The flatbed lurched forward, roaring up through first. "Tinker, I don't think I'm going to be able to make it! The car is cutting me off! Oh shit!"
A black sedan had raced past them on the left and was swinging right to cut them off. Oilcan was already slowing down when Tinker hit the window. She slid through the window, down into his lap, and jammed her foot down on top of his.
"Just go!" she shouted. "Shift!"
Swearing, Oilcan stomped down on the clutch, threw the truck into second, and let up on the clutch. "Watch the car!"
"I am watching it!" she shouted, nailing the gas pedal to the floor. The big truck leapt forward, caught the sedan at the front bumper, and smashed it aside. The flatbed shuddered at the impact and then shrugged it off, roaring forward.
They had been down a side street, and needed to turn onto Centre Avenue to reach the border. They were going too fast, hough, for her to turn the truck alone. "Help me turn!"
Together they cranked the steering wheel through the sharp right turn onto Centre Avenue. There was a stop sign on the other side of the intersection. They mounted the curb, flattened the sign, and swung through the rest of the turn.
"That was a stop sign, Tink!" Oilcan complained.
"Yes! It was!" she growled. "Will you shut up? I'm thoroughly pissed off, and I don't need you complaining to me!"
They hadn't hit the sedan hard enough. It came sweeping up behind them, front panel gone and showing undercarriage.
The flatbed topped second gear.
"Shift!" Tink called, easing minutely up on the gas. Oilcan clutched and shifted up to third.
The sedan took the moment to leap ahead, veering into their path again.
"Fuck them!" Tink growled and elbowed Oilcan in the stomach as he started to turn the wheel. She stomped on the gas, and the flatbed roared straight at the sedan. "Eat this!"
She hadn't grown up in the scrap yard without knowing the strength of the vehicle under her. Built heavy enough to carry over ten tons, backed with a 250-horsepower engine, it was a close cousin to a bulldozer. She aimed at the sedan's back panel, knowing that the car would pivot on its engine block. The sedan spun like a child's toy as they hit.
The narrow strip of no-man's-land of the Rim was now only a block before them. Beyond it was a tall chain-link fence and the Oakland of Earth rising up in full glory.
"Oh shit, it's not Startup yet!" Tinker cried.
"Two more minutes," Oilcan said.
"Damn!" Tinker slammed the brakes. The big truck fought her more than when she'd hit the car, the wheels locking up, slewing them sideways. She sent up a quick prayer that the bolts on the trailer held.
Oilcan yelped and caught the clutch before the engine stalled out. "What are we going to do?"
The guards were swarming forward to intercept her the moment they stopped. Behind them, the sedan was gamely straightening out.
"Shift!" Tinker said.
"Shift to what?"
"Reverse." She shoved his hand aside and worked the gear shift into reverse. "Hold on."
They started backward, gathering speed. She watched her side mirrors as the sedan this time scrambled out of the way. The flatbed shot past its bumper by inches. Would they chase? No, they seemed confused.
"A minute," Oilcan intoned.
A block. Two. Four blocks, and she said, "Okay, let's stop."
They shifted back to first and sat, their feet arrayed across all the pedals. Far off, so faint Tinker barely heard it over the rumble of the flatbed engine, came the ringing of St. Paul's bells.
"This is it," Oilcan breathed.
"One hopes," Tinker said.
Void. The odd sense of falling without moving. All the streetlights flickered out, and only their headlights cut the sudden darkness. The chain-link fence and Oakland vanished. The primal forests of Elfhome and the elfin enclaves lining the border took their place. The aurora effect gleamed directly overhead, dancing along the gate's curving veil.
"Let's go!" Tinker nailed the gas pedal.
The gate remained closed. The guards, gathered to watch her wild driving, scattered, except one fool waving like he thought she'd stop. Tinker reached up, caught the pull on the air horn, and blared her intention to barrel through. Said fool took the warning.
The gate was wood, and it sheared off with a sharp crack. The enclaves on either side of the road formed a chute of tall stone walls, three hundred feet in length, and then they plunged into the dark woods.
She had driven the road before, knew it to be a straight path. Roads on Elfhome were mostly fitted stone, following ley lines, acting as both road and power source. Unlike the wide-berm, multi-lane highways of Earth, they were more like paths. Branches scraped along the roof of the trailer and threatened to take out her mirrors.
Tinker leaned up. "See if you can check Windwolf. I don't have him strapped down back there."
Oilcan slid out from under her, squeezed through the window, and called, "He's fine. There are cars coming."
Reaally? Imagine that!
The side mirrors polarized to keep the car's headlights from blinding her completely. "I see them."
"We're in shit trouble, Tink."
"I know." She was determined not to be sidetracked into being upset. "We get through this, and then I'll worry about the mess."
The hospice was two miles in. Luckily the road remained too narrow for the EIA cars to try cutting them off. She geared down to make the turn into the hospice parking lot, swung the flatbed around, and backed up to the hospice's door as the EIA cars swarmed about her like gnats, hemming the truck in on the sides and front.
A moment later, and EIA men clung to every surface of the truck, pointing guns at her through the windows. Tinker raised her hands.
They hit her with a police override, and the door locks thunked up. They jerked the door open.
"I've got a wounded elf in—" she started to say, but finished with a yelp of surprise as they plucked her out of the seat.
"Tinker!" Oilcan shouted from the back.
"There's a wounded elf in back!" she said.
They pushed her up against the flatbed's hot hood, face down, and twisted her hands behind her back. Pain flared from her wounded hand. She couldn't bite back the cry of hurt.
"Tinker!" Oilcan threw open the back door and was yanked down himself. A moment later he was slammed up against the hood beside her. "She's hurt!" he growled. "Be careful with her!"
There were elves among the men. She could hear the rapid bark of Elvish. A man was leaning his weight into her back, while frisking her.
"She's got a shoulder holster on!" the man shouted in warning. "They've got a pistol someplace."
The gun! Where had she dropped it? It was lost in a blur of events.
He reached her pants pockets and started to upload them onto the high hood. "Damn, she's carrying a household."
"We haven't done anything except protect our patient," Tinker said, trying to turn to face him.
"Shut up, punk." He pulled her backwards and then slammed her against the hood again.
"Leave her alone!" Oilcan shouted.
The guard turned, nightstick upraised. Tinker shouted wordlessly in protest.
Then everything went silent and still. An elf had hold of the nightstick, and there were others, armed and hard-eyed, ringing them.
"They're not to be harmed," the elf said in Low Elvish. "Wolf Who Rules has placed them under his protection."
"Naekanain," Mr. Nightstick said, slurring the word as if he'd learned the phrase by rote. I do not understand.
"They have brought Wolf Who Rules here to be cared for," the elf clarified in Low Elvish. "He asked me to protect the young humans. I will not let them be harmed."