“Whoa!” King exclaimed as the steering wheel bucked and trembled. His windscreen shattered as a splintered beam crunched through it, imbedding itself into the passenger chair. But he didn’t slow. Instead he ploughed on through the restaurant, crunching the wooden building beneath the bulk of the truck and then steered to the right, smashing through yet another wooden hut before crunching back down onto the road. He lost some of his revs and worked down through the gears, felt the power of the engine take hold again and lurch on forward.
Seconds behind him, Bill’s own vehicle emerged from the devastation in an equal state of disrepair, its windscreen shattered, its bodywork scratched and impaled with spears of wood.
The road was straight now. Straight, that is, except for the traffic island on the outskirts of town, upon the centre of which was mounted a sign that read ‘Welcome to El Chaltén.’
King exploded his yellow truck through that as well!
“Are you crazy?!” Bill yelled at King even though he knew the other man couldn’t hear. Nevertheless he followed him up and over the mound of the island, knowing he’d be unable to slow enough to navigate around it, and then followed King out of town, leaving smouldering ruins and shell-shocked travellers behind.
But this chase was far from over.
Coaxing every last ounce of speed out of his lorry, Bill pushed forward, closing on King.
Slammed hard from behind, King almost lost control. The giant steering wheel spun wildly through his hands and he felt the truck pulling itself to the right, towards the edge of the road. He gripped the wheel hard and threw his entire body weight to the left. The truck moved slowly back towards the middle of the road just as he rounded a left hand bend, following the course of the river.
Bill tried to ram him again, but this time King was ready and spun the wheel so that Bill’s cab just missed the back of his own vehicle. Bill lost speed, falling back after his failed assault. King could just picture him cursing as he crunched back down through the gears to pick up his speed but, sure enough, he was on his tail again.
Shortly before impact, however, Bill swung away from him, trying a different tact. The shock of inaction jolted King, lapsing his concentration for just a moment. That was all Bill needed to pull alongside him, driving hard to heave his metal beast up so that they were level. Head to head.
The wind rushed through the shattered windscreen as King glanced across into the other cab. He saw Bill raise a gun and wondered what he was doing. He was out of ammo and surely hadn’t been able to reload while driving under such conditions—
A jolt of pain slammed through King as a two-inch long nail dug deep into his upper bicep, propelled across the distance between the cabs by Adjo’s nail gun. Bill must have retrieved it before pursuing him.
Shocked by the sudden pain, King lost control. His truck veered to the left, threatening to topple off the road and plunge down the sheer drop into the river. King pushed through the pain and grasped the steering wheel, his arm screaming at the effort as blood poured from the wound. Angry, he hurled the vehicle to the right and Bill saw what he intended to do a fraction of a second before he rammed broadside into his attacker. The thunderous boom of impact was followed by the ear-splitting shriek of sheering metal as, like ancient titans, the two giant overland trucks locked themselves into mortal combat.
Bill pushed back against King but King pushed back harder. He felt the vibrations quaking through the lorry as Bill attempted to speed up but he knew he couldn’t let that happen. If Bill took the lead then he’d screech to a halt and block the road.
He had to get to Sid.
King pushed ahead harder than ever and, clawing at each other, desperate in their need to conquer one another, the two vehicles sped at phenomenal speed down the mountain roads.
King felt his control slacken, the pain in his arm making it difficult to hold the wheel with all his strength. He felt himself being pushed closer and closer towards the edge of the road and the sheer drop beyond.
Then they were past the drop, the river coursing away below them as the road lead away from it. Now, instead of a sheer drop King suddenly found the wall of a mountainside rushing by, blocking him in.
Bill savagely thrust his truck at King, slamming him into the cliff. The screeching sound increased as the truck was torn apart by the jagged walls, wrenching gouts of metal from the lorry, shattering the windows of the passenger compartment. King fought hard against Bill but Bill fought harder, keeping King pinned there. He hit a large rock, bucking the vehicle and jolting Bill’s purchase. The mercenary veered away, giving King room to breathe. But not for long. Moments later Bill hurtled back into him, crunching metal, shredding rubber. King felt one of his rear tires blow out. The truck lurched. Sparks spat and screamed and—
From ahead a ramshackle 4x4 raced towards them, lights flashing, horn blaring in panic. King experienced a moment of sheer terror. There was absolutely nothing he could do to avoid a head on collision.
But then the driver of the 4x4 panicked, absurdly spinning his vehicle onto the other side of the road, as though he would fare an impact with the blue and white overland truck better than the bright yellow one.
Bill acted on instinct. He slammed on his brakes and his vehicle slewed across the road, whipping out behind King’s. The blue and white vehicle spun but Bill regained control, whipping into King’s side of the road just as the 4x4 raced past, slamming on his own brakes.
King used the reprieve and pushed forward but his vehicle was damaged. He could feel it slowing, detect the tremors of the dying lorry bucking through its engine. Its burst tire slapped at the road.
Bill powered forward, his truck in slightly better condition. King knew he couldn’t let him get alongside him again and so thrust out into the very centre of the road. When Bill pulled to the left to attempt to get around him, King matched his move, blocking him. He mimicked the manoeuvre to the right, then the left again, zigzagging through the Patagonian Mountains.
Viedma Glacier came into view ahead, a great, slow moving leviathan yawning down upon the lake and the tiny black dot of the Catalina flying boat.
He’d almost made it, but was it in time? He couldn’t even afford to glance at his watch. Then the turning appeared ahead, a side road leading from the main highway down towards the ferry port. At the last possible moment he swung into it, taking the corner far too fast. He mounted the verge, almost toppling the vehicle but by the grace of god it remained upright.
Bill became more determined than ever now, racing up behind him. He slammed straight into King’s behind, shuddering the truck. It spun. He regained control. Bill struck again, wielding the lorry like a sledge hammer, striking again and again. King couldn’t slow down without being totally smashed by his attacker. In fact, he hadn’t had a chance to think the next few moments through to any extent. Instead, he did the only thing he could do. He acted on instinct and ploughed ahead, faster. Faster still. Bill struggled to keep up, bounding over giant pot holes and racing past the boatsheds King had seen earlier.
The Black Cat was still docked on the left side of the rickety old jetty, but King aimed his lorry, now in full runaway mode, the angle of the hill leading down to the lake increasing his speed, straight onto the old pier.
He hit it, Bill hot on his heels. The short jetty vanished in an instant as King raced across it, but, moments before ploughing over the edge of it, he twisted the steering wheel with all his might, ignoring the screaming agony in his arm.