Dirk nodded, battling the Beetle to keep it from getting high-centered. He had no idea where the road would lead, but he knew their time on it would be short.
“Worst case, we stop and take to the jungle,” he said. “Head downhill to the road. If we get split up, let’s meet at the Green Stone Bar.”
Summer tried to smile. “First drink’s on you.”
Dirk coaxed the Beetle up a short hill, then stopped. The road ended in a clearing just wide enough for a car to turn around. Tall trees encircled the clearing except to their left, where a shallow river rushed by. They were effectively boxed in as the pickup truck roared up the hill behind them.
Dirk looked at his sister.
“It would seem,” he said with a grimace, “that we’ve reached the end of the line.”
30
Summer gazed at the loose sandals they both wore, dreading a sprint through the jungle. Hearing the roar of the approaching pickup, she reached for the door handle. “We better get going.”
Instead, Dirk put the car in gear and drove forward. “Wait,” he said, looping the car around the dead end. He angled toward the wide, shallow river and stopped at its gravel bank.
“What are you doing?” Summer asked.
“That’s Dunn’s River.”
The rusty sign down the road had registered in Dirk’s mind. He knew that one of the major tourist attractions in Jamaica was Dunn’s River Falls, a terraced waterfall that visitors enjoyed climbing by linking arms in large groups. It explained the bevy of buses below.
“Let’s get across the river,” he said. “We can hike down the other side and hop a tour bus at the bottom.”
Too late, an engine roared and the pickup came flying over the crest. The truck was traveling much too fast — on a collision course with the Volkswagen. Dirk punched the accelerator, driving off the bank and into the river.
The truck just slipped by the VW as the driver mashed on the brakes and slid to a stop in front of a mature mango tree.
Inside the Beetle, Dirk kept the accelerator down and continued across the river. The bed was relatively flat and shallow, and the car easily bounded toward the opposite side.
“Don’t these things float?” Summer asked.
“You’re thinking of the original Beetle,” Dirk said. “I don’t know about the new models. Nor do I want to find out.”
They had slogged about thirty feet across the river when they heard a splash behind them. To Summer’s dismay, she saw the pickup truck follow them into the river. Another pop sounded behind them, and Dirk heard a whistling an instant before the dashboard disintegrated in front of him.
“We’re not going to beat them across,” Summer said, her voice tightening.
Dirk came to the same conclusion. He hadn’t counted on the pickup following them. With its lower clearance, the VW would bog down or stall sooner than the truck. Glancing in the mirror, he yelled at Summer to hang on, then turned downriver.
They had entered the river above the head of the falls and it was only a short distance to the first rocky terrace — about a three-foot drop to a small pool. With the Beetle’s drive wheels still finding traction, he centered the car with the falls and drove off the edge.
The front wheels struck an inclined rock that pitched the car’s nose up and the car landed in the pond nearly upright. The impact sent a wave splashing over the falls beyond.
Though the water nearly covered the wheels, the Volkswagen kept running, and Dirk steered it forward. He and Summer looked back to see the pickup truck hesitate at the top of the falls, then follow them.
“They’re crazy,” Summer shouted over the water’s roar.
Dirk shook his head. “Guess we need to be crazier.”
He coaxed the VW across the pond to the next falls. Unlike the first, it was a continuous descent of nearly seventy feet that angled down a series of terraced ledges. Dirk checked to ensure his sister was safely buckled in, then aligned the Beetle and drove over the edge.
The initial plunge was the sharpest, a ten-foot drop onto a narrow terrace. The VW landed nose-first, crunching the front end, but bounced up and forward. The air bags deployed with a puff of white smoke as the car skipped over the next ledge.
The Beetle bounded like a hopping frog down a long series of inclines and ledges. A group of tourists watched in shock as it tumbled past them. It caromed from one boulder to another, its tires bursting and suspension imploding, yet it remained upright. Momentum carried the VW down a long, slick rock, where it slid thirty feet through a rush of water.
Dirk and Summer’s wild ride ended at a final set of steeply terraced falls. The battered Beetle descended the incline amid a screech of metal. Striking the bottom terrace, it did a slow forward flip, splashing wheels-up into a large pool. The inverted car floated peacefully for a moment — and then sank from view.
A nearby Jamaican tour guide abandoned his clients and waded toward the steam and bubbles that marked the VW’s resting place. He froze as something under the water grazed his shin. Then the tall, lithe figure of Summer emerged, clutching a red journal. A second later, Dirk popped to the surface a few yards away and swam to his sister.
The Jamaican gasped. “You both alive? It’s a miracle.”
“The miracle is called an air bag,” Dirk said. “You okay, sis?”
Summer gave him a weak smile. “I’ve got a wrenched shoulder and a sore knee, but everything else seems to be working.”
“Look out!” One of the tourists pointed toward the top of the falls.
Dirk and Summer saw the pickup tipping over the ledge. The driver had pursued the Volkswagen to the precipice of the second falls, then stopped to watch the Beetle’s descent. But a boulder underneath had given way, leaving the truck teetering on three wheels. The driver tried backing up but more rocks broke loose. The truck hung in midair for a moment, then plunged over the falls.
With its heavier front end, the truck hit the first terrace nose-first and flipped over. Crashing down the next incline, the truck then somersaulted all the way down the falls. Wheels and bumpers went flying in all directions. The passenger was tossed out the window midway, his body colliding with a limestone boulder that snapped his spine.
The driver rode the pickup all the way to the bottom as it struck the pool with a colossal splash. The cab was completely pulverized. As the truck settled into the water, Dirk knew the driver was dead.
“Might be a good time to get out of here,” he said, grabbing Summer’s arm and pulling her to the riverbank. They staggered past a group of stunned tourists, who stared at the truck’s sunken remains as if waiting for its dead occupant to emerge.
Climbing down the remaining falls, Dirk and Summer found a Montego Bay resort hotel bus idling in the parking lot and casually boarded it. They hunkered down in the back row, trying to avoid the gaze of the tourists following them, who chatted excitedly about the vehicles they saw plunge down the falls.
When the bus got under way, Summer noticed her brother’s wide grin. “What’s so amusing? We almost got killed back there.”
“I was just thinking about the look that will be on that guy’s face.”
“What guy?”
“The guy at the car rental counter when we tell him where to collect the Volkswagen.”
31
The bungalow was dark as the intruder crept onto the porch at two in the morning. He stopped and listened for sounds from within. All was silent, aside from the lapping of the nearby surf. He gently placed his palm on the knob and twisted. It turned freely. He eased the door open an inch and peered inside.