Thr3e Read Free Page A

were no parks along this section of road; residences packed the side streets. Ahead, lunch crowds bustled at McDonald’s and Taco Bell. The clock still read 12:05 . It had been 12:05 for too long.
    Now true panic muddled his thinking. What if it really does go off? It’s going to, isn’t it? God, help me! I’ve got to get out of this thing! He grabbed at his seat belt buckle with a trembling hand. Released the shoulder strap. Both hands back on the wheel.
    A Wal-Mart sat back from the street a hundred yards to his left. The huge parking lot was only half-filled. A wide greenway that dipped at its center, like a natural ditch, surrounded the entire lot. He made a critical decision: Wal-Mart or nothing.
    Kevin leaned on his horn and cut back into the center lane with a cursory glance in his mirror. A metallic screech made him duck— he’d clipped a car. Now he was committed.
    “Get out of my way! Get out!”
    He motioned frantically with his left hand, succeeding only in smashing his knuckles into the window. He grunted and swerved into the far left lane. With a tremendous thump he crashed over a six-inch-high median and then into oncoming traffic. It occurred to him that being rammed head-on might be no better than blowing up, but he was already in the path of a dozen oncoming cars.
    Tires squealed and horns blared. The Sable took only one hit in its right rear fender before shooting out the other side of the gauntlet. Something from his car was dragging on the asphalt. He cut off a pickup that was trying to exit the lot.
    “Watch out! Get out of my way!”
    Kevin roared into the Wal-Mart lot and glanced down at the clock. Somewhere back there it had turned. 12:06 .
    To his right, traffic on Long Beach Boulevard had come to a screeching halt. It wasn’t every day that a car blasted through oncoming traffic like a bowling ball.
    Kevin sped past several gaping customers and zeroed in on the greenway. Not until he was on top of it did he see the curb. The Sable blew a tire when it connected; this time Kevin’s head struck the ceiling. A dull pain spread down his neck.
    Out, out, out!
    The car flew into the ditch and Kevin crammed the brake pedal to the floor. For a fleeting moment he thought he might roll. But the car slid to a jolting halt, its nose planted firmly in the opposite slope.
    He grabbed at the door latch, shoved the door open, and dove to the turf, rolling on impact. He scrambled to his feet and raced up the slope toward the lot. At least a dozen onlookers headed his way from the sea of parked cars.
    “Back! Get back!” Kevin waved his arms at them. “There’s a bomb in the car. Get back!”
    They stared at him for one moment of fixed horror. Then all but three turned and fled, screaming his warning.
    Kevin swung his arms furiously at the others. “Get back, you idiots! There’s a bomb!”
    They ran. A siren wailed through the air. Someone had already called the cops.
    Kevin had run a good fifty paces from the greenway before it occurred to him that the bomb hadn’t gone off. What if there wasn’t a bomb after all? He pulled up and whipped around, panting and trembling. Surely three minutes had come and gone.
    Nothing.
    Was it a practical joke after all? Whoever this caller was, he’d done almost as much damage through the threat alone as he would have by detonating an actual bomb.
    Kevin glanced around. A gawking crowd had gathered on the street at a safe distance. The traffic had stalled and was backing up as far as he could see. Steam hissed from a blue Honda—presumably the one that had hit his right rear fender. There had to be a few hundred people staring at the nut who’d driven his car into the ditch. Except for the growing wail of sirens, the scene had grown eerily silent. He took a step back toward the car.
    At least there was no bomb. A few angry motorists and some bent fenders, so what? He’d done the only thing he could do. And really, there still could be a bomb. He’d leave that