"Hmm. . . . " I said.

This was interesting. I didn't feel quite so crazy any more. I was having terrific hallucinations, but at least I didn't feel crazy. Actually, I felt-sort of like me again. Not so bad, really.

I could remember Family. I could remember everything, but it was all on the other side of a wall and I couldn't feel the hurt. I could see it clearly. I just couldn't feel it any more.

What I felt instead was . . . sore.

I rubbed my neck tenderly. I ached all over. Were these bruises on my body from the acts of passion? Or was it just from falling down the hill? It didn't matter. The weird thing, the thing that was so down-deep disturbing, was that despite the soreness, I actually felt good. Like you always do after good sex with someone you love.

Even if it's only a hallucination. I started laughing.

Whatever that pink stuff was, it stayed with you for a long time. I'd probably be grinning all the way to Colorado. Maybe I should take some with.

No.

That was the wrongness. The temptation.

It would be too easy to hide out in the world of hallucinations. And as beautiful as they had been, it would be a dangerous mistake. It would only be the illusion of escape.

I climbed into the front of the van and clicked on all the systems. All the boards showed green. Good. I hadn't done anything too stupid last night. I punched for coffee-well, it sort of tasted like coffee-and a ration bar and waited while both heated up.

Eventually, I felt well enough to ease the van back onto the road and put it on autopilot.

I hardly watched where we were going.

My mind was still trying to figure out the impossible.

Out of curiosity, I switched on the autolog and scanned the record. The motion sensors had triggered recordings only twice during the night. The first recording showed me prancing around naked on the hill, alone.

At least I looked like I was having fun.

The second recording showed me staggering back alone. I looked like a zombie, jerking and twitching as if somebody else were pulling my strings.

Well, that settled that.

Either the pink was an incredible hallucinogen-or I was as crazy as a loon.

Probably both.

Whatever. It made me too crazy to die. I had to keep going.

The radar beeped.

The screen said, "CHOPPER AT 6:00 HIGH."

I stretched over and tapped the button marked "ID?" The screen said, "NEGATIVE."

I tapped the button again.

This time, the screen said, "HUEY VALKYRIE 111. STEALTH RETROFIT." Then it added, "UNITED STATES INSIGNIA."

"Uh-huh. That doesn't mean anything any more." Without taking my eyes off the road, I tapped the button again.

The screen said, "CHOPPER IS HEAVILY ARMED." It began to list the aircraft's armament.

I tapped another button and the screen cleared to show the chopper itself. The image was jittery at first due to the motion of the van, then the logic switched in; the screen grabbed clear frames and held them for four-second intervals. Someone had painted a fierce grin on the nose of that ship.

"Well, whoever you are up there, I'm not going to argue with you. You're packing enough artillery to level Detroit." She carried a full load under each arm. She looked like a maddened harpy.

But just the same, I unlocked the laser guns and powered up the antiaircraft missiles.

The computer said softly, "We're being scanned. Shall we identify ourselves?"

"Don't bother. Either they know who we are, or they don't care." Then I added, "And they probably wouldn't believe our ID any more than we'd believe theirs. But thanks anyway."

"You're welcome."

I looked at the screen again. The chopper would be on top of us any moment now. I let go of the steering wheel. "Take control!" and slid out of my seat. The computer locked in. I climbed for the turret. "Unlock all weapons. Stand by for evasive action." The chopper roared low overhead even before I had finished belting myself in.

It came in at treetop level. I could see the rocket launchers on its belly. I could read the numbers on the fins of the missiles. "Jee-zus!"

The chopper had buzzed us like a hornet-like a hawk! The van rocked with the force of its passage. The noise was like the inside of a garbage disposal.

It pulled up into the air ahead, turning as it did, sliding backward in the air while the pilot got his bearings. I knew when he had sighted me again because he dipped and drove straight toward the van.

"Show-off!" I yelled.

Again the chopper came in low, strafing like a banshee. For a moment I thought it wasn't going to clear-I had my hands to my ears-and then it was past and pulling up and . . . the road behind the van exploded with a roar! The air turned red! The van skidded sideways on the pavement, sliding before the shock wave! The computer grabbed control again and we swerved around a rocky curve. The tires screeched. I just had time enough to look behind and see the fireball. It was the size of a hangar, a blimp, a mountain, and still growing as it climbed into the air! What was that chopper armed with? That warhead must have had phosphorus in it. Bright fiery streaks were still coming out of the explosion, igniting fires all over the woods.

"Holy shit!"

"Missiles locked on target," said the computer. "Return fire?"

"No!" I shouted. I slapped the safeties down, locking them into place before I dropped out of the turret. I pulled myself back into the driver's seat. "I'm taking over," I said.

"Not advised," the computer said. "You don't have the reflexes."

"Stuff it!"

I stood on the brake pedal as we came around another curve and into a long straightaway down a hill. I could hear the sound of the chopper coming in behind us. Then it was overhead, and then it was climbing again ahead of us. Something fell from its belly.

I just had time to close my eyes before the blast went off, but even through my eyelids I was blinded. I could feel the heat through the windshield. The van was lifted off the ground by the shock wave. I could feel the bang of the chassis as we crashed back into the ground and skidded backward with a screech. The wheels were still locked.

All the alarm bells in the van were ringing. All the sirens were screaming. All the buttons were beeping. All the screens were flashing. "Damage report," said the computer. "Damage report," it repeated. "Damage report. Damage report."

I heard it all from a distance, from a thousand miles away. There was a roaring in my ears that wouldn't quit. I worked my mouth convulsively. I couldn't swallow. I felt nauseous. My throat kept tightening and I kept trying to throw up-but I couldn't.

Then the computer said, "Autocontrol locked in!" And the van lurched. Amazing! We were still operative! We were rolling backward. Away from the climbing fireball.

I blinked the tears from my eyes, wiped at my face with my sleeve. It looked like the windshield was scorched and even melted inward a little.

The van was still rolling backward; it went bump and banged into something. It stopped. It hesitated. Then it began rolling forward again. Toward the fire!

I slapped the panic button and shouted, "All stop!" The van clattered to a halt. Something underneath went bang and the van hissed and sighed and fell silent. I could hear my heart banging in my chest. I practically fell out of my seat. I kicked the door open and fell out onto the ground, gasping.