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Page 137
was a flash from the Bronco's left-hand window. He heard heavy buckshot impacting on the sandstone behind him. Something plucked at his trouser leg, something that brushed his skin with a hot touch. In slow motion, Morgan watched the Bronco climb the sand berm. There was the screech of metal bending as the vehicle lurched sideways, then the large boxy shape simply vanished from his view. He could hear the sound of its air horn, first a loud banshee wailing, fading into a soft echo, then silence. It came from the black space on the seaward side of the highway.
Shaking with the effects of unused adrenaline, Morgan ran limping across the road. He edged past the broken side of the berm, careful not to slip on the loose dirt, and looked down. The edges of the rocks below were very faintly outlined with the white lace of the waves crashing against them. Otherwise the darkness was empty, and the only sound was that of the distant surf.
Morgan sagged down onto the sand berm between the deeply cleated tire tracks. Join Grau, you cowardly bastards, he thought. At least you won't get Anna Neville. After a moment he stood and began limping down the highway, heading south. He had walked only a little way before he saw the headlights. He did not know how he knew it, but he did. Anna Neville had disobeyed his orders and had come back for him.

 
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