Free 7 Steps to Midnight by Richard Matheson Page A

he wondered. Let her call an ambulance?
    No. He didn’t want to involve her any more than she was already.
    He pulled up the directory and looked up Hospitals in the yellow section. Picking one out, he memorized the number and let the directory flop back. He slipped two dimes into the phone and dialed the number.
    The operator asked for fifty-five cents more (thank God it wasn’t more) and he put in sixty. “I can’t return the overage,” she said.
    “It’s okay,” Chris responded.
    “Thank you,” said the operator.
    “You’re welcome,” Chris replied. Politeness in the midst of nightmare, he thought. Too much for the heart.
    Just as the call was answered, Chris saw a figure walking into the rest stop. “Tucson Memorial,” the woman’s voice said.
    “Emergency, please,” Chris said. He squinted, looking at the approaching figure. There was something familiar about—
    “Emergency,” a man’s voice said.
    Veering.
    Chris shuddered violently. “
No
,” he murmured.
    “Beg your pardon?” the man inquired.
    Chris’s throat felt blocked. He wanted to drop the phone and bolt for his car. But he couldn’t do it without—
    He cleared his throat spasmodically. “There’s a man in the desert, he’s been shot,” he blurted, “on—”
    He broke off, wincing, staring at the old man. Had he seen Chris yet? Recognized him?
    Then the sign leaped into his mind, he saw it as clearly as though he were standing beside it. “Mesquite Road,” he said. “South of the highway a little more than a mile.”
    “May I have your name, please?” the man asked.
    “The man is dying. Hurry!” Chris slammed the handset onto its cradle and broke into a run for the Pontiac.
    He looked at Veering as he ran. The old man had seen him now. He had his hand raised. He was
smiling
, the bastard! “Hi!” he called.
    Chris couldn’t seem to breathe. He raced the rest of the wayto the car and jumped in, his gaze darting to the rearview mirror. Was Veering going to reach him before he could leave?
Get in the car with him?
    Chris twisted the ignition key, starting the motor and slapping the transmission indicator to drive in the same moment. He jarred his foot down on the accelerator and, with a squeal of tires, the car jumped forward. Chris twisted the steering wheel around as quickly as he could, just missing a concrete table. The car roared down the exit drive, headed toward the highway.
    As he turned onto the highway, he looked into the rearview mirror. The old man was running after him, waving both arms now. No chance, old man, he thought. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the car already going sixty-five.
    As he sped along the highway, he kept looking back. It wouldn’t surprise him, he thought with a shudder, to see Veering racing after him, so fast that he would overtake the Pontiac and, running beside it, pull open the door and jump in.
    “
Cut it out
,” he snarled at his mind.
    For a while, he actually wondered if he should turn back and pick up Veering, question him.
Was
the old man part of this? How could he be? A transient hitchhiker?
    Still, Nelson had mentioned him. That was the maddening part. What could the CIA have to do with a man like Veering?
    Anyway, he thought, he didn’t have the nerve to speak to the old man. What if Veering said something else, making the nightmare even worse?
    He realized now that he was driving too fast. For God’s sake, he didn’t want to be picked up by a highway patrol officer. He eased up on the accelerator, reducing the car’s speed to sixty. He’d keep it at that. He had to stop soon though. Mind and body were exhausted.
    He had to rest before he could begin to analyze what everything might mean. He trusted his mind to come up with answers if he applied himself to the problem. It always had before.
    But first he had to rest.
    ***
    He drove as long as he could but, by two o’clock that afternoon, he could barely keep his eyes open. He was headed for Los Angeles