Walking After Midnight by Karen Robards Page B

back, and scooted under the car. Minutes and a ton more curse words later he was out again, grimacing as he clambered to his feet.
    „Get in.“ He shut the hood.
    „But…“
    „Just do it, would you?“ He came around the car, opened the driver’s-side door, and stood waiting.
    „But – this is somebody’s car.“
    „No kidding.“
    „You’re stealing it.“
    „I’m trying to. Only you keep talking.“
    „Stealing a car is against the law. You could go to jail. We could go to jail.“
    „Just get in the car, Rosencrans.“ An ominous glance warned her against continuing to argue. It was clear he wasn’t in the right humor to appreciate dissent. Not without severe misgivings, Summer swallowed her objections and got in.
    The interior of the car was clean. A baseball cap and a couple of textbooks in the backseat attested that its owner was probably a male high school or college student. At the thought of making off with some kid’s car, Summer felt another pang of conscience.
    „I don’t think we should…“ she began.
    „Don’t think, okay?“
    He slammed the door behind her and leaned in the open window. Seen up close and personal, his face looked awful. It was impossible to tell whether, under normal conditions, he could be described as a handsome man. Summer tried to recall whether or not she had ever glimpsed a picture of Steve Calhoun, and failed. Surely the papers had carried photos of him, but she simply couldn’t remember.
    „Look, this is a ‘55 Chevy. We can start it without a key. I know, because I used to drive one when I was in high school. The transmission’s in neutral. I want you to keep it in neutral till it starts picking up speed down the hill. Then shift into first.“
    „But…“
    „Don’t talk, Rosencrans, okay? Just do what I tell you. When we get a good clip going, shift into first. Simple.“
    „But…“
    „I’m gonna be back here pushing. If we do it right, the engine’ll turn over and we’ll have wheels. Wheels that nobody knows we’ve got. We can just cruise right past ‘em out of Dodge.“
    „I don’t know how to drive a stick shift.“
    „What?“ He looked at her as if she had suddenly started speaking in tongues.
    „I don’t know how to drive a stick shift. I learned to drive on an automatic, and that’s all I’ve ever driven.“
    „Jesus.“ He rested his head against the top of the window, and closed his one good eye. A second later, he opened it again. „You’re gonna have to learn. Right now.“
    „I’ve never been very mechanical…“
    „The alternative is that I drive, and you push.“
    „Oh.“
    „Yeah, oh.“
    „I’ll try.“
    „Great.“ He took a deep breath. „Okay, listen. All you have to do, when you get ready to shift into first, is depress the clutch pedal first. See that third pedal over there on the other side of your brake? That’s the clutch. Step on it, shift into first“ – he reached in front of her to demonstrate with the black-tipped handle that stuck out of the right side of the steering wheel – „just like this. Hit the pedal, move the stick up and forward. Easy. Try it.“
    Summer did.
    „See?“ he asked when she had performed to his satisfaction.
    „Easy.“ If her voice lacked conviction he overlooked it.
    „Good. Let’s do it.“
    „Wait!“ Summer hoped the panic that infused her voice was audible only to her own ears.
    „Hit the clutch, shift into first.“ He was already walking around to the rear as he called to her.
    With both hands on the wheel, Summer was once again tense as a crouched cat. Slowly, laboriously, the car started to move. Gravel crunched. She turned the wheel so that they were aiming toward the gate. The road leading to it was downhill all the way.
    The car began to pick up speed.
    „Now!“ he yelled.
    Move the stick up and forward – a hideous grinding noise – no, step on the clutch first and then… She did it. Through the rearview mirror, she saw that Frankenstein was