Dark Rivers of the Heart

procedures with Mama, didn't disconnect, didn't unplug, but stepped over the computer and hurried toward the pilot's cabin.
        From what he'd seen on the display, he knew that both choppers had crossed over the power lines at the street. They were above the parking lot, easing toward touchdown, making a forward speed of only two or three miles an hour, all but hovering. They were so close to the damn woman, but now she was out of sight.
        Once out of sight, she might quickly be out of reach as well.
        Gone again. No. Intolerable.
        Armed and ready for action, the four strike force agents had gotten to their feet and were blocking the aisle near the exit.
        "Clear the way, clear the way!"
        Roy struggled through the assembled hulks to the head of the aisle, jerked open a door, and leaned into the cramped cockpit.
        The pilot's attention was focused on avoiding the parking lot lampposts and the parked cars as he gentled the JetRanger toward the blacktop. But the second man, who was both copilot and navigator, turned in his seat to look at Roy as the door opened.
        "She drove into the damned building," Roy said, looking out through the windshield at the shattered glass along the front of the supermarket.
        "Wild, huh?" the copilot agreed, grinning.
        Too many cars were spread out across the blacktop to allow either helocopter to put down directly in front of the market. They were angling toward opposite ends of the building, one to the north and the other to the south.
        Pointing at the first craft, with its full complement of eight strike force agents, Roy said, "No, no. Tell him I want him over the building, in back, not here, in back, all eight of his men deployed in back, stopping everyone on foot."
        Their pilot was already in radio contact with the pilot of the other craft. While he hovered twenty feet over the parking lot, he repeated Roy's orders into the mouthpiece of his headset.
        "They'll try to go through the market and out the back," Roy said, striving to rein in his anger and remain calm. Deep breaths. In with the pale-peach vapor of blessed tranquility. Out with the bile-green mist of anger, tension, stress.
        Their chopper was hovering too low for Roy to be able to see over the roof of the market. From the Earthguard look-down on his computer, however, he remembered what lay behind the shopping center: a wide service alley, a concrete-block wall, and then a housing development with numerous trees. Houses and trees. Too many places to hide, too many vehicles to steal.
        North of them, just as the firstjetranger was about to touch down on the parking lot and disgorge its men, the pilot got Roy's message.
        Rotor speed picked up, and the craft began to lift into the air again.
        Peach in. Green out.
        A carpet of brown nuggets had spilled from some of the torn fifty-pound bags, and they crunched under Spencer's shoes as he got out of the Rover and ran between two checkout stations. He carried the canvas bag by its straps. In the other hand, he clutched the Uzi.
        He glanced to his left. Ellie was paralleling him in the next checkout lane. The shopping aisles were long and ran front to back of the store.
        He met Ellie at the head of the nearest aisle.
        "Out the back." She hurried toward the rear of the supermarket.
        Starting after her, he remembered Rocky. The mutt had gotten out of the Rover behind him. Where was Mr. Rocky Dog?
        He stopped, spun around, ran back two steps, and saw the hapless canine in the checkout lane that he himself had used. Rocky was eating some of the brown nuggets that hadn't been crushed under his master's shoes.
        Dry dog food. Fifty pounds or more of it.
        "Rocky!"
        The mutt looked up and wa ed his tail.
        "Come on!"
        Rocky didn't even consider the command. He snatched up a few more nuggets, crunching them with delight.
        "Rocky!"
        The dog regarded him again, one ear up and one down, bushy tail banging against the side of the cashier's counter.
        In his sternest voice, Spencer said, "Nine!"
        Regretful but obedient, a little ashamed, Rocky trotted away from the food. When he saw Ellie, who had stopped halfway down the long aisle to wait for them, he broke into a sprint. Ellie resumed her flight, and Rocky dashed exuberantly past her, unaware that they