Free Dying Is My Business by Nicholas Kaufmann Page B

floor. The engine wheezed and coughed. Wisps of smoke billowed out from under the hood. The speedometer dropped to forty.
    I cursed and hit the steering wheel. It didn’t make the Explorer go any faster.
    The Black Knight rode up alongside us. Holding tight to the metal reins with his free hand, he tipped himself toward the Explorer and slashed with his sword. The blade tore effortlessly through the metal chassis, trailing sparks that rained onto the street. Bethany and Thornton gasped and cringed away from it. The edge missed them by inches.
    I turned the wheel, trying to ram the horse, but it galloped easily out of reach. As soon as I righted the car, the Black Knight rode back to us. The curved, black blade of his sword came through the roof at an angle, jabbing into the narrow space between me and the steering wheel. I cried out and pushed myself back in my seat so hard I thought I’d break all the way through it. The Black Knight yanked his sword free again, its hooked barbs tearing chunks of metal from the roof and leaving a jagged hole.
    The Black Knight swung again, this time smashing the window beside me. Tiny cubes of safety glass spilled across my lap. I changed lanes, pulling away from him. The traffic had thinned, most of the drivers had turned off of Seventh Avenue to avoid the chaos. The good news was that the mostly empty street allowed me to maneuver more easily. The bad news was that it let the Black Knight do the same.
    He kept pace with the Explorer, the jabs and swipes of his sword continually forcing me to change lanes and move farther to the right. Up ahead, I saw Times Square’s triangular pedestrian mall approaching on the right side of Forty-Seventh Street, marking where Seventh Avenue and Broadway intersected at a sharp angle. Only then did I realize that the Black Knight was trying to force me off the road. I tried to edge my way left again, but the sword came slicing toward the driver’s side door. I instinctively yanked the wheel to the right to avoid the razor-sharp blade and realized, too late, that was exactly what the Black Knight had wanted me to do.
    We jumped the curb onto the mall, narrowly avoiding the tall stand of bleachers that angled above the TKTS windows at the north end, where theater buffs normally stood in long lines to buy cheap Broadway tickets. Luckily, at this hour there were no customers lined up there or I would have plowed right through them. Past the bleachers there were dozens of tables and chairs arranged along the pedestrian mall. They were all empty, the tourists and transients who normally sat there must have seen us coming and took off. It sounded like the rat-a-tat of a machine gun as the Explorer plowed through the tables. Plastic chairs, abandoned Styrofoam coffee cups, fast-food wrappers, and empty plastic shopping bags bounced and slid off the hood and windshield.
    I hit the brakes and spun the wheel, but we were going too fast to come to anything resembling a controlled stop. The Explorer struck a cement barricade at the far end of the mall. The next thing I knew we were off the ground and tilting sideways, then upside down. The cubes of safety glass from the broken window jumped off my lap and out of the leg well, raining up to the ceiling. I felt the seat belt strain under my weight, the strap cutting into my shoulder and chest. The Explorer came down on its roof, skating across the section of Broadway that was closed to traffic, and crashed into the side of a clothing store, shattering the store’s floor-to-ceiling display window. Only then, finally, did we stop.
    My head, neck, and shoulders throbbed. The wounds on my back flared with new pain. I reached for the seat belt and, bracing myself, released the buckle. I tumbled upside down from my seat, bumping my neck and shoulders against the ceiling. I winced and tried to get my feet under me again. I had to scrape my knees and shins past the steering wheel, but finally I lay on my side and did a quick