The car lights scattered across the glass of the surrounding buildings as the Cadillac swerved around the corner. Lyra, a stoic little girl who looked no more than 12 years old sat behind the wheel with calm determination dressing her face. Slick Mike stood through the sunroof with his guns aiming toward the back of the car. Bullets streamed back and forth between Mike and the four cars that followed them in pursuit.
Despite the wind whipping around him, Mike's fedora didn't budge from his head, but his black trench coat streamed around him like dark battle banners. With a gun in each hand, a cigarette clenched between his teeth, and his sunglasses pressed onto his face, he fired endlessly into the windshields of the pursuers.
Midnight had fallen on the city like a blanket of smothering darkness. The streaks of tracer rounds slide across the highway between cars. Lyra deftly maneuvered between cars, careful not to even side-swipe an innocent. It was the Lost Men she was concerned about.
"Michael?" Lyra asked as she spun the wheel of the big car to a hard right. "I'm busy, Lyra! What is it?" Slick Mike yelled down into the sunroof, still clenching his cigarette between grinding teeth.
"Michael, I don't think she is going to make it." Lyra said this about a slumped over body in the back seat. Jennifer, she thought, but names weren't necessarily important. Lyra was all business.
"What the fuck, Lyra?! Just get us to the bridge!" Mike fired a few more rounds. The Lost Men had stopped firing as much, and were now getting out of their cars. Several had climbed out onto the roofs of the cars. Mike hated them. He hated their three-piece suits, and their spider-like legs, and how they could emulate almost any human characteristic except for a face. The faces were always blank. Well, blank except for that shit-eating grin that every one of them wore. It was almost a taunt to the humans. "We're happy to see you" that grin said. But to Slick Mike, that grin meant it was feeding time.
"Michael?" Lyra called up again. This time, Mike bent down into the car. The Lost Men weren't firing anymore. They were positioning themselves to board the Cadillac. If that happened, not even Mike's ability to control light would save them.
"Lyra! Goddammit! I know, I know!"
"Bend it, Michael. We aren't going to make the bridge." Lyra was always calm, never yelled or even seemed afraid. She just spoke truth. The spider-legged Lost Men had unveiled their hooks and barbs; muscled tendrils that sprang from their backs. The grinning bastards were swinging them toward the car.
Mike dove into the sunroof, took hold of Lyra and the body of Jennifer, and then swung his hand in front of them. Suddenly, they were hidden. They were in the In-Between. The cars careened past them as if they were ghosts. Mike dragged the body of Jennifer to the side of the road. Ghostly images swam around them. He looked down at Jennifer, who he now realized was dead. Without turning to face Lyra, Mike said "We have to go." Lyra nodded as they turned and made their way back into the city, swimming through the gloom of the In-Between.
'Next time we'll save one,' thought Mike. 'Next time'.