Read Fear is the Key for Free Online

flat down on theaccelerator.
    â€˜You madman! You’ll kill us!’ For a split secondof time she stared at the row of fifty-gallon drumsrushing up to meet us, the terror in her faceaccurately reflecting the terror in her voice, thenturned away with a cry and buried her face inmy coat, the nails of her hands digging into myupper arms.
    We hit the second drum from the left fair andsquare with the centre of our fender. Subconsciously,I tightened my grip on the girl and thesteering wheel and braced myself for the numbingshattering shock, the stunning impact that wouldcrush me against the steering-wheel or pitch methrough the windscreen as the 500-lb dead weightof that drum sheared the chassis retaining boltsand smashed the engine back into the drivingcompartment. But there was no such convulsiveshock, just a screeching of metal and a great hollowreverberating clang as the fender lifted the drumclear off the road, a moment of shock when Ithought the drum would be carried over thebonnet of the car to smash the windscreen andpin us to the seat. With my free hand I jerked thewheel violently to the left and the cartwheelingdrum bounced across the nearside wing and vanishedfrom sight as I regained the road, jerked thewheel in the opposite direction and straightenedout. The oil drum had been empty. And not a shothad been fired.
    Slowly the girl lifted her head, stared over myshoulder at the road-block dwindling in the distance,than stared at me. Her hands were stillgripping both my shoulders, but she was completelyunaware of it.
    â€˜You’re mad.’ I could hardly catch the huskywhisper through the crescendo roar of the engine.‘You’re mad, you must be. Crazy mad.’ Maybe shehadn’t been terrified earlier on, but she was now.
    â€˜Move over, lady,’ I requested. ‘You’re blockingmy view.’
    She moved, perhaps six inches, but her eyes,sick with fear, were still on me. She was tremblingviolently.
    â€˜You’re mad,’ she repeated. ‘Please, please letme out.’
    â€˜I’m not mad.’ I was paying as much attentionto my rear mirror as to the road ahead. ‘I thinka little, Miss Ruthven, and I’m observant. Theycouldn’t have had more than a couple of minutesto prepare that road-block – and it takes more thana couple of minutes to bring six full drums out ofstore and manhandle them into position. The drumI hit had its filling hole turned towards me – andthere was no bung. It had to be empty. And as forletting you out – well, I’m afraid I can’t spare thetime. Take a look behind you.’
    She looked.
    â€˜They’re – they’re coming after us!’
    â€˜What did you expect them to do – go into therestaurant and have a cup of coffee?’
    The road was closer to the sea, now, and windingto follow the indentations of the coast. Trafficwas fairly light, but enough to hold me backfrom overtaking on some blind corners, and thepolice car behind was steadily gaining on me:the driver knew his car better than I did mine,and the road he obviously knew like the backof his hand. Ten minutes from the road-blockhe had crept up to within a hundred and fiftyyards of us.
    The girl had been watching the pursuing car forthe past few minutes. Now she turned and staredat me. She made an effort to keep her voice steady,and almost succeeded.
    â€˜What’s – what’s going to happen now?’
    â€˜Anything,’ I said briefly. ‘They’ll likely playrough. I don’t think they can be any too pleasedwith what happened back there.’ Even as I finishedspeaking there came, in quick succession, two orthree whip-like cracks clearly audible above thewhine of the tyres and the roar of the engine.A glance at the girl’s face told me I didn’t needto spell out what was happening. She knew allright.
    â€˜Get down,’ I ordered. ‘That’s it, right down onthe floor. Your head, too. Whether