flat plateau approaching Sunset Point. Just then, Joanna caught sight of the Tundra, flying northbound in the opposite lanes.
âThe suspect is now headed northbound,â Joanna shouted into the phone at Cami. âCall Camp Verde PD and see if they can establish a roadblock on Iâ17 somewhere north of General Crook Trail. In the meantime, Cami, you and Stuart need to get out of there.â
In other places along that stretch of Iâ17, hundreds of feet of elevation separated the northbound from the southbound lanes. This was one of the few spots where crossing the median was even feasible.
âHold on,â Ali ordered. âWeâre turning.â She moved over onto the left-Âhand shoulder and hit the brake so hard that the engaging seat belt slammed into Joannaâs shoulder and belly. Moments later they bounced across the median on a dirt track and then shot back into the northbound lanes.
âCall Dave back,â Ali ordered, unnecessarily, since Joanna was already doing exactly that.
âWe spotted him,â Joanna reported. âHeâs northbound again.â
âI know,â Dave replied. âHighway Patrol had a car parked just north of the Sunset Point exit to keep him from going in there. The guy took off as soon as he saw the patrol car. Heâs headed northbound now.â
âSo are we,â Joanna said. âWe should be able to see him any minute.â
Joanna glanced at the speedometer. With the needle now hovering at well over one hundred, that seemed more than likely.
âThere he is!â Ali shouted. âWeâve got him.â
It was true. The Tundra had been boxed in behind a slow-Âmoving semi passing another even slower semi on a steep grade. When the one vehicle finally moved out of the way, the Tundra shot around it, but the pickup had lost its momentum and it couldnât quite regain its former speed.
âWeâre closing on him,â Joanna reported to Dave.
âYou two need to stand down now,â he replied. âWe already know the guy is armed to the teeth. Camp Verde is in the process of assembling a SWAT team to block Iâ17 in both directions at the first Camp Verde exit. I should be there any minute. Iâm on 169 only a mile or so from the freeway.â
âOh, my God!â Ali exclaimed. âHeâs losing it.â
And it was true. With her heart in her throat, Joanna watched as the Tundra raced around a northbound RV and then slewed wildly first in one direction and then the other. As the out-Âof-Âcontrol pickup skidded back and forth across both lanes of the roadway, the driver in the RV did his best to avoid an almost inevitable collision. After three more wild wobbles, the Tundra veered to the right. It shot off the road and onto the shoulder, tumbling down an embankment in a manner that was almost a carbon copy of what had happened to George and Eleanor earlier that morning.
âHeâs off road,â Ali reported. âJust south of the Bloody Basin exit.â
She pulled over on the shoulder just behind the stopped RV. A shaken and horrified older Âcouple popped out of the RV, pointing to the spot where the overturned Tundra had landed on its roof with its wheels still spinning.
Joanna darted out of the Cayenne. She had seen enough wrecks in her time to doubt this one was survivable.
âCall for EMTs,â she ordered Ali, handing her back the phone. âIâm going down the hill to see if I can help.â
âWhat if heâs still armed?â Ali asked.
âSo am I,â Joanna answered grimly. âSo am I.â
She scrambled down the embankment to the spot where the Tundra had come to rest, upside down, against a sturdy barbed-Âwire fence. Drawing her weapon as she went, Joanna heard the kid long before she saw him.
âOh, my God!â he moaned. âIt hurts. It hurts so bad. Help me! Someone, please help me out of