“You know, I think I do.” She grabs her cell phone and punches in a number. It rings a few times and picks up. “Hey, Harvey,” she says. “You want to help end this nightmare you’re watching from up there?” Pause. “Yeah, I’m chasing the blue Porsche. No idea where anybody else—Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“We’re the only car in this chase. Nobody’s got time for a pursuit when the world’s ending. That could work in our favor.” She turns back to the phone.

“We need to stop that Porsche. I don’t know how you want to do it, but she’s got these fucking grenades and if one hits your bird, you’re fucked.” She listens more. “Perfect. I’ll see you in a minute.” She hangs up.

“Harvey?”

“Pilot with LAPD air support. He’s one of us,” she says. “He’s watching us from over near Culver City. He says the 10 west is on fire right after the 405, and the 405 north is blocked with a ten-car pile-up. Big rig tipped over. Santa Monica, Culver City, and LAPD are all trying to keep people off the freeway. Seems there’ve been a couple more collapsed sections, so they’ve got cars blocking the offramps. Her only option is to head south on the 405.”

“How does that help us?”

“You’ll see.”

We keep playing chicken with Sastre all the way down the 10. She tosses grenades, we dodge them, another section of the freeway catches fire. When this is all over I wonder how much is going to be left. She drives a couple cars off the road and they carom into our path, but between Letitia’s driving skills and me shoving shit out of our way with magic, we manage to get past them without much damage.

Sastre’s probably listening to the radio or has one of those traffic apps on her phone, because as soon as the South 405 interchange comes up, she veers onto it with no hesitation. I don’t know what her plan is, or if she even has a plan. She can’t keep driving that Porsche, and now she’s got the police on her ass and eyes in the sky. She has to know she’s not getting out of this.

Maybe she doesn’t want to.

We take the curved ramp and dump out onto the 405. Once we’re on the straightaway she guns it and tosses four burning tlepilli held together with a rubber band out the window.

She must be getting desperate, because there’s no way we won’t dodge it. But that might not be her plan. If she already knows she’s fucked, she just might want to create the maximum amount of chaos.