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It took Gumshoe a minute or two of spinning tyres and slithering sideways to get the Oldsmobile back onto the cleared tarmac. Finally, we set off in the direction in which we had been travelling previously - performing a U-turn would have been difficult at best - which was the opposite direction to that which the trooper in his four-wheel-drive had taken. "All clear now," Gumshoe muttered, glancing back over his shoulder. Doonira and I burrowed our way out from under the heavy blanket and sat on the cold leather seats. "Did you see those marks in the snow?" I asked. "Yes," Gumshoe replied, "but what were they?" "They were the footprints of an Old One," Doonira said, with all the authority of a university academic who had been studying this subject for a hundred years, "One walking, not landing after flying." "Yes, that's what I thought," I agreed amiably, "And in this weather they couldn't have been there long." "So the Old One is still in the valley then?" Gumshoe asked, squinting through the dark at the road ahead. "So it seems," I replied, "We may have solved the mystery of the location of the missing Dragon" - Doonira snorted derisively at my use of the word - "but we seem to have uncovered a larger problem. Why couldn't the other Old Ones find their missing compatriot?" Gumshoe didn't answer. He was concentrating on the driving. The headlights picked out the two-lane blacktop between the snow-banks left by the plough. The road twisted and turned as it rose up to the edge of the valley, then descended in swooping hairpins on the other side. At least the snow should thin as we got lower, I thought. "We've got company," Gumshoe said sharply. I stretched up and looked out of the back windows. We were being followed by a vehicle with its headlights on full beam. It had another bank of lights at roof level, also blazing brightly. It was difficult to tell, but it could easily have been the pick-up truck which had passed us several times already. At most times, and in most places, the old but powerful car would have given almost anything on four wheels a run for their money, especially with Gumshoe at the helm. But here and in this weather, it was all he could do to keep the vehicle on the tarmac. We were creeping along, keeping the speed low on the downhill sections for fear for skidding out of control into a snow-bank. "We're not going to be able to outrun them," Gumshoe warned. "Just keep going," I said grimly while I unlimbered the large automatic I keep holstered under my coat. Doonira's eyes grew wide when she caught sight of the weapon, then her eyes narrowed as she watched me check the ammunition - something I have been trained to do entirely automatically. "You do know how to use that thing?" she asked quizzically. "Yes," I replied, not taking my sunglass-shaded eyes off the truck tailing us, "And I've got a licence for it too." As far as I could see, the vehicle behind was just keeping pace with us; not attempting to catch up, but seemingly content to follow at a distance which made a shot from a handgun rather unlikely to hit. Not that I intended to open fire just yet. There could be a entirely innocent explanation, although none was occurring to be at the moment. As it happened, the truck following us didn't need to catch up with us. It was just there to make sure we didn't turn around. A few miles further on, somebody had set up a roadblock. There was nowhere for us to go.
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Part 19