Taking the Highway

ANDRE BLAZED THROUGH THE conference room and into the hallway, sprinting toward the now-shut stairwell door. Topher already had too much of a head start. Out of the building, he could go anywhere, do anything.

But for now, he was on the stairs, and stairs were good. Down was Topher’s only option, a single door his only escape. Andre caught a glimpse of Topher’s blond head one flight below. He knew better than to try to shoot from this angle. He’d only slow himself down. Even retrieving the gun from its holster would waste precious seconds, and he’d miss anyway. He had to keep running, hitting every riser, trying not to get ahead of himself and trip over his own feet.

He rounded the corner at the second floor, listening hard for the sound of Topher’s shoulder hitting the first floor exit door. But Topher didn’t see it or didn’t want it. Instead, he kept going all the way to the basement sublevel, where city employees and visitors parked their vehicles.

Andre sucked in air and kept moving. Did Topher actually believe he could get his car, get in, and drive away before Andre caught up to him? He would soon find out how wrong he was.

The basement door opened to the right, so Andre hit the crossbar with his right hip and slammed through, leading with his shoulder. As soon as he’d cleared the door, he clawed in his jacket for the Yavorit. It barely fit in his swollen hand, but his trigger finger was unbruised, and he was able to angle it around to a shooting position, as long as he didn’t grip the gun too tightly.

The car park was empty.

For a confused moment, Andre tried to blink reality back into focus. He’d been here not half an hour ago, easing the banged-up Dodge Challenger between two other cars. He’d walked to the elevator—it was right there, on the opposite wall—to get to the conference room. But now, all he saw in the hazy overhead lights were a grid of yellow parking lines and four fat pillars.

Pillars that blocked his sight lines.

Pillars that could hide Topher.

Pillars that said 1B in meter-high red letters.

1B? Wrong. Those letters had been green. And they’d said 2B on them. He realized his mistake too late, as he heard feet pounding down the other set of stairs, the ones way over on the opposite side, behind the giant pillar that blocked his way.

Shit.

He sprinted across the cement, knowing that by the time he got to the stairs, Topher would be gone, down to the next parking level and then who knew where. Andre flew down one flight and reached the second sublevel just in time to see a deep blue Ford Facet driving away from him to the car exit. He got off one shot, missing the tire he was aiming for and hitting a tail light instead.

He ran to the Challenger and yanked on the door handle, throwing himself into the driver’s seat. He slapped the dash for the ignition button. Damn. He needed to insert the f*cking key. He patted his pockets furiously, finally came up with it, and got it slotted into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life and he threw it in reverse, almost hitting the car behind him. He pounded the brakes and jerked to a stop. If he kept control of his car, he might catch Topher before he left the parking lot. He put the Challenger in gear and raced forward.

The exit ramp was empty. He burned up it and slammed the brakes at the top. He swiveled his head, looking for the Facet. There, a block ahead already. Andre nosed into traffic and followed. He glanced at the gas gauge, which said a quarter full, but he had no way to judge how many kilometers that would actually take him. He hoped it was enough.

Two blocks. Three blocks. Constantly boxed in by other cars. He gained a small advantage at Gratiot Avenue, then lost it at the next traffic light. People turned and stared openly at the Challenger, but he was beyond caring.

Worry seeped into his mind like a lava flow. Did Talic stop Madison Zuchek, or would Andre get another summons from her, this one calling him to his death? He hit the brakes at yet another red light. He couldn’t think about that now. If he didn’t catch Topher, nothing else mattered.

They took another turn closer to the highway and Andre suddenly knew where Topher was leading him, and it was the last place he wanted to go.

High-rises gave way to one-story buildings, and then they were on Chrysler Drive, the service drive that paralleled I-75. The ribbon of highway stretched below them, with four-passenger cars safely skimming along, bumpers almost kissing.

Andre gripped the wheel and stomped on the gas pedal. He was too late. He could see the Overdrive sensor up ahead, and the next one less than a kilometer away. Topher could tumble the entire Overdrive network like a row of dominoes. The last crash had been bad enough, but at least it had been isolated in one spot. The loss of multiple highway sensors would make the previous Overdrive crashes look like fender benders. Topher could keep going forever, sailing along, taking out every sensor in the city if he wanted to.

And Andre knew, without a doubt, that Topher wanted to. It had nothing to do with Andre chasing him and nothing to do with wanting to escape. Topher had to grab power now or lose everything. He would crash Overdrive and watch the city crawl to him on bended knee.

He scanned the dashboard for the screamer, then remembered where he was and fumbled in his pocket for his datapad. He commanded it to call, but didn’t know what name to give. He held it limply in his bruised right hand, letting it fall to his side. No Danny, no Sofia, no one. He was alone, speeding down a nearly empty service drive, about to witness the death of hundreds of people.

