The Dead Man: Hell in Heaven Read Online Free PDF Page B

was falling. He slammed into the hard earth with a whoompf as the air was pounded out of his lungs. His head came down on a rock and everything went black.
    Then there was a shriek of tearing metal as the truck slammed into the Buell Blast, smashing it into fragments.
    But Matt didn’t hear it.

CHAPTER NINE
     
    And I awoke and found me here on this cold hill’s side.
    The words, dragged up from some high school English class, flashed through his mind before he could open his eyes and realize where he was. Then came the pain. It shot through his body, every muscle screaming as he pulled himself back into consciousness.
    The ground was hard under his back. Small rocks dug into his skin. In his rush to get away from Heaven, he hadn’t bothered with his helmet, and it was a miracle that the stone that left the goose egg on his head hadn’t split his skull open.
    Whatever had happened to his body was nothing to compare with the damage to his bike. The sun was just cresting the mountains as Matt managed to force his eyes open, and in the gentle, golden light of dawn the roadway twinkled like a sea of stars. It was tiny shards of metal that had once been a motorcycle now reflecting the new day.
    Matt pulled himself to his feet and staggered down the berm to the road, staring at the wreckage and realizing what would have happened to him if he’d been a second slower. Did the driver even stop? Or had he decided that what he’d hit had been just one more bug to smear his grillwork?
    Where the hell did that thing come from ? Matt wondered. This road isn’t long enough for a truck to build up that much speed .
    Except, he realized, he had no idea how long the road was or where it went. The person who’d told him it ended right after the Heaven town limit had been Joan. It hardly seemed like the most egregious of the untruths she had told him.
    There were scraps of metal and plastic scattered along the roadway over the length of three football fields. That was what was left of the Blast, which had gone out in a way that suited its name. A shred of nylon told him his pack had met the same fate.
    How far was it back to the highway? Matt tried to remember how long the ride had taken him. He hadn’t been paying attention as he enjoyed the scenery, but it had been hours, certainly. Even if he’d been taking the curves as slowly as thirty miles per, walking back would take days. Days without food, water and shelter. All his supplies had been in his pack; now they were atoms.
    And that was days of walking if he was in perfect shape. But as Matt took the step from the berm onto the asphalt, every inch of his body screamed out in pain. He’d twisted his right ankle severely—at least he hoped it was only a twist. His left wrist throbbed where he had slammed it into a rock on his landing. And he was pretty sure he’d cracked a couple of ribs.
    He could start walking—limping, really—and hope for a ride, of course. Somebody could come along.
    But the truck that had smashed his bike had been the only vehicle he’d seen on this road. Even if there were other loggers heading to the highway, if they drove like this one, they’d never stop to pick up a hitchhiker.
    He couldn’t fault them. If he had to drive through Heaven, Washington, on a regular basis, he’d go as fast as his wheels would take him, too.
    If Matt tried to walk back to the highway, he might well die on the way. Even if he made it, he’d be so hungry and thirsty and freezing by the time he got there he wouldn’t be able to do anything more than pray someone would pick him up and drop him off at the next motel. But Labor Day was long gone, and traffic was thin through the mountains. He might make it to the intersection only to die there.
    That left him only one choice.
    One terrible, hateful choice.
    The sun broke free of the mountain and as it poured its light on the road, Matt could see it burning back up even more brightly. He staggered down the tarmac and kicked