rub and fondled his penis. Apparently oblivious to
these ministrations, he led the group to the lawn
and bade them sit. Five dozen people obeyed, the
BLOOD TEST 291
crowd collapsing like deflated bellows. They were
no more than thirty feet away.
Matthias looked up at the stars. Mumbled something.
Closed his eyes and began chanting wordlessly.
The others joined in. The sound was raw and atonal,
a primal wail, passionately pagan. When they
reached a crescendo, I sprinted to the viaduct and
ran straight for the front gates.
Graffius was lying a few feet from where I’d
placed him, twisting like a worm on a griddle, struggling
to get free. He seemed to be breathing well. I
left him there.
2311
I HADN’T found what I was looking for. But between
Swope’s journals and the file I’d taken from Mat-thias’s
room I had plenty for show and tel1. No
doubt my pilferage violated all the rules of evidence,
but what I’d found would be enough to get
things going.
.It was just past two A.M. I got behind the wheel of
the Seville, adrenalized and hyperalert. Starting up
the engine, I organized my thoughts: I’d drive to
Oceansile,’Fmd a phone and call Milo or, if he was
still in Washington, Del Hardy. It shouldn’t take
long to notify the proper authorities; and with luck
the investigation could commence before dawn.
It was more important than ever to avoid La
Vista. I turned the car around in the direction of
the utility road and rolled into the dark. I passed
the Swope place, Maimon’s nursery, the homesteads
and the citrus groves, and had reached the plateau
of the foothills when the other car materialized
from the west.
I heard it before seeing it–its headlights, like
mine, were off. There was just enough moonlight to
identify the make as it sped past. A late model
Corvette, dark, possibly black, its snout nosing the
asphalt. The rumble of an oversized engine. A rear
spoiler. Shiny mag wheels.
But it wasn’t until I saw the big fat tires that I
changed my plans.
The Corvette turned left. I shot the intersection,
turned right and followed, lagging ‘far enough he-
,
nd to stay out of earshot and struggling to keep
e low dark chassis in view from that distance.
Whoever was behind the wheel knew th road well
and drove like a teenage joyrider, popping the clutch,
downshifting around curves without breaking, accelerating
with a roar that signaled impending
redline.
The r6ad turned to dirt. The Corvette chewed it
up like a fourwheeler. The Seville’s suspension shimmied
but I held on. The other car Slowed at the
sealed entrance to the oilfields, turned sharply ‘and
drove along the perimeter of the mesa. It accelerated
and sped on, hugging the fence, casting an
incision-thin shadow against the chain link.
The abandoned fields stretched for miles, as desolate
as a moonscape. Moist craters pocked the tar-rain.
The fossils of tractors and trucks rose from
the sump. Row after row of dormant wells encased
in grid-sided towers erupted from the tortured earth,
creating the illusion of a skyline.
The Corvette was there one moment, gone the
next. I braked quickly but quietly, and coasted forward.
There Was a car-sized gap in the fence. The
chain link was ragged and curly-edged around the
BLOOD TEST 295
opening, as if it had umaveled under the force of
giant shears. Tire tracks etched the dirt.
I drove through, parked behind a rusted de, rick,
got out, and inspected the ground.
The Corvette’s tires had created dual caterpillars
that wove a corridor through convex metal walls:
oil drums were stacked three,high, forming a hundred
yards of barricade. The night air stank of tar
and burnt rubber. –
The corridor terminated in a clearing. In the
open space sat an old mobile home on blocks. A
smudge of light filtered through a single curtained
window. The door was unadorned plywood. A few
feet away was the sleek black car.
The driver’s door opened. I pressed back, flat
against the oil drums. A man got out, arms full,
keys dangling from his fingertips. He carried four
shopping bags as if they were weightless. Walking