He stomped on the gas pedal. Couldn’t this thing go any faster? The damn Challenger had a top speed of 210 KPH. Topher’s Facet would have no trouble sustaining that speed, as long as he could control the car. It took every bit of Andre’s concentration to drive while pushing the Challenger to 140. The front-end collision had knocked the tires out of alignment, and without stabilizers to correct it, he had to compensate by hand.

He gripped the wheel with his right hand, grimacing at the pain, and fumbled with the window release. He lowered the window, transferred his gun to his left hand and tried to steady it. His first shot barely grazed the bumper. The second one didn’t even come close. He pulled the gun back in as Topher’s car sped past the Overdrive sensor.

First came a sickening thud, then a ripping sound, as if giant hands were tearing into metal. Andre glanced at the highway, causing his car to swerve as his hands followed his eyes. He jerked the wheel back into position, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He didn’t need to see the carnage on the highway below him to know it was bad, especially when the explosions reached his ears.

Topher’s car hurled on toward the next sensor.

Andre eased off the accelerator, coasting for a second. He could take this on-ramp, get on the highway, perhaps get ahead of the next Overdrive sensor, do something to warn people before it happened.

He could also get stuck in the middle of it. Besides, what could he do to warn people? Honk his horn?

The car drifted toward the on-ramp, and he wrenched it back to center, standing on the gas pedal. Getting on the highway would mean letting Topher go. He had to stop the source of the crashes before they got worse.

Andre drove as fast as he dared, but still Topher’s car crept away from him. The Facet sailed past the next Overdrive sensor and Andre winced as he heard the first cars ping off each other like pinballs. The crash behind them had eliminated some of the cars, so it wasn’t as bad as the first one, but it was bad enough. Up ahead, Andre could see the on-ramp, with cars nosing each other to hop on, the passengers completely unaware they were zooming toward their own deaths.

He scanned the dashboard again. Not even a screamer could help him right now. Half the police force was in Greenfield Village, and the other half was spread thin. Even if he could somehow mobilize every single officer, it wouldn’t be enough. It would take hundreds of people working together to shut down all the on-ramps. There wasn’t that much manpower in the entire city.

His next thought had him scrambling for the datapad, which had fallen to the floor when he’d dropped it. He didn’t need more people. He needed the right people. People who knew the city, people who understood the highway system, people who were already on site and could be mobilized at a moment’s notice.

He needed fourths.

He looked ahead. This section of 75 was stick straight, which meant more space between sensors. He had maybe five minutes. He’d need every single one of them.

He grabbed his datapad and scrolled through names one-handed. Contacting his own list would be a waste of time. It was laughably small for what he had to do. He needed to reach as many fourths as he could, as fast as he could. He only knew one person with that kind of network.

He commanded the datapad to call Bob Masterson.

[CALL REFUSED.]

Andre swore and called again.

[CALL REFUSED.]

“Damn it, Bob!” Andre tried a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth.

Bob picked up on the sixth call. “I’m not talking to you, so quit—”

“Overdrive is crashing, Bob. It’s not just one crash. There’s a guy on the move, taking out sensors all along 75. I need you to get as many fourths as you can and stop people from getting on the highway. You’ll need to use the ramps at East Grand and probably Holbrook and the Davidson if you can. Do not let cars get on the northbound highway. You understand? We’ve got to keep them off.”

Silence at the other end. Andre craned his neck to keep Topher in sight. How fast was he going, anyway? “Bob?”

“You need help.”

“I know!” Andre exhaled and gripped the wheel. “Start at East Grand. It’s about to get the worst of it, I think.”

“I never figured you for a flash addict, but it takes all kinds, I guess.”

“It isn’t drugs, okay? I am perfectly straight.” He flinched as Topher sailed past the Overdrive sensor.

Andre commanded the datapad to record and broadcast, then pointed it out the window. He slowed, letting Bob have a good view of the highway. “Look at this!” he shouted.

“Real-time data camera? Oh, that’s classy, LaCroix.”

There were no brakes this time. It seemed as if the cars sped up. Although there were fewer of them now, they still smacked into each other with all the force they could bear. Andre turned the pad to take in the first explosion.

Andre heard Bob’s sharp intake of air, followed by, “F*ck a duck!”

He pointed the pad back toward himself. “We did this. Fourths. That’s the spin.”

“No we didn’t!”

“That’s how they’ll play it. They have to blame someone and they’ll blame fourths. They’ll blame us, Bob. Please, you’re the only one who can do it. You have to stop this.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Throw a FIT. We can’t stop traffic coming in from 94, but if we can cut off the traffic from the side streets—”

“East Grand and Holbrook. Got it.”

