That was the sales pitch anyway.
“Yeah, well, he’s not people,” Left Ned said. “And back when hewas, he killed in cold blood. What do you think about that, Matilda?”
I thought Abraham was a very dangerous man. But I’d thought that since I’d met him.
“I think I’ll stand and face this problem straight on. I’m done hiding.”
Abraham pounded on the back window. I slowed down a bit and glanced at him in my rearview. He pointed to the left. “Turn here,” he shouted over the wind.
No road, no pull-off, just a break between the trees where a few had fallen in the windstorm we’d had last winter.
I pulled over onto the shoulder of the road, headlights revealing the glint of metal—his car tucked back under the trees.
The truck dipped and sprang back on its shocks as Abraham jumped out of the bed.
“Here.” He strode off into the brush.
I killed the engine and pulled the keys.
“You could still go back,” Right Ned said, staring out into the darkness. “We could run. On our own terms. Our own way.”
“We could,” I said. “But I have a brother to save, a property to keep, and all the people in House Brown to protect. You don’t have to follow me, Ned. As a matter of fact, it might be smarter that you don’t.”
Right Ned gave me the ghost of a smile. “I ain’t ever been the smartest man.”
Left Ned swore quietly.
I gave them both a smile.
I got out of the truck, hefted my duffel, and shouldered my rifle, then walked over to Abraham’s car.
Abraham had disappeared inside the driver’s side of the big gray hunk of curves and creases. The car looked like it was made of gray silk ironed and pressed into shape, no seams except where the doors slid aside.
Compared to the rusty old lump of my truck, it was smooth as moonlight on water.
I took the front passenger’s side, and Neds got in back.
Abraham’s fingerprint shut and locked all the doors, then started the engine, which caused a bunch of lights to flash but made no sound.
In seconds, we were out on the road with no sense of contact with the pavement. I didn’t think we were flying, but the thing had good enough suspension we might as well have been.
Abraham took the thirty-mile-an-hour road at over a hundred. Darkness rushed past the windows. Within fifteen minutes, we were so far off my property, I wouldn’t be able to walk back without stopping for the night.
Make that two.
“How long until we get there?” I asked.
“Fifteen minutes until we hit a transfer tunnel. After that, half an hour or so,” Abraham said.
“Chicago?” Right Ned asked.
“Yes.”
I wondered how my farmhand had known that.
None of us said anything more. After a few minutes, the car veered to the right, and aclankrang out from beneath the tires. The ramp locked on to carry us to the tunnel.
I’d only ridden the speed tubes once: a very short trip between our place and North Carolina that would have taken several hours on the road, but was over in a matter of minutes in the elevated tubes. I had been frightened at the time, because Quinten had said it was an emergency trip to buy some things we needed.
