"Oh, man. Can you say boring?" Ellie was going on about her Statistics class while we drove back to Uncle John's Covali compound.

To me, boring was forty miles-per down a two-lane winding country road in a 911 Carrera because a big step-van was creeping down the road. Should be cruising...enjoying the curves, not creeping like this.

"I think English is his third language," she continued. "No one could butcher it that badly if it were only his second?"

"And how's your Korean, little sister?" I chided. She knew a little, just as I did, but not enough to do much more than order food. We'd spent a month there, but that was years ago.

"Me-anhamnidah, Auggie!" she snapped back in Korean. "Excuse the hell outa me! You just think he's some wizard in Sadistics."

I chuckled. I'd had him the year before, but between dual credits in high school and testing out of classes, she got him for Statistics her first semester. The brainiac had placed out of enough that she started college as a sophomore.

"Give him a couple of weeks. You'll be able to understand him better then."

"Mom said she'd be late. She and Dad are having dinner with some visiting professor."

"You had lunch with her?"

"Yeah," Ellie said. "Wanted to check that I was doing okay with my classes."

"Like you wouldn't be. Is this dinner for the think-tank or Sociology Department?"

"Think tank, so Mom's the designated spousal unit this time."

I chuckled. Dad's Director of R&D at a think tank, and Mom a professor of Sociology at U. T. "I wonder if Uncle John will be back, or it'll just be us."

"I'll be out by the pool if he isn't home."

Ellie liked that overall tan. At least she warned me this time.

We were all living with Uncle John now on his thousand-acre estate outside of Austin. At least the a/c was working. I was driving his Porsche, which made at least parts of the move a good thing. So did the pool, gym, rifle range, and the fact he traveled more than he was home. Plus, there were his different cars. I might drive the Range Rover tomorrow.

"I start that Executive Driving course on Saturday," she said, nervousness sounding in her voice.

"It's lots of fun," I replied.

"But why do we need it?"

I glanced at her and shrugged.

As I did, the step-van ahead of me slid sideways along the road. I slammed the brakes, stopping behind the van, which had halted on a bridge, perpendicular to the road. It completely blocked the road.

The driver was already climbing out of the cab, dressed more for the corner office than delivery, something pipe-like and dully metallic in his hand. It didn't look like a pistol, but he held it like a weapon.

"Shit!" I muttered, shifting the Porsche into reverse.

"This isn't good," Ellie said, grabbing for her backpack as I started bootlegging the Carrera. "Call 911?"

"Screw 911," I yelled. "Call Uncle John!"

I straightened the car out, fish-tailing more than I would if I'd stayed in better practice, but I was in control and pointed in the proper direction to un-ass the place. Except a few hundred yards down the road was another box truck, turned cattywampus with two guys getting out of that cab. One unlimbered something long, fatly-tubular, and weapon-like. A bazooka? It didn't look right for that. I cut the wheel, slammed on the brakes, and slid to a stop again, spotting a metal-and-wood ranch gate with a rutted dirt road past that.

It would've been a good day to be driving the Range Rover. I popped the clutch in second gear and cut the wheel for what I hoped would be a good enough angle to cross the bar ditch. If I made the bar ditch and crashed the gate, I could still bottom out if I caught the ruts. We went slightly airborne coming out of that ditch, the wheels digging in just as we hit the gate.

The gate came apart, but not like in Hollywood. Part of it came through the windshield, glass flying everywhere. I just got my eyes closed before the shards peppered my face and arms. Something hit the fingers of my right hand, where I gripped the wheel, and the steering wheel bent.

Part of the gate must've gone under the Carrera. The car shuddered, and a tire blew. I opened my eyes to a blast of hot air. The rear window shattered, but we were still moving and steering. The engine went loud. Must've scraped the muffler off.

I missed the ruts, too. That was easy because I wasn't on the stupid road, taking out brush and cacti instead. I cut back towards where the road should be, hitting a large prickly pear bush. I did miss the windshield right then.

The cactus came apart maybe like it would've in Hollywood, if anybody wanted to explode a large bunch of cacti. And a lot of the pads came right through the open windshield. Ellie got the brunt of that as the steering wheel deflected some of what came my way.

The road came back into view, and I paralleled it just off the ruts, assessing the damage. Right rear tire was blown, but I could go—I could steer. We might get out of this. I looked over at Ellie and froze.

She slumped against the door, a couple of cactus pads stuck to her face, but a lot of blood flowed from beneath them. Part of the fence did that, laying her cheek open to show bone and teeth. Her left forearm bent sharply like it'd acquired another joint, blood and jagged whiteness showing above the break.

"Damnit!" My eyes stung. "Damnit all to hell!"

I reached down and palm-shifted to third—my fingers weren't cooperating—and slid onto the dirt track where the ruts stopped.

