Trouble was, we didn’t have a choice. We couldn’t take the train; the few passenger lines still in existence are luxury-oriented and would take a week to get there. Flying with Mahir and Kelly wouldn’t work, since one of them was legally dead and the other was in the country under the sketchiest of legal pretenses. What’s sad is that I didn’t know which was the bigger concern.

Maggie’s bedrock streak of practicality came to the rescue around the time Mahir and I were starting to brainstorm about stealing a crop duster and somehow riding it across the country to Tennessee. “Why don’t you idiots take my van and get it over with?” she demanded, flinging her keys down on the table. “The VIN’s registered to Daddy so I don’t get stopped when I have to cross the border to Canada, and nobody’s going to risk nuking it if they think there’s even half a chance that I’m inside. Kill the heir to the Garcia pharmaceutical fortune while my parents are still alive to destroy them? No government conspiracy is that stupid.”

Privately, I thought she was being a little complacent—anyone whas willing to nuke a city wouldn’t hesitate before killing a pharmaceutical heir and would have the resources to make it look like an accident—but I didn’t say so. I just scooped the keys into my pocket. “You really have no qualms about abuse of power, do you? Thanks, Maggie. You’re badass.”

“Not a single one,” she said amiably. “Believe me, I know how badass I am. You’ll have to leave the bike behind, you know.”

I’d been trying to avoid thinking about that. The idea of leaving George’s bike when I didn’t know if we’d ever make it back was almost physically painful. “I know.”

“Good, just so long as it isn’t going to be a fight. Now you’d better get moving. I want my guest rooms back in time for this weekend’s film festival.”

“What are you watching?” asked Mahir.

“All thirteen Nightmare on Elm Street movies, back to back,” Maggie replied. “We’re starting with the original and going from there.”

I shuddered. “I’ll take my chances with the CDC.”

“I thought you might,” said Maggie, and smiled.

After a day of arguing about what to pack and how many bullets we’d need, Maggie’s van was loaded and ready to go. She didn’t normally drive on run-flats—something about the way they changed the steering made them too much trouble for her to deal with—but one of the faceless security men we normally never saw walked up the driveway with a brand-new set and installed them before I could even ask if it was an option.

She’s been expecting this for a while, said George.

I said nothing.