Right. Other than a bunch of stomach punching and some kicking, she's pretty harmless. And honestly, it's not a surprise she'd try to fight back, noting she has no reason to believe he won't kill her.

Right. For the next day and a half(unless there are any objections), Alex drove steadily southwest, crossing slowly from state to state at the tortoise speed of sixty-five miles an hour. His instinct was to go faster, but he ignored it; the last thing they needed was to get pulled over. They stopped at gas stations a few times, to fill up or grab food.

She stays silent.

They hardly spoke at all, apart from the bare necessities: what kind of sandwich she'd like or what she wanted to drink.

She doesn't even respond to most of those.

Then he just gets her a club sandwich and a water.

She doesn't care.

Good. It was midafternoon on the second full day of driving, and they were crossing through the endless length of Tennessee--fully in the South now, where summer was still blazing, rather than the autumn chill of upstate New York. Alex switched on the radio and took a gulp of 7-Eleven coffee. He missed having a port for his iPod; all you ever got on the radio down here was classic rock, gospel, or country. He settled for classic rock.

She stays silent.

Just then the Mustang made a loud clunking noise and started to vibrate. Hastily shoving his coffee in the drink holder, Alex peered down at the dashboard. None of the warning lights came on, but then with alarming speed, the vibration got worse, the car jolting back and forth.

"Oh, you ancient piece of crap," he muttered. He tried slowing and shifting down a gear. It didn't help any; all it did was add a knocking noise to go along with the clunking. Suddenly the car lurched, slamming forward.