I should do something, but if I stopped, the SOBs would catch up and get us—if I didn't, Ellie could die if she wasn't dead already. I was going down some dirt road, God knows where, and there were cows up ahead.

I swerved around a couple of cows, slinging Ellie off the door and over the console. I wouldn't be shifting again unless I got her off, but gas and steering should be enough now. I took the left track when the path forked, bouncing through a ravine. The bottom scraped hard, but the engine didn't even stutter.

We hit a smooth patch, and I covered Ellie's mouth and nose with my hurt hand. Relief flooded me when I felt air as she exhaled, though my hand came back red and sticky.

The road met up with a better-maintained caliche road. I spun onto this road, fish-tailed wildly—three tires and one-handed driving will do this to you—finally straightened out and found my way through an open gate back onto the road. I swung widely onto the road, checked the driver's side mirror, which was all that remained, and saw scrubby trees and cacti flashing by behind me. It'd been knocked askew—imagine that.

I hazarded a glance behind me—no vans, trucks, or vehicles of any kind back there. I took the car back as fast as three good tires, a rim, and third gear would take me. I thumbed the remote when I knew I was close enough for it to respond, thumbing it again as I turned to go through. I'd done this for fun upon occasion, and the practice paid off. The gate—a nice, big, hefty gate that would've stopped the Porsche cold—closed within ten seconds of our passing through it.

I could hear the engine pinging loudly. It was probably toast, but I'd get to the house now. The rim screeched, protesting against pavers that made the drive up to the house. Probably gouging them too, for all I cared. I guess it had its desired effect, or maybe it was the security cameras. Uncle John and a woman I didn't know bounded out the front doors as I screeched around the circular front drive. I slowed, using my wrist to keep Ellie from sliding forward, finally braking to a stop in front of Uncle John and the woman.

"Gods, Kevin! What happened?"

"Get Ellie," I said in reply. I tried to open the driver's side door, but it was wedged, so I pushed Ellie back upright with my elbow as the woman opened the other door, caught and unbuckled her.

"She has a badly broken—compound fracture, I mean—left forearm," I gasped. "Her face is torn. and I don't know what else." The prickly pears stuck to her face and chest were evident, so I didn't mention them.

I managed to climb out the drivers-side window one-handed—the window had broken sometime during all that. The woman gently pulled Ellie out of the car while I limped there.

"I wish I'd gotten here a day earlier," she muttered.

Uncle John stood stock still, staring at me. His look was like he was seeing through me. Then his voice lowered a notch, cold in a way I'd never heard before. "Kevin, what happened?"

My stomach started doing flip-flops, and I felt myself begin to shake. "Let's get Ellie taken care of and—"

"Now." His voice brooked no argument. "Ellie's being taken care of. What happened?"

"There were guys in step-vans, front and back. They blocked the bridge over Bear Brush Creek and the one before that. I took out a ranch gate—that's where we took most of the damage—found my way out another gate and back here as fast as this poor car could manage. I'm sorry about the car—"

"I'll buy another. Have it delivered tomorrow if you like." He raised his hand. "What weapons did they have?"

"Front guy had something in his hand. Small and round, but not sure what. Those behind had something long, like a dark gray sewer pipe with a grip, but the guy handled it like a weapon. That's when I crashed the gate."

"Poppy," the woman said to Uncle John. "Haspernate." She gestured with her head towards the back of the car.

"I saw."

I looked at the back of the car, and the paint looked half-cooked off. "What ...." I kind of just trailed off. I wasn't sure what to ask.

"That's probably what blew your tire, too. Good thing you were moving. If they'd been able to keep you in their sights a couple of seconds, you'd be with them, not us."

"What—I mean, the tire went when I crashed the gate. I guess it could've—"

"Foliage around the gate?" Uncle John asked.

"Yeah. Cedars, and prickly pear, anyway." I was suddenly feeling shaky.

"That'd screw it up enough anyway." He nodded thoughtfully. "By the way, Kevin, you did a good job. Maybe not as good as you could have, but good enough, and that's what counts." He turned away from me to where the woman was working on Ellie.

"Doesn't sound like they're here in much force yet, Lauretti." He looked down at her as she was working on Ellie. He seemed to emphasize her name.

"No, John. Not yet, which is probably why they tried this stunt. At least they were trying to take the kids alive."

Uncle John grunted an assent, but I was trying to puzzle out who this Lauretti was. She seemed familiar, but she called him Poppy, then John, with no Uncle? She at least seemed competent with what she was doing for Ellie, who was starting to move and moan.

"John, a stretcher."

"Kevin, could you get the stretcher?" Uncle John asked, looking at me for once.

"I'm not sure I could carry it right now." I went to raise my right hand and banged it on the side of the car. A dizziness came over me as I stared at my mangled fingers, and they faded into blackness.