Free Dying Is My Business by Nicholas Kaufmann Page A

glass, slid sideways across the blacktop like it was made of cardboard. It collided with the rear of a delivery truck, and its windshield and the red and white lights on its roof shattered in a rain of glass. The horse barely noticed as it continued galloping after us. The cruiser stayed put. I couldn’t tell if the cops inside were alive or dead.
    “Trent, look out!” Bethany cried.
    I tore my gaze away from the mirror and back to the road. In front of us, a city bus pulled away from the bus stop at the curb, directly into our path. The glowing M20 on the digital display window on the back of the bus looked so big and close through the windshield that I gasped. I jerked the wheel to the left and stamped down on the gas, trying to get ahead of the bus, but it was too late. It slammed into the side of the Explorer, sending us skidding diagonally across the lanes.
    “Hang on!” I shouted. I stepped on the brakes with my full weight, nearly lifting myself out of the seat. The tires locked and squealed against the road. In the backseat, Bethany and Thornton were thrown to one side as they scrabbled for something to hold on to. The Explorer rocked, threatening to tip over, then settled to a stop straddling two lanes. I looked through the passenger side window, which now faced oncoming traffic. I caught a glimpse of the Black Knight riding toward us. Then suddenly all I could see was a monster Suburban bearing down on us, its driver leaning on the horn. The Suburban’s wheels screamed as it braked, but the momentum kept it sliding forward. I stepped on the gas again and twisted the steering wheel, edging forward, but it was too late. The Suburban struck the rear of the Explorer. I heard shouts of alarm from the people on the sidewalk as our back wheels slid ninety degrees across the blacktop. Bethany and Thornton cried out, clutching the safety grips on the ceiling above the doors. We came to an uneasy stop rocking back and forth on the suspension. I held onto the steering wheel with white knuckles. My heart squeezed into my throat like it wanted to make a break for it.
    Down the street, the Black Knight’s horse knocked aside a station wagon like it was a Matchbox car, and kept coming. I ignored the honks and the angry cries of the Suburban’s driver, turned to my two shaken but unharmed passengers in the back and barked, “Seat belts! Now!” Bethany and Thornton buckled themselves in without a word. I did the same and hit the gas again. The engine chugged and wheezed in protest, but thankfully the car moved. I continued down Seventh Avenue, but this time the speedometer stayed at forty-five no matter how hard I stepped on the pedal.
    Thornton twisted to look out the rear window again. “He’s gaining on us!”
    “Can’t you make this thing go any faster?” Bethany demanded.
    “I’m trying!” I yelled back. I glanced in the side mirror. The Black Knight was shadowing us, relentless. “What does he want from us?”
    “The box,” Bethany said. “He’s the one who sent the gargoyles after it in the first place.”
    Everyone wanted the box, it seemed. It was bringing the freaks out of the woodwork. What was so special about the damn thing?
    Another siren pierced the night. A second NYPD cruiser came rocketing down Seventh Avenue to pull up alongside the horse. It tried turning toward the horse to nudge it toward the side of the road, but the horse ignored it. The Black Knight swiped at the cruiser with his sword. There was a sudden eruption of sparks, and the police cruiser wobbled, lost control, and veered into a street-side lamppost. People scattered on the sidewalks. The Black Knight kept coming.
    We shot across Forty-Eighth Street. I glanced at the side mirror. The Black Knight was so close I could almost make out each individual hooked barb on his sword. The horse’s enormous nostrils flared just above the stenciled words OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR. I ground the accelerator into the