Silent Warpath

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Benjamin Campbell stopped the motorbike to wipe sweat from his forehead. He was way out of his depth. Fear clenched his stomach as he looked back along the road. He couldn’t see them in the dusk, but he could hear the car: tyres squealing, engine revving. There had to be another way out.

He gunned the bike, accelerating quickly along the outskirts of the town. He should be able to lose them in the back streets by squeezing through gaps that would stop a car. But when a second car closed off his exit he had to react quickly to find another. He realised that eventually they would corner him and when they did they would kill him.

Galvanised into action, he made for Rocky Hill Road. He knew the territory; he would make use of it. Rocky Hill was a long road in a heavily wooded area outside Plymouth, Massachusetts. There would be plenty of places he could turn off and wait until they passed him. Then he would find somewhere to lie low.

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