Tick felt a block of ice in the pit of his stomach; they probably had only a minute or two before they’d crash. “We need to break a window!” he yelled.

“Right!” Dad replied. “Plant your back on the seat and kick the windshield with both feet on my signal, okay?”

Desperation swept away Tick’s fear, clearing his mind. “Okay,” he said as he got into position, tucking his journal down the seat of his pants as far as it would go.

When they were both ready, feet stuck up above them, coiled for the kick, Edgar grabbed Tick’s hand. “On three—one . . . two . . . three!”

With synchronized screams, they both kicked the windshield with all their might.

It didn’t budge.

~

Screaming his frustration into the frigid air, a plume of frozen vapor shooting from his mouth, Frazier Gunn tried to open the buckled back door. When it stubbornly refused, he leaned over to look through the window, searching for the Chu controller. He couldn’t see a thing.

How could this have all fallen apart? How?

He shot a quick glance down the road to see the fading red glow of two cars’ taillights. The device would be out of range in a matter of seconds and once that happened, he’d have no more power over the car’s operations. It would continue to drive like a maniacal machine until it ran out of gas or smashed into something.

Of course, without being able to turn, the latter is exactly what would happen. Crash, boom, bang. The thought made him pause, then smile. Chances were, he’d still complete his task, one way or the other. Mistress Jane didn’t need to know all the details.

Not caring anymore about the controller or his banged up car, Frazier turned and headed back toward town.

He needed to find a cemetery.

~

On Tick and his dad’s fifth synchronized kick, a huge crack shot across the wide glass with the sound of breaking glaciers. Tick’s heart leapt to his throat and the next kick seemed to have twice the power from his adrenaline rush. Several more cracks splintered through the windshield like an icy spider web. Tick was crouched too far down in the seat to see up ahead, but his mind assured him they were probably shooting toward a bend in the road with brutal speed. One way or another, it would all be over very soon.

“One more ought to do it!” his dad yelled, gasping in breaths. “One . . . two . . . THREE!”

Tick kicked with both legs again, and almost slipped to the floor of the car when his feet kept going, crashing through the windshield with the horrible clinking and crackling sound of shattered glass. Several tiny shards flew back into the car from the onrushing wind, but the bulk of the windshield, held together by a strong film of clear plastic, flew up into the air and tumbled away behind them.