“Once those are shut, try to get ahead of it. McNichols and maybe Seven Mile. If we can stop the highway from reaching critical mass, those already on it might have a chance.”

“I’ve sent the FIT.”

“We’re heading northbound. Stop it, Bob. Stop as much as you can.”

He threw the pad on the seat and hit the gas. A warning light appeared on the Challenger’s dashboard. It took him a moment to puzzle it out. Low fuel. The needle on the gauge hovered just above E.

Topher’s car was still too far ahead. Andre braced himself for another horrific crash as Topher’s car whizzed past the sensor. He chanced a look at the highway below and his breath gushed out of him.

Traffic on the highway below looked more like Sunday morning than Friday night. He saw a car clip the one beside it, sending it spinning into a third, but he also saw a sea of brake lights and people swerving out of the way. Cars had empty road to slide into, enough space between them to slow and move and avoid hitting each other.

“Thank you, Bob Masterson.”

They curved toward the next sensor and beyond. Had Topher even bothered tripping that one? There were so few cars on this stretch of highway that he couldn’t tell.

In front of him, the Facet slowed, as if Topher himself couldn’t believe it wasn’t working. Topher stuck his hand out the window, pointing his datapad toward the tower.

Now. He had to stop Topher now. Andre poked his gun out the window, trying to curve it around the massive windshield, knowing it would be a bad angle, especially trying to shoot left-handed. But he might get lucky.

His first shot went wide, but it was enough to get Topher’s attention. Andre watched as Topher pulled his hand in the car and darted forward.

Andre swore. He could shoot until he’d exhausted the Yavorit’s ammunition, and never get close to Topher.

But the gun wasn’t his only weapon.

Andre set his foot on the gas pedal and pressed with all his strength. He’d been thinking it ever since they’d started down the service drive, a nagging idea that he didn’t want to name. Topher would either slow down at the next Overdrive sensor or make a turn, trying to drive to a different one. Either way, Andre would be able to catch up.

More than catch up. A heavy car like the Challenger versus a lightweight like the Facet? Topher wouldn’t stand a chance. But there would be damage. A front-end collision would mean the end of the LaCroix family car, the end of any kind of whole, beautiful thing his Dad had built.

But better that than the end of all those people on the highway, the end of trust in Overdrive, the end of fourthing. The end of Detroit.

He kept his eyes on the road and ran his hand over the dash. His fingers touched the clever knobs and dials. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If there was any other way, I’d take it.”

The next sensor loomed ahead, and once again, Topher slowed and stuck his hand out the window, pointing it at the tower.

Andre aimed and took two shots. The first missed completely, but the second hit the Facet’s left rear tire, finally slowing Topher down. Andre sped up. He hoped the fuel would last long enough for one final burst. He braced his arms on the steering wheel and slammed head-on into Topher Price-Powell’s car.

He closed his eyes at the final moment, hoping the windshield wouldn’t shatter. The single airbag exploded in his face, and he fell into it. It felt like his head was being snapped off his neck. At the next moment, the car skidded sideways and the passenger window blew inward, sending shards into his right arm.

Andre sat back in the seat and blinked, trying to catch his breath. The impact had knocked the wind out of him and his chest felt like it had been hit with a sledge hammer. The same hammer had apparently smacked him in the face. But hadn’t he landed in an airbag? He brushed glass off his shoulder, unhooked his seatbelt, and tried to open the door. No good. It had bent inward in the crash, and he was unable to force the metal frame. He slid over the center console and used the relatively unscathed passenger door. He swept his gaze over the entirety of the damage, absorbing it all in an instant.

The Challenger’s grille was now a permanent part of the Facet’s backside. The hood had crumpled in upon itself, headlights turned to dust and wires dangling near the front tires. One hubcap spun noisily on the pavement and part of Andre wanted to circle the car to see if the other one had fallen off as well. But the time for grief would come later. He raked his eyes to Topher’s car.

The Facet’s trunk had disappeared somewhere near the Challenger’s engine block and the back seat had settled up against the front one. The rest of the car was intact. The driver’s side door hung open, empty.

Andre whipped his head around and spotted Topher running, vaulting over the divider that separated the service drive from the highway. Andre stared dumbly for a moment before following. Of all places to run, why run toward the highway? Then he caught his breath and sped after him, feeling like his bruised chest would explode.

The bastard. The absolute f*cking bastard. Topher had already disabled the sensors on this side of the highway, and no more cars would be moving north. Now he was going to cross the highway, because he needed to get close to the Overdrive sensor on the other side, where traffic still flowed freely in the other direction.

Andre patted his pockets, knowing that he’d lost the datapad in the crash. There was no way to contact Bob, no way to stop the southbound traffic, no way to prevent more deaths.

Unless he stopped Topher.