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'It's just a straight shot up Guthrie and a left on Third,' he explained as his front tires bounced down from the curb onto the parking lot's pavement. |
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In normal weather, the drive shouldn't take more than five minutes. With this kind of visibility, he knew they would need some luck to make it at all. |
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We'll probably get creamed. |
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'This is really the pits,' Lisa muttered. |
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Trev drove straight forward until his headbeams met the bushes of the narrow strip that separated the station's parking lot from the sidewalk and Guthrie Avenue. He was tempted to plunge through the barrier. The possibility of tire damage stopped him. So he turned to the right. Stepping on the gas, he sped alongside the landscaped area to the entrance lane. There, he swung out onto Guthrie. |
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Maybe we'll be lucky, he thought. Nobody but an idiot would be out driving in this crap. |
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An idiot, or somebody without any choice. |
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Or crazies, already wet and cruising for action. |
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He eased toward the middle of the road until he came to the broken yellow center line. |
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Keep watching the line, he thought. When you come to an intersection, there'll either be a left-hand turn pocket or the line will end. |
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He ran the names of the cross-streets through his mind. Should be seven before Third Street. |
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'Why don't you try turning on the radio?' Francine said. |
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The center line stopped. He looked both ways, saw |
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