Her hand trembled when she switched off the automatic-drive. The wheel under her hands began to vibrate. The car was sensitive to her control. It was alive and deadly and hurtling like a rocket.
I can't outrun him now! she thought. He has too much speed!
... I've got to get off the highway. I've got to take a side road toward the mountain. There'll be curves and twists and turns. They will cut his speed down. Maybe I can out drive him.
Side roads slipped by to her right and left.
She prepared to brake the car for the next cut-off slot.
It appeared far ahead; a dark slit on the left outlined by her rushing headlights.
She depressed the brake; the tires screamed.
The car skittered and fishtailed. She clung desperately to the wheel, battling the great chunk of metal with every ounce of her tiny body.
And somehow the car hurtled through the slot, across the other half of the highway, onto the hard topped, farm-to-market road that climbed toward the distant crest.
Walt's car, braking shrilly, hurtled past her and was lost in the night.