll and saw a fork of lightning tear the black sky in two.
The two bikes ahead of us were still gathering speed. They reached the brow of the hill and disappeared.
“Faster!” I urged Logan, aware now of two more riders riding alongside us. One was Charlie Fortune, the other Brandon Rohr. The rest of the confused procession had pulled on to the hard shoulder at the base of the hill.
I felt Logan tense up and crouch forward, determined not to get left behind in the cloud of spray raised by Brandon and Charlie’s bikes. More lightning forked down, thunder cracked, and I knew Hunter and the Beautiful Dead were no longer around to back me up. They were in limbo. I was alone, speeding towards Foxton in a storm.
Our three bikes crested the hill together. We saw Matt and Bob swoop down into the next valley, Bob close on Matt’s heels, both swerving wide to pass a slow truck, ploughing through the white spray. Ahead of them lay the straggle of houses that lined the road at the Foxton turn-off.
Logan, Charlie and Brandon stayed three abreast, gaining speed as we accelerated downhill. Ahead of us, I saw Bob gain on Matt and almost draw level then gasped as Matt suddenly shot to the left, taking the turn-off at the last split second, hoping to fool Bob into forging on straight ahead.
Bob reacted fast. He braked and his back wheel almost skidded from under him as he veered left, across the track of the heavy silver truck. For a second, both bikes vanished from sight, then reappeared racing neck and neck down the rough road by the creek.
There was more thunder. Thin strands of white cloud clung to the mountain peaks, the rain poured down mercilessly.
Logan reached the turn off just ahead of Brandon and Charlie. He leaned way to
the left, his knee almost scraping the road as he took the corner. Now we were on dirt track, splashing through mud, with the creek to our right. Up ahead, Matt had gained some ground, leaving Bob trailing by about twenty metres. But Bob wouldn’t give up, recklessly cutting corners and gaining on Matt again. The two bikes flashed past the old fishermen’s cabins, on through the burnt pine trees whose roots still clung miraculously to the steep rock face.
Under the lashing rain, Brandon rode through a puddle so deep that it threw him off course and sent his bike slithering from under him. I glanced back to see him sprawled by the side of the road, his bike still sliding sideways until it hit a rock. Brandon himself scrambled to his feet and stared helplessly as Logan and Charlie left him stranded.
The road rose through the pines. The creek lay thirty or forty feet below, its white water tumbling and roaring over black boulders.
Now Bob was almost level with Matt on his left hand side. Both riders were soaked to the skin and spattered with mud, their hair clinging to their scalps, the muscles on their arms taut as their hands grasped the slippery grips. Bob roared ahead by half a bike’s length, flying over the rough surface. He swerved in close towards Matt, forcing him to the edge of the road. Matt braked and pulled back, escaping by centimetres the sheer drop into the creek. I got a glimpse of Bob’s face—he was smiling.
I thought my heart would stop. My God, this is payback! He’s doing what Matt did to Jonas!
And now Charlie was yelling, “Quit, Matt! Quit!”, and his voice was lost under the snarl of engines and the wind and rain.
But Matt picked up speed again as Bob slowed his bike and looped back, coming up behind Matt and yee-hahing like a crazy cowboy. He forced him on as the road rose higher above the creek.
Matt veered to the left, up against a sheer rock face. He swerved back to the right, with Bob so close behind that the grit from the road was spat up by Matt’s tyres into his face, the sharp stones piercing his skin and drawing blood. He didn’t care—he moved closer, his wheel almost touching Matt’s.
I heard Charlie yell again—this time for Bob to stop. I saw Bob draw level with Matt and lean into him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge, until, at the brow of the next hill, Bob’s front wheel nudged Matt’s. It seemed gentle, just a glancing touch, but enough.
Matt lost control. His Harley crested the hill and shot into the air, swerving and curving downwards over the edge of the cliff in crazy slow motion—enough time for Matt to think, This is it. This is what death is like, before the bike slipped away from him and he fell through the air, tumbling down towards the clear green water, smashing against those black rocks and disappearing beneath the surface.
Matt and the bike hit the water at the same moment. Logan reached the spot and we jerked to a stop. We gazed down, in time to see the silver bike get sucked under, but way too late to save Matt Fortune from drowning.
Bob saw it too. Stationary astride his bike, the grim smile had vanished, and his look was dark and hollow. He raised his head to stare into the stormy sky, letting the rain soak his bloody face before he made his engine roar one last time.
The bike threw up grit and dirt. Bob sat firm as he aimed his Dyna towards the sheer drop.
He plummeted down. He fell like a stone and the water swallowed him. His bike smashed against the rocks and stayed there—a heap of twisted metal.
The next day I placed Zoey’s red rose at the exact spot where Jonas had died.
I’d left behind in Ellerton a storm of shock and disbelief, plus the burden of witnessing these two latest deaths, and I was driving out of the horror into the future, on my way up to Foxton Ridge to find Phoenix and share the end of Matt’s story with him. Also, to find out what had happened to Jonas.
Did I do OK? I asked silently as I placed the rose in the rustling silver grass by the roadside. I stood in the sun, under a big blue sky.
