Grendel's Curse

Firemen were battling the blaze, struggling to bring it under control before it spread to the vegetation and flamed into a full forest fire. Branches all around the verge had been doused with water but they were still blackened and shriveled from the heat.

A shift in the blaze revealed that the car on fire was a Volvo. There was something familiar about it; but just about eighty percent of cars in this country seemed to be Volvos. Next she noticed a bumper sticker on the back fender proclaiming Archaeologists Do It Down and Dirty. She quickened her pace, reluctant to break into a run, but dreading what she already knew deep down was the truth. An accident would explain so many things, including why the police would call her on his cell phone.

A policeman barked at her, waving her back.

She feigned ignorance, and continued to approach the scene.

He repeated his warning. She reached inside her back pocket for her press pass to offer as some kind of identification, not that she expected it to grant her access to the scene, but it was worth a shot. She held it out like a shield until she was close enough for him to see what it was, hoping he’d think she was a cop.

“Anyone hurt?” she asked, still moving toward the car. She looked around, hoping she’d see Lars wrapped in a blanket, being attended by a paramedic. There was no one.

“The car was already on fire when we got here. Anyone inside didn’t get out. We couldn’t get near it until the fire crews arrived a few minutes ago.”

“But an officer...” She was about to say called me, but then decided against it. There was only one car here, and his partner—another statuesque blonde woman—was working with the firefighters against the blaze. She couldn’t see into the smoking car, but it was obvious that if it was already on fire when they’d rolled up, there was no way they could have got Lars’s phone out of there. It would have melted in the fireball.

That meant that the call hadn’t come from the police, and she’d been right to get the hell out of that café.

A gust of wind took hold of the fire, bringing it roaring back to life. As the flames shifted she caught a glimpse of the windshield. It had shattered, but she saw the shape of a man behind the wheel.

“There’s someone in there!” Annja cried, running toward the car.

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