IT WASN’T EASY, COMMUNICATING with the car, ordering it to lower its warp field; nor was it completely successful—the family we’d left twisted and mutated at a stoplight, partially fused with their car, was proof of that. Nor did we stop anymore after that but instead rumbled straight for my house, ignoring every sign and limit, rushing against the clock, praying we could make it before my concentration finally gave out and we were back in the ‘60s—back where we’d killed so many and the cops were surely looking for us. Back where the bodies lay scattered and broken everywhere we’d been.
“Hang on!” I shouted as we broke through the fence and hurtled toward the pool excavation—forgetting, for the moment, that Mia was yet a kind of ghost, and that if anyone need worry about the coming impact
