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on the headlights. The vehicle was in a flow of traffic crossing the Mercer Island Airbridge, going west toward Seattle. Ahead, Lori saw blinking lights in the sky above the city. Big jets circling, waiting to land at Boeing Field and SeaTac Airport. She could also make out the lights of smaller craft. Thankfully she heard no helicopter sounds.
    Following Dixie Lou’s instructions, Lori drove through a tunnel and entered the city, with the irregular shape of what looked like a hospital visible on a high hill just ahead. A helicopter was setting down near the building, maybe a MediVac craft for emergency medical transport.
    “How do we get up to that hospital?” Lori asked, for she didn’t know which exit to take.
    “We don’t,” came the flat response.
    “My mother is badly injured! She needs a doctor!”
    “No time for that. We’re leaving Seattle.”
    “Not with us. I’m taking her to a hospital!”
    “Be quiet!” Dixie Lou snapped. She grabbed the handgun between them, slammed another clip into it and waved it menacingly in the air.
    Lori wondered who this crazy woman was, and thought back to the high-pitched voice of the leader of the raid, with its eerie, androgynous quality. Dixie Lou’s enemy.
    “This isn’t right,” Lori said. “I saved your life back there.”
    “Keep silent,” Dixie Lou responded, “or so help me—” Her eyelids flickered, and Lori thought she was going to pass out. Then the woman did something with the transmitter, and a metallic woman’s voice said over a speaker, “Locking onto signal. You are now within range.”
    Suddenly Lori no longer had control of the vehicle. It kept rolling, accelerating and decelerating in traffic. The steering ball spun freely in her hands without any control over the van. She stepped on the brakes, but they went all the way to the floor without slowing the vehicle.
    “Damn you,” Lori said, as Dixie Lou slumped against the passenger door. Reaching over, Lori grabbed the transmitter, but couldn’t get the gun, which the bleeding Dixie Lou held onto tightly.
    Fumbling with the transmitter, Lori couldn’t get it to do anything now. The code she’d been given earlier no longer worked, having apparently been overridden.
    The van navigated the left lane and merged with traffic onto the I-5 freeway, southbound. A steady stream of red tail lights followed the curve of the highway ahead of them, and approaching on the other side, a river of silver-white headlights.
    Once, her mother whimpered, as if experiencing a nightmare. She didn’t awaken, and Lori soothed her with gentle, loving words.
    She glared at the braided hair on Dixie Lou’s head, wanted to strike out at her and wished she hadn’t lost control of the gun. She tried to grab the weapon again, but Dixie Lou snapped to awareness and wouldn’t release it.
    “Get in the back,” she commanded.
    As odd as it felt to Lori, since she was supposed to be the driver, she climbed back with her mother.
    Locating the dome light, Lori turned it on. She could see that the right side of her mother’s head was covered with blood, matting the light brown hair. Carefully, she parted the hair around the wound, revealing angry red, ragged flesh. Had a bullet entered her brain, or only grazed her? She couldn’t tell, couldn’t bear to look any more. Her mother didn’t seem to be bleeding much around that wound or others on her legs, but Lori worried this might be because her pulse was slow and not pumping blood adequately.
    “Mom,” she said, “can you hear me? Mom!”
    No response. Her mother’s chest moved almost imperceptibly.
    Tears streamed down Lori’s face, and anger mounted within her. She felt like doing something crazy, no matter the consequences. If she didn’t, her mother would die.
    She saw the reflection of Dixie Lou’s dark eyes in the mirror, staring back at her.
    “Give me our ETA,” Dixie Lou said.
    A computer ditty sounded, while green-and-orange lights blinked on the