could knock him cold with the coffee canister. Or maybe she’d grab a pillow, pin him down, and suffocate him? That seemed more her style. She had the clear-eyed, efficient look of a murderous nurse.
Now there was barking. Max turned to see that the Scolas’ dog had joined them, barking at Mrs. Mahoney and nipping her ankles. Mrs. Mahoney took little notice. Her eyes were bigger than ever. The exertion seemed to make her ever-more gleeful.
“Endorphins!” she sang. “Thanks, Max!”
“Please,” he said. “What are you gonna do to me?” It was about ten houses until his own.
“Keep you safe,” she said, “from all this.”
She waved her arm around, indicating the neighborhood that Max was born into and in which he’d been raised. It was a quiet street of tall elms and oaks, ending in a cul-de-sac. Beyond the cul-de-sac was a wooded few acres, then the lake. Nothing nefarious or of note had ever happened on this street, or in their town, or, for that matter, within four hundred miles.
Max swerved suddenly, leaving the sidewalk. He jumped the curb into the road.
“The road!” Mrs. Mahoney gasped, as if he’d steered his bike into a river of molten lava. The road was empty now and was always empty. But soon she was right behind him, now running, again reaching for his seat.
Max decided it was silly to go home; that’s where she wanted him. He’d be trapped and she’d finish him for sure. His only chance of escape would be the forest.
He sped up again, giving himself enough room to turn around. He did a quick 180 and headed back toward the dead-end, hoping to make it to the woods.
“Where are you going?” she wailed.
Max almost laughed. She wouldn’t follow him into the woods, would she? He looked back, and though she’d lost a step or two, it wasn’t long before she was sprinting at him. Man, she was fast! He was close to the road’s end, almost at the trees.
“I won’t let you out of my sight!” she falsettoed. “Don’t worry!”
He jumped the curb again — eliciting a terrified howl from Mrs. Mahoney — and jumbled over the rough grass and snow. Soon he was quickly ducking under the first low branches of the tall white-mustached pines, weaving between the trunks.
“MAAAAAX!” she wailed. “Not the woods!”
He entered the forest and headed toward the ravine.
“Molesters! Drugs! Homeless! Needles!” she gasped.
The ravine was up ahead, about twenty feet deep and twelve feet wide. A month earlier, over the gap he’d put a wide bridge of plywood. If he could get to the gap, cross the bridge, and then pull the plank away in time, he might finally be free.
“Stop!” she yelled.
He swung his bike underneath him, left and right. He’d never ridden so fast. Even the Scola dog was having trouble keeping up; he was still yapping at the lady’s heels.
“Look out!” she screamed. “The what-do-you-call-it! The gorge!”
Duh, he thought. He made it to the bridge and again came a howl of incalculable terror. “Nooooooo!”
He rumbled quickly over the plank. On the other side, he spun out, dropped his bike, and grabbed the plywood. She was almost upon him when he pulled the board free. The bridge fell into the ravine and crashed against the rocks below.
She stopped short. “Dammit!” she yelled. She stood for a second, hands on hips, heaving. “How do you expect me to protect you when you’re all the way over there?”
Max thought of a few clever answers to this question, but instead said nothing. He mounted his bike again, in case Mrs. Mahoney decided to leap over the gap. She was far stronger and faster than he would have guessed, so he couldn’t rule it out.
At that moment, the Scolas’ dog, still running at full speed, chose to pass Mrs. Mahoney, jump over the ravine, and join Max. He flew, effortlessly, and landed on Max’s side. He turned back to face her, then looked up to Max with a toothy grin and happy eyes, as if the two of them had together vanquished a common enemy. Max laughed, and when the dog began barking at the woman doubled over on the edge of the ravine, Max barked, too. They both barked and barked and barked.
CHAPTER II
“Hey Claire!” Max yelled into the house. No answer.
He couldn’t wait to tell her about Mrs. Mahoney, that lunatic. Claire wasn’t always interested in what Max was interested in, but she always liked stories about crazy people. This one was going to