My seatbelt jammed my chest, my head snapped forward. The alarm shrieked and darkness fell in every window, broken only by the glow of the dashboard lights. Something heavy had slammed into us from above.

I gasped and hunched under the dented roof, my arms raised to protect my head, the orbs swarming uselessly in the front seat.

Rachel stomped on the gas and we shot forward blindly and rammed into the dump truck in front of us. She swore and pulled on her door latch--but it was clamped shut.

"Lark," she barked. "Push."

She unstrapped her belt and leaned against me and kicked at her door while I shoved with the orbs. The door panel cracked, but the door itself didn’t budge.

The car started rocking. Gently at first, then harder. The suspension squealed and I saw the darkness surrounding us wasn’t quite black--more gray. A swirling, oily gray.

"That's Spandle," I said, my voice catching. "All around us."

Rachel dug into her bag and said, "Like three tons of wet cement."

Her voice didn't catch, which I would've found annoying if I hadn't been so terrified. The rear window spiderwebbed, then shattered with a ch-chack,and chunks of Spandle drooped through. My stomach soured and I stank of fear. Trapped in a car with a monster that suffocated you. No way out. The orbs hovered uselessly as Spandle oozed slowly into the back seat.

"What’s she doing?" I gasped.

Rachel pulled something from her bag. "Break another window."

"Are you crazy? She’ll get in faste--"

"Break the goddamn window!"

"Okay, okay! Which one?"

She crouched on her seat and held her bag against the driver’s side window, to protect herself from the glass. "This one. Then drag me through Spandle to the street."

"But--"

The mass in the back seat shifted and bulged. Then the paste of Spandle shat a black cylinder into the rear footwell. Which started hissing as gas poured into the car, in a choking fog.

And Rachel showed me what she’d grabbed in her bag. The bottle of Bacardi 151 from that restaurant, with a tampon rubber-banded to the neck under a Ziploc bag.

I shook my head. What the hell?

"It’s a Molotov cocktail," she told me. "I’d rather use it outside the car. Now, Lark."

So I nudged her right hand with one orb, and as she grabbed it, I flattened the other two and smashed them through the window. Two feet of gray glop sagged inside, and Rachel made an odd noise in her throat and straightened her legs, shoving head-first through Spandle.

I pulled with the orb in her hand, and pushed with the other two against her butt and thigh. My body pressed against the passenger door, anchoring the orbs. The gas from the black cylinder stung my eyes and nose and I felt tears on my cheeks. I lost the orbs in the sludge, but kept pulling and pushing, my breathing shallow as the orb in Rachel’s hand emerged into the evening light.

Through the orbs, the colors and shapes of the street suddenly appeared in a wild blur. I sensed a kaleidoscope of Rachel hitting the ground and crawling away from a heaving gray mound that covered the car. That still covered me.

Then I glimpse of four dark shapes--mercenaries--prowling toward her.

I closed my burning eyes and woozily sent an orb into the center of the dark shape closest to Rachel and felt a satisfying impact. I heard myself giggle, then my cheek hit the dashboard and with one final impulse I called the orbs home.

Gasping for breath, Rachel dropped from the ooze to the pavement, the Bacardi in one hand and a lighter in the other. She rolled away, but when she flicked the lighter, the flame didn’t catch. She gritted her teeth and tried again.

A squat muscular guy loomed in front of her raising the stock of his assault rifle to punch her in the face, and an orb caught him in the stomach and flattened him.

She felt herself grin, despite the three other mercenaries closing in. Rising into a crouch, she flicked the lighter a third time and it caught fire. She touched the flame to the rum-soaked tampon and watched a ripple of blue spread.

The mercenaries stutter-stepped closer and she stood and threw the bottle.

The glass shattered and flame splashed across Spandle. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the gray slimy mass caught fire and recoiled, curling away from the car.

A cold-eyed blond thug jabbed at Rachel's face. She raised her hands to take the blow and he punched her in the stomach. Pain burst. She gasped and the guy snatched her gun from her holster and rammed her face-first into the pavement. In one easy motion, tossing her around like they’d been practicing at home. Sometimes she wished she was carrying around an extra eighty pounds.

Coldeyes zipcuffed her hands, and she lifted her cheek from the asphalt and watched the grey slop of Spandle, charred and smoldering, oozing away. She waited for the orbs to drop these guys, but instead saw me in the car, slumped unconscious against the dashboard.

She didn't say anything witty. She didn't say anything at all.