The European Enigma (LSD, #9)

17. The German Ghost Town

The German Ghost Town

"This is madness.", Lisbeth thought when she clutched the stolen Honda Fireblade motorbike from fourth gear to fifth. The narrow road through the valley had more curves than a rattlesnake with a tummy ache. With the full moon hidden behind the drizzle, the only clear thing was why this region was called «The Black Forrest». Lisbeth had no time to think; the ice-cooled aluminium can in her backpack contained seven test tubes with the anti-virus that had to be delivered to the LSD lab in Schengen before the ice melted. The backpack wasn't waterproof either: constant cold drops made her shiver from spine to soaking underwear. She was tired of this nervous ride through the night with no sight by the light that shone right to where the curved road wasn't going.

«How far is it to the Schwarzwaldhochstrasse? Germany is full of efficient, hard-working people. Couldn't they make a straight road through these woods? Couldn't they invent a road sign «over the top of this hill, there's a sharp curve to the left» to improve my odds on surviving this nocturnal adventure? What's that old oak doing in the middle of the road? Is there light at the end of this tunnel? No. It's an oncoming car, blinding me. Why doesn't the driver dim his lights? There is nobody behind the wheel! A ghost driver! No. It's just an Englishman in dark Germany.»

Lisbeth managed to scratch the Fireblade through the gap between the side of the tunnel and the car. No time to look behind. She had to keep going. There was no time.

On the next bend in the road, the rear tyre lost and suddenly regained traction.

A highside.

Lisbeth was launched. A bush broke her landing. Her helmet saved her life. Everything hurt. She had scratches everywhere. But no broken bones. She had to get up. She had to get going. She stumbled back to the road.

The bike lay at the end of a thirty-metre track on Tarmac and forest ground. She couldn't pick it up. It was too heavy. Her bumped body wasn't strong enough. The headlight was broken. The taillight was gone. She almost lit a cigarette lighter to glance at the damage, but then she smelled petrol, leaking everywhere. It was useless. She had to find another ride. But where?

She staggered back to the road. Think! What clues did you see? There were little traffic signs along the road, indicating 2-point-something kilometres. The numbers were going down. There must be something ahead. She forced herself into a jog, hoping to run the pain out of her limbs. Deep breaths were impossible. Her ribs hurt too much. But there were spare ribs ahead. A faint smell of barbecued meat with spicy sauce resisted the pouring rain. If there's food, there are people. And people have transportation.

Lightning, immediately followed by thunder, showed some square silhouettes ahead. A village? Why was it so dark?

Lisbeth stopped and gasped for air with both her hands on her bruised ribs. Another lightning showed eight or nine little houses. No streetlights. No parked cars. No bus stop. No people. No animals. No sign «gutbürgerliche Küche». No «Dortmunder Union Bier». Even the barbecue seemed extinguished by the thunderstorm.

The village was deserted.

It was a ghost town.

Lisbeth felt desperate. Despite the piercing pain, she took a deep breath and shouted at the top of her voice: "Is there anybody here? Hilfe, bitte!"

And then she collapsed. Thunder rolled through the valley while the heavy rain washed the tears from her face.

A door opened. A hand held a storm light and another hand waved Lisbeth inside. She fought herself back on her feet and hurried to the door: "Thank you. Do you have a telephone? Can I call a taxi here?"