At my back, the engine mutter deepened to a growl. Tires crunched on gravel and the vehicle pulled up right at my back. Before I could duck or turn, the pail was snatched from my grip. The momentum dragged me around.

My hiss of protest guttered in a squawk.

It wasn’t a platoon of new muscle. Nothing so logical. Only a lone figure on a three-wheeled solar-cycle, dark hoodie and skintight jeans, mirror shades reflecting tongues of flame and gray sky.

Dark Boy.

Glowering at me, hair matted like he’d just got out of bed. The waste pail swung from his handlebar. Okay, a nightmare for sure.

“Get on, den rat. We’re going for a ride.”

Nothing left to do but run.

On the fly, Dark Boy grabbed my arm. “No, you don’t.”

“Lemme go!” I writhed in his hard, one-handed grip. “Lemme go, lemme GO!”

“Keep it down!”

This couldn’t be happening. I bared my teeth, aiming for his wrist, but they were both cuffed with leather. “Figures you’d be on their side!”

“Shut it!” he hissed. “You trying to get him killed?”

Was I shouting? “Who?”

“For whatever reason, he wants you out of here! Get on!” He buried his nails in my arm to haul me backward. I struggled wildly, falling against him, knocking his shades askew.

For a second, a curtain parted, and I stared into the panicky eyes of a boy forced to deal with a crazy woman. Vague understanding dawned. Then one of the thugs noticed my fuss and pointed. Two pulled handguns from their belts. A third unholstered a grip attached to his tank and adjusted the nozzle.

“Aw, fuck,” said Dark Boy, grappling with his sunglasses.

Then all hell broke loose.

One! Two! Three! Sudden splats in the mud at the posse’s booted feet. Three bright, feathered shafts vibrating in the hazy air. The thugs stumbled backward, swinging their pistols up, firing at random into the smoke-hung treetops, one deafening burst after another.

Arrows. Again. Could this dream get any weirder?

Dark Boy twisted me at the passenger pad. “Get the fuck on or you’re left behind!”

In the wreckage of his stall, Daniel turned circles, as if searching the branches overhead, but his gaze locked on me long enough to mouth one word: GO!

Took the fight right out of me.

Gun barrels rotated back in our direction. Flames advanced up the line of booths. Flying ash burned in my throat and eyes. It was one sullen youngster versus a pack of trigger-happy goons, and Daniel’s look had been insistent.

“What about . . . ?” I wheezed, my head lolling in a backward glance.

“Old Dan’ll take care of himself. Better if we’re outa the way!”

Old Dan? I gave up trying to force reality into a shape I recognized. I let Dark Boy bundle me onto the cycle.