An Artificial Night

“I don’t know!” snapped Connor.

“Then what good are you?” I threw a bad paperback romance out the window, followed by my trash bag from the week before.

“Toby? Toby?”

“Shut up, May!”

“Um . . .”

I turned toward her, glaring. “What is it?”

She had time to whimper, “Hill,” and then we were going down, fast. Very, very fast. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the last Rider pulling his steed to a halt at the top of the hill, staring. He wasn’t dumb enough to follow. Lucky us, we were already committed.

“Turn! Turn!” I shouted. The kids weren’t whimpering anymore—most of them were cheering like wild things. The few that had the sense to be scared were screaming, but the screams were almost indistinguishable from the cheers.

San Francisco was built on a series of hills. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. Some of them are steep enough that sane people won’t drive down them even at a normal pace; they go around instead, using the side streets with gentler inclines. Yet here we were, plummeting down one of the tallest hills in the city at a speed so ludicrous that I was willing to bet we were close to breaking a record. Slowing down would have been suicide. The brakes weren’t good enough, and parts of the car simply wouldn’t stop.

“Turn where?” wailed May. Connor was staring at the street as it unspooled ahead of us, all the blood drained from his cheeks. He looked terrified. I couldn’t blame him.

“Find a smaller hill! Turn!” We could lose some speed by turning. The car probably wasn’t going to recover—the damage to the engine had been done—but we might still be able to save ourselves if we could slow down enough.

May wrenched us hard to the left, and this time the car did lift up onto two wheels before dropping back to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. The shocks weren’t going to like that. The brakes probably weren’t too happy about it either.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” said an unhappy voice from the back.

Privately, I agreed. Out loud I said, “Try to wait, okay? Let us stop the car first.”

“How do I stop the car?” May demanded.

“Start slowing down!” The hill was tapering off, and we’d stopped gaining speed; there was a chance that we’d be able to decelerate enough to keep from becoming a thin metal sheet at the bottom of the hill. Not a good chance, but a chance.

“How do I slow down?”

“The brakes, hit the brakes!” snapped Connor.

“The what?”

Oh, that was not what I wanted to hear. “Take your foot off the gas!”

“Oh!” May nodded and eased off the gas, looking relieved. The car slowed, until we were moving at a speed that had at least a passing resemblance to the legal limit.

“Good,” I said. “Now try the other pedal.”

Connor held his breath as May fumbled for the brakes, found them, and brought the car to a stop in the middle of the street. She slumped forward, resting her forehead against the wheel, and I leaned over Connor to set the parking brake before we could start rolling again. The kids in the back cheered. Connor shuddered and started breathing.

I eyed him. “Wimp.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Are we dead yet?”

“No. The brakes worked.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” said the voice from the back.

“Me too,” said Connor.

“I don’t ever want to drive again,” moaned May.

“Deal,” I said, before adding, “You realize you just saved my life, right?”

“What?” She sat up, staring at me.

“We’d have died if you hadn’t taken the wheel.” I grinned at her. “Good job.”

“I can’t save your life! I’m your Fetch!”

“Yeah, I know. Get in the back.” I nudged Connor with my elbow. “It’s your turn to drive.”

He gave me a sharp look. “You’re kidding.”