he'd call the police, too,' she said.
I barely heard her. My eyes had found the twisted, silent hulk that was Christine's remains. And hulk was the right word; she hardly looked like a car at all anymore. But why hadn't she burned? A hubcap lay off to one side like a dented silver tiddlywink.
'How long since you stopped the plough?' I asked hoarsely.
'Maybe five minutes. Then I got the rag and dipped it in that bucket over there. Dennis . . . thank God it's over.'
Punk! Punk! Punk!
I was still looking at the hubcap.
The dents were popping out of it.
Abruptly it flicked up on its rim and rolled towards the car like a huge coin.
Leigh saw it too. Her face froze. Her eyes widened and began to bulge. Her lips mouthed the word No but no sound came out.
'Get in here with me,' I said in a low voice, as if it could hear us. How do I know? - perhaps it could. 'Get in on the passenger side. You're going to run the gas while I run the clutch with my right foot.'
'No . . .' This time it was a hissing whisper. Her breath came in whining little gasps. 'No . . . no . . . '
The wreckage was quivering all over. It was the most eerie, most terrible thing I have ever seen in my life. It was quivering all over, quivering like an animal that is not . . . quite . . . dead. Metal tapped nervously against metal. Tie rods clicked jittery jazz rhythms against their connectors. As I watched, a bent cotter-pin lying on the floor straightened itself and did half a dozen cartwheels to land in the wreckage.
'Get in,' I said.
'Dennis, I can't.' Her lips quivered helplessly. 'I can't . . . no more . . . that body . . . that was Arnie's father. I can't, no more, please - '
'You have to,' I said.
She looked at me, glanced affrightedty back at the obscenely quivering remains of that old whore LeBay and Arnie had shared, and then came around Petunia's front end. A piece of chrome tumbled and scratched her leg deeply. She screamed and ran. She clambered up into the cab and pushed over beside me. 'Wh-what do I do?'
I hung halfway out of the cab, holding onto the roof, and pushed the clutch down with my right foot. Petunia's engine was still running. 'Just gun the gas and keep it gunned,' I said. 'No matter what.'
Steering with my right hand, holding on with my left, I let the clutch out and we rolled forward and smashed into the wreckage, smashing it, scattering it. And in my head I seemed to hear another scream of fury.
Leigh clapped her hands to her head. 'I can't, Dennis! I can't do it! It - it's screaming!'
'You've got to do it,' I said. Her foot had come off the gas and now I could hear the sirens in the night, rising and falling. I grabbed her shoulder and a sickening blast of pain ripped up my leg. 'Leigh, nothing has changed. You've got to.'
'It screamed at me!'
'We're running out of time and it still isn't done. Just a little more.'
'I'll try,' she whispered, and stepped on the gas again.
I changed into reverse. Petunia rolled back twenty feet. I clutched again, got first . . . and Leigh suddenly cried out. 'Dennis, no! Don't! Look!'
The mother and the little girl, Veronica and Rita, were standing in front of the smashed and dented hulk of Christine, hand in hand, their faces solemn and sorrowing.
'They're not there,' I said. 'And if they are, it's time they went back' - more pain in my leg and the world went grey - 'back to where they belong. Keep your foot on it.'
I let out the clutch and Petunia rolled forward again, gaining speed. The two figures did not disappear as TV and movie ghosts do; they seemed to stream out in every direction, bright colours fading to wash pinks and blues . . . and then they were totally gone.
We slammed into Christine again, spinning what was left of her around. Metal shrieked and tore.
'Not there,' Leigh whispered. Not really there Okay. Okay, Dennis.'
Her voice was coming from far down a dark hallway. I fetched up reverse and back we went. Then forward. We hit it; we hit it again. How many times? I don't know. We just kept slamming into it, and every time we did,