Once she’d reached the ramp, she’d want to be facing up the slope, looking toward the porch, her eyes on the prize, so to speak. If the car managed to get to her, it might inadvertently give her a push. Better that, than looking down the slope and having her legs crushed below the knees.

Okay, one more time. She pulled back on the wheels.

Squeak.

Lillian, now at a right angle with the base of the ramp, watched as the Arrival crept toward her. She wanted to scream at it, tell it to leave her alone, but feared that would provoke it into a sudden attack.

She pushed her left wheel forward, and pulled her right wheel back, pivoting the chair forty-five degrees. Now, she was looking straight up the ramp.

The car stopped.

Lillian breathed shallowly, her hands gripped to the wheels, not moving a muscle. She was summoning her strength. Not just physical, but mental. She was going to have to send a message to her aging arms and brittle shoulders that no matter how tired they might get, or how much they might hurt, they had to keep on going.

She did a countdown in her head.

Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . ONE.

With everything she had she pushed the wheels forward. The chair scooted nearly three feet up the ramp.

The car, like a cat seeing a mouse try to make a break for it, moved in for the kill.

The wheelchair slid back six inches as Lillian repositioned her hands for another rotation. No time for a countdown. She gripped the wheels and pushed. Her arms and shoulders were sending her a message: Are you fucking kidding?

And Lillian shot back: Shut up and do as you’re told.

She focused on the front door as the chair made its ascent. Two feet this time. She managed to move her hands forward quickly enough that she didn’t lose ground this time.

The sharp sound of wood being crushed and snapped, inches behind her, proved motivating.

The Arrival had turned and was struggling up the ramp. The front right wheel had gained purchase on the wood planking, but the other wheel had dropped off the edge and was spinning in the air. The car had taken out the railing’s bottom post.

Lillian did not glance back.

She pushed.

But her hands, wet with perspiration, slipped, and the chair began to roll back at the same moment the Arrival, with only one wheel on the ramp, worked its way forward.

The car’s front bumper rammed the back of Lillian’s chair, hitting the wheels, and knocking her out of it. Instinctively, she threw her arms ahead of her to break her fall. She yelped in pain as her hands scraped against the boards.