I knew I wouldn’t get an answer until I reached the old house and barn, so I got back into my car and drove on, quietly humming the tune to “Always”, a sad song that Summer used to sing. “Wherever you walk, I’m always by your side. Whenever you talk, I always hear your voice…”
Along the back route to Angel Rock, remembering the terrifying journey back in time that I’d made with Hunter and Matt only twenty-four hours earlier, enjoying the clear warm air as I drove with the hood down. The sun on the granite made it sparkle pink and white.
Then I was on foot and running across the dry scrubland, my feet crunching over the surface, the leaves on the straggly thorn bushes turning crimson, orange and gold in the autumn wind. I reached the shadow of Angel Rock and ran on without stopping.
“Be there!” I whispered to Phoenix, before I could even see the barn and the house. Maybe the storm had driven him away and he would never come back. Maybe I was still deep down afraid that the whole thing wasn’t real. “Just be there!”
He strode up the hill to meet me, opened his arms and watched me run towards him, broad shouldered and strong in his black T-shirt, his lovely face serious.
“Hold me,” I told him, and I felt his arms close around me.
“Thank God, Darina.” His lips moved against my hair, then he tilted my face upwards and he kissed my lips, and he was cold and smooth and beautiful.
“Did you hear what happened?” I asked. “Jonas’ dad drove Matt off the track, over the cliff into the creek. It was horrific. They both died.”
Phoenix held me close, stroking his thumb across my cheekbone and down my jawline to rest in the small hollow between my collarbones. “You did more than OK,” he told me. “Hunter told us how cool you were when you time travelled. He said your hunch was right all along.”
“And when Bob Jonson finally learned the truth he flipped. He did the same thing to Matt as Matt had done to Jonas—he meant for him to die.”
“He got his revenge,” Phoenix said gently, staring into my eyes as if he wanted to judge how deep my own shock and terror had gone. “You’ll be OK,” he assured me. “In time you’ll see that it was meant to be.”
“But I didn’t mean for Bob to die,” I sobbed.
“What did he have left to live for?”
“He had closure. He could have moved forward.”
Phoenix shook his head. “Not in this world. Everything he had was already destroyed.” He took my hand and led me into the valley, where I saw that Hunter stood in the barn doorway surrounded by his Beautiful Dead.
It was weird. The sun shone on them and they looked more beautiful and alive than ever. Hunter especially—he looked younger and softer, almost happy.
“Where did Jonas go?” I asked Phoenix as we approached the barn and took in the presence of Summer, Arizona, Iceman, Donna and Eve with her blonde-haired baby.
“Come on—Hunter will tell you,” he answered quietly.
“Welcome, Darina.” Their overlord stepped forward. He seemed to look at me fondly, almost father to daughter. “Jonas found justice, thanks to you.”
“What happened to him?” I asked with a trembling voice.
“The storm sent us far away into infinite darkness, and Jonas stayed with us in limbo, where we could only wait and pray. You were our only hope.”
“You didn’t let us down.” Arizona spoke and surprised me with the warmth in her tone. Summer stood by, smiling at me as if she wanted to run forward and hug me, but she would wait until Hunter had finished speaking.
“I felt the exact moment when Matt Fortune died,” Hunter explained. “In limbo I saw a vision of a drowned face, a hand wedged between two jagged rocks, the current tearing at his body.”
“And Bob Jonson?” I murmured.
“He came to join us instantly. He died the moment he hit the water. I saw the breath leave his body and I called Jonas to me. I said, ‘Your killer is dead. And your father too.’ Jonas understood why his father had to die. He turned and called Bob’s name in the darkness. Out of the endless, unlit space of limbo, Bob Jonson appeared. Father and son embr
aced. Together they travelled on.”
A question formed on my lips. Where did they go?
“Don’t ask.” Phoenix read my mind. “Nobody here knows. Only that they went together, hand in hand.”
“And you succeeded in your first task,” Hunter added.
“You believed,” Summer murmured, coming up and offering me the hug she’d been longing to give.
“You’re tougher than I thought,” Arizona said.
“Too much!” I protested. “I did what I could, that’s all. And I’ll do it over again.”
Hunter nodded and some of the old sternness crept back into his voice. “All in good time, Darina. For now you must go home and rest.”
“Not right away. Please.” More than anything, now that the Jonas thing was resolved, I wanted to be with Phoenix.
“Hunter… give us a little time.” Phoenix kept his arm around my waist. It gave me a strong, steady feeling as the overlord looked at us and considered his next move.
“You have an hour,” he decided.
Sixty minutes! I swung round and flung my arms around Phoenix’s neck. He lifted me off my feet.
Summer and Arizona laughed, Hunter gave his almost-smile. Then the Beautiful Dead turned and walked into the barn.
“Let’s go!” Phoenix said, grinning at me and dragging me through the pale yellow grass to the bank of the creek. He went ahead, picking his way carefully between the rocks, then leaping on to our favourite boulder.
“Bare feet!” I insisted, and took off my shoes. I dangled my feet in the cool, crystal water. “Look—I can see specks of gold in the sand.”
Phoenix leaned sideways and dipped his finger in the water. He scooped up tiny grains of glittering metal and examined them on his finger tips. “Iron pyrites,” he announced.
“What’s that?”
“Fool’s gold,” he laughed.
“Oh! I like my version better!”
“I love your version. I love everything about you.”
Try embracing on a smooth boulder in the middle of a fast running stream. It’s not easy, but we made it. A gentle hug, a tender kiss that lasted for ever. Then we crossed the stream and walked barefoot though the grass, hand in hand.