The Minotaur Read Free

want to
build something straight out of a Hollywood special-effects shop, a
suborbital battlestar that will automatically zap anybody who isn’t
wearing olive-drab underwear.
    Why is it, over eighty-five years after Orville and Wilbur showed
the worid how to build an airplane, that we have to keep explain-
ing the basic laws of aerodynamics to these used-car salesmen in
mufti?
    Strong was still stewing when he reached the outskirts of Win-
chester. Raindrops began to splatter on the windshield. He turned
on the wipers. The road looked slick and the wet night seemed to
soak up his headlights, so he slowed down.
    He was hungry. He turned into the drive-through lane of a Me-
Donald’s and was soon back on the road mechanically munching a
burger as he headed west. The coffee was hot and black.
    Passing through Gore he noticed headlights behind him. Not too
dose, but glued there. How long had that guy been back there? A
cop clocking him? Well, he wasn’t speeding, not on a night like
this.
    The road was a twisty two-lane and empty. Almost no traffic.
That was one of the charms of coining up here. The glare of his
headlights illuminated the black trunks of wet, naked trees as he
cranked the wheel back and forth around the switchbacks up the
mountain. The sign at the top said: “Welcome to Wild, Wonderful
West Virginia.” And the radio reception would go on the other side
of the signl Sure enough, on the second curve down the music
faded to static. He switched off the radio. The headlights were still
in the rear-view mirror.
    At the foot of the mountain he went through the village of Ca-
pon Bridge. Almost there, just a few more miles. He checked the
mirror as they went by a sodium light on a pole by the little Texaco
station, which was dark and deserted at this hour of the evening. It
was some kind of pickup with a huge steel bumper welded to the
front. Not too new. Mid-seventies maybe.
    Impossible to make out the color- Then a camper passed him
headed east and, curious, he glanced in the mirror again. The guy
behind—blue, I think. Maybe blue.
    Leaving the village the road began to climb and he was again in
switchbacks at twenty-five miles per hour. The glare of the head-
lights from the pickup behind him swept across the mirror going
into and coming out of every curve, and he squinted. He turned the
mirror so the lights wouldn’t blind him. Should’ve got the day-
night mirror, he told himself, but he had saved twenty bucks pass-
ing on that option.
    Above the noise of his engine he could hear the rhythmic slap-
slap of the wipers and the protests of his tires on the wet macadam.
    He was almost at the top of this low mountain. He would build a
fire in the fireplace when he reached the cabin in a few minutes.
Maybe a shot of Irish whiskey while the fire was driving out the
chill. Tomorrow he would—
    He could hear the engine of the pickup behind roaring and the
headlights spotlighted his dash and windshield. He squinted. What
was that damn fool doing? Did he want to pass? We’re right at that
overlook—
    The truck behind smashed into his rear bumper and pushed him.
Strong fought the wheel. His vehicle was accelerating. He applied
the brakes. Wheel lock-up. He released the brakes and jammed the
throttle down. He was trying to steer but the wheels wouldn’t bite
on the slick pavement. Goddamn—the car was going across the
road, straight for the overlook pulloutt
    In the gravel the car skidded sideways and Strong glanced over
his shoulder, straight into the pickup’s headlights. Then he felt the
lurch as the pickup slammed on its brakes.
    Panicked, he looked forward but saw nothing, still blinded from
the headlights’ glare. He felt the car’s nose go down, then it began
to roll, over and over and over.
    The motion stopped suddenly with a terrific, smashing impact.
    When he came out of his daze he was in darkness and the engine
was silent. There was a little light, but it seemed to come from
above and behind, from the