Page 74 of The Undead

“Nothing.”

“I thought you said something.”

I just shook my head. Maggie waited impatiently at a red light, floored it the instant it greened, and took a sharp left onto the freeway access road. The Volvo roared like a champion up the incline, going way over the legal limit. She didn’t slow down once we were on, just moved into the left lane and kept her foot down.

“A little fast, isn’t it?” I ventured. My wife shifted into fifth. The acceleration threw me back into the Volvo’s padded seats. “Maggie.”

“Mike. Shut up.”

There you go, from risen-from-the-grave to back-seat-driver in under an hour. That had to be some kind of record. I shut my mouth and let her take her fury out on the road.

“Police,” Adam said suddenly. Maggie’s eyes flew up to the rearview mirror, then to the side. There he was, pulling up onto the freeway, blue-and-reds flashing. Maggie’s Ups shaped a soundless curse and she slowed. Too late. He pulled in behind us and gave a burst on the siren.

“Well? Should I pull over?”

“Can you beat him?” Adam asked. She checked the gauges on the car.

“Oh, probably. I’m a better driver. However, he’s got a radio and knows how to use it, and I don’t want to end up on the other end of a high-speed pursuit, unless you’ve got some real good reason for not stopping.”

“Like the blood on our clothes.”

“That’d do it.” Maggie sighed, and floored it. The police car rapidly faded back, then just as rapidly began closing the distance. Maggie took an off ramp at a speed normally reserved for low-flying aircraft. “You guys got your seat belts fastened?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I muttered. Mine was very definitely in place. I heard Adam’s click in just as Maggie let the car drift left and then whipped the wheel to the right. Even with the superior soundproofing, I could hear the tires screaming in pain. The car skidded—

turning and turning, slamming into the guard rail, blood and pain and the long fall into dark water—

—and straightened immediately under Maggie’s professional touch. She took another right, then another. An even block. When she was sure she had the patrol car out of sight, she screeched into a driveway and killed the lights. We didn’t need stage directions to get out of sight; I ended up lying half over Maggie, my face pressed against her hair. It felt smooth and silky against my skin, a sensation I’d almost forgotten. The red and blue strobes rocketed past.

“Stay down,” she murmured. One of her hands crept up and touched my hair. It started with just her fingertips, a tentative gentle caress, and then she buried her fingers in it. “He’ll be back.”

She was right. The car cruised by again, lights off. It seemed to be going way too slowly. Maggie’s fingers paused in my hair, and her pulse beat faster.

The police car crawled on by without pausing. She pulled in a deep, convulsive breath and sat up.

“Nice,” I congratulated her. “You’ve got a real future at that.”

“Funny. Very funny. AH right, it’ll only be a few more minutes. She lives half a mile over.” Maggie backed out without turning on her lights. She took the first turn she could and got back out on a major street. Her fingers, fingernails bitten back to the quick, drummed on the steering wheel. “Hope he didn’t get the plate. If I’d known I was embarking on a life of crime, I’d have unscrewed the bulb.”

She was true to her word. We pulled in five minutes later in a fading neighborhood—not exactly seedy, not exactly run down, just on the fest downhill slide. It had the tarnished look of the forties about it, small clapboard white houses with peeling contrasting trim and gardens that needed weeding. There were lots of cars of questionable virtue, lots of people sitting outside on porches and steps watching the Volvo with undisguised curiosity. Maggie pulled in at the curb and pointed.

“Right there.” She pointed to a white house with faded rust-colored trim. “I’m coming in with you.”

“No,” Adam said just a beat before me. “You’re not.”

I could have told him how much weight that would carry. She reached down and pulled out her gun. It looked comfortable in her hands. She looked up at me, eyes gleaming in the streetlights, and smiled.

“Yes,” she corrected, “I am. Follow me.”

She was out of the car before I could say another word, even if I’d wanted. I scrambled out and followed, Adam right at my shoulder. He’d stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jacket again, and there was a curious expression on his face as he looked at Maggie.

“Yeah,” I agreed with a sigh. “She is.”

The lights were on inside, but the curtains were all firmly drawn. Maggie walked right up the steps.

“What are you doing?” Adam hissed. She raised her eyebrows.

“Knocking.” Knock, knock, knock. “See, it gets people to answer the door. It’s very—”

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