10
Luke had tried, but though he’d caught up to her—eventually—no way had she let him pass. A few times she’d had to abandon the beach and race between the imposing baobab trees like slalom poles. Or perhaps like a pinball dodging between the massive gray pillars of the wide trunks with a major tilt penalty if she clipped one.
Once or twice, while racing through the brush, Zoe found a dirt track, but those were usually so rutted that it was less hazardous going overland among the scattered thorn scrub. At least being in front, she only ate a little dust…the Renault in her rearview was coated rust-brown rather than lipstick-red. In the lead, she got to breathe ocean salt and fresh palm breezes when they jogged inland. On the occasions when she managed to reach sixth gear—often topping two
