Thirst No. 3 by Christopher Pike

Author:Christopher Pike [Pike, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Social Issues, Dating & Sex, Religion, Juvenile Fiction, Teenagers, Fantasy & Magic, Family & Relationships, Horror & Ghost Stories, Christian Education, Life Stages, Children & Youth, Values & Virtues, Adolescence
ISBN: 9781442413177
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 2010-10-05T05:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

From the sound of the witch’s pulse, I know she has procured a car and is driving south at high speed. There’s a Porsche Carrera—a favorite of mine—parked down the street from the hotel, and I break the lock and hot-wire the engine and am soon in pursuit.

I have two points of focus as I drive. One, I pay close attention to the road. With my supernatural reflexes, I’m a better driver than those who compete at a professional level. But even I cannot exceed the limits of the vehicle and the terrain I happen to be on. Fortunately the roads are fairly deserted, and I’m able to keep my speed above a hundred miles an hour.

The pulse of the witch’s heart is my homing signal. Listening closely, it tells me a few things about her. Her wound is worse than I thought. My shot must have torn an artery. She’s still losing blood. It also tells me that these creatures, although strong, don’t possess my regenerative powers. Claudious killed himself so fast, I was never sure of this fact until now.

My elbow heals as I drive.

The witch is three miles ahead of me when she stops at what I assume is the train station. Over the span of thirty seconds, I follow her with my ears as she boards a train and leaves the station. The train’s departure is too much of a coincidence. They must have studied its schedule ahead of time, in case they had to flee, or in case they had me in their grip and wanted to get me out of the city before I could summon help. They might be operating under the erroneous belief that I have allies, I don’t know.

The layout of the roads doesn’t help me. I lose several minutes finding a freeway that’s heading the right way. I suspect the witch’s heading for the southern tip of England, which means she’s probably trying to get out of the country. There are two ways she can escape—by driving under the English Channel or else taking a ferry across. I doubt the hovercraft operates at this time of night, but I’m not sure.

I push the Porsche up to a hundred and fifty miles an hour, its maximum speed. It doesn’t take long before I have a policeman on my tail, but he can’t catch me, not the way I’m weaving in and out of traffic. Still, the highway isn’t busy, and for the most part I’m able to keep the accelerator to the floor.

The witch’s train comes to a halt, and I listen as she departs and runs in the direction of what sounds like the harbor. The train station is adjacent to where the ships leave for France, and it’s looking more and more like that’s her destination.

I have to assume she knows the schedule of the ferries. It worries me. If she gets on a boat and it leaves the dock before I can arrive, I could be forced to follow by driving beneath the Channel.

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