Free Walking After Midnight by Karen Robards

have hit him. But it occurred to her with terrifying clarity that just at that moment he was all that stood – or lay, to be precise – between her and a bullet. Lots of bullets.
    She didn’t hit him. Instead she made herself into as small a package as possible, and lay very, very still. He curled protectively above her, shielding as much of her body as he could.
    As suddenly as it had begun, the hailstorm ceased. After a moment, cautiously, Frankenstein stuck his head out of the blanket. To Summer’s relief, the light had vanished. The night was as dark and quiet as death.
    Summer shivered at the comparison.
    „You okay?“ He was breathing heavily.
    „Y-yeah.“ Except for the fact that her teeth chattered.
    „We’ve got to get out of here,“ he said, dragging himself off her and throwing the blanket aside. He hauled her up with him by hooking a hand in the waistband of her slacks just above her belly button and lifting.
    „Let go!“ She batted his hand away even as he thrust her into the driver’s seat. Glass was everywhere. She was sitting on a small mountain of it, and as she realized that she popped up again, mentally thanking God for the new tempered windshields. If they had been in an older vehicle, they would have been cut to smithereens by flying shards. With a series of quick swipes, she brushed most of the glass off her seat.
    „Quit worrying about your butt and drive!“ He thrust her back down and reached over to yank the transmission into reverse. The van didn’t move.
    „Why don’t you?“
    „Because when I can see at all I’m seeing double, triple of everything. Besides, you’re good at it. You got us this far, didn’t you?“ He jammed his foot down on the gas. For no more than an instant the wheels spun furiously, and then the van shot backward.
    „I’ll drive!“ Summer grabbed the wheel.
    „That’s a good girl.“ He was grinning, if she cared to term that teeth-baring, lopsided twist of his battered face a grin. Funny how unafraid she now was of him. He might look like he belonged in a horror movie, he might have hurt and threatened and scared her out of five years’ sleep, but she knew as well as she knew her own name that Frankenstein wasn’t going to murder her – though thanks to him someone else just might.
    „We make a pretty good team, don’t you think?“ He shifted into drive and stomped on the accelerator. The van hurtled forward. Warm, bug-laden night air rushed in through the hole where the windshield had been. For one dreadful, pixilated moment Summer thought they were going to crash into the combine again. Just in time she yanked the wheel to the right, and the behemoth’s yellow metal framework flashed by.
    „Good reflexes,“ he approved.
    „Get your foot off the damned gas!“
    If he heard that, he ignored it. They barreled over the uneven surface of the field, heading – Summer hoped – toward the hole in the fence through which they had originally crashed. The cornstalks formed a shifting curtain obstructing her view. The van mowed them down. Before its onslaught, they fell like dominoes.
    Bursting through to the soybean field was a relief. At least she could see. The hole in the fence was there, to the left. With his foot on the gas they only partly made it, taking out another six feet or so of board fencing as they plowed through.
    In the morning, there was going to be one hopping-mad farmer hereabouts.
    But that wasn’t her problem. Her problem – at least her immediate problem – was the lead-footed lunatic beside her. And the bullet-spitting helicopter that lurked somewhere out there in the wild, midnight-blue yonder. And the goons with guns.
    And the eighteen-wheeler that roared straight toward them down Route 231.
    „Get your foot off the gas!“ she screeched again, even as they hit the ditch and were airborne. The van landed with a bounce on the blacktop – not a hundred feet in front of the oncoming truck. The wheel was yanked out of her