Free Dan and the Dead by Thomas Taylor Page A

this to the cops.’
    I glance into the remains of the rear-view mirror, and see that the car pursuing me has gained and is just a few vehicles back, swerving as it looks for a way through the traffic.
    â€˜But he won’t let you go,’ says Ems, looking back too. ‘You don’t know what he’s like. He’ll kill you, run you off the road.’
    As if to emphasise this, there’s a shot and a bullet slams into the back of the car.
    â€˜You must perform my trick before then,’ says Lugubrian, whose body is sitting in the back with its arms folded while his head rolls around on the dash. ‘You are no good to me dead, boy. Let him kill you afterwards.’
    â€˜If you can’t say anything helpful, just can it!’ I shout. ‘I’m not letting him get me, okay?’
    But the truth is, it’s not looking good and I haven’t got a clue where I’m going. I can drive, thanks to a payment from an old client, but that payment didn’t come with sat nav, did it? I’m racing on blind. All I can do is keep following signs for London and hope the police pull Bagsy over for insane driving whilst in charge of a gun or something.
    I press the accelerator down, even though it sounds like a bullet has got into the engine.
    We drive on and on, and it seems like ages before the lights of the London suburbs are flashing past. But by now I’m daring to hope again because, finally, the traffic police have cottoned on to the desperate race I’m running. There are sirens now, and I can see blue lights behind us, but every time I slow down, Bagport gains on us and takes another potshot. All I can do is hurtle on and hope some more.
    Suddenly, on a road sign, I spot somewhere I know – a place near where I live – and I skid sharply into the exit, bouncing off a crash barrier with a torrent of sparks. Bagport’s taken by surprise by this and almost misses the exit.
    Almost.
    At the last minute he swerves and jumps the barrier – actually jumps it! – and crashes down on the road right behind us.
    â€˜Crapsticks!’
    By now there’s a crowd of blue lights behind us. Why don’t they drive faster?
    I mount the pavement and break through a painted fence, storming into a car park. Yeah, I know that sounds nuts, but I’m starting to recognize the streets and I know I can get through here, and by now all I can think of is getting home. Bagport’s right behind me, but his car takes a hammering from the wooden debris that flies round the limo. Both our cars must look a right state as we bounce over the pavement into the street beyond.
    â€˜Daniel, why is there a red lamp twinkling?’ says Si in his old-fashioned way, and he points at the dashboard. I haven’t once looked at the fuel gauge, but I’m staring at it now. It’s right down on empty.
    â€˜Oh, frack, we’re almost out of petrol!’
    â€˜The tank’s been hit,’ says Ems, pocking her head out the window. ‘There’s been petrol pouring out the back for ages.’
    â€˜What! Why didn’t you tell me?’
    â€˜I thought it was seawater. Don’t shout at me.’
    â€˜This is mad!’ I shout anyway, and it is. We’re only five minutes away from home and Mum and Dad and whatever protection I’ll find there until the police breeze up, but now I seriously doubt we’ll get even that far.
    Just then, Bagport’s car catches up and I see both him and Ringpull. Their eyes dance with furious delight as they get abreast of us, and then they slam into our side.
    The limo swerves, and I fight to correct it, but I’m on the other side of the road now and there’s a lorry.
    â€˜Hold on!’ I shout, even though there’s really no need for ghosts to hold on, is there? I turn the wheel hard into the pavement and run the limo straight into a shoe shop, ducking down as the window glass sprays through the car. I