The ELI Event B007R5LTNS

than his older self.
    “No, Robbie!” Arty shouted, waving his arms. “Get back! Get away! Save yourself! Robbie, get away!”
    Robin’s eyes saw Arty waving and shouting, but his ears heard Mama’s voice, shouting those very same words to him on the night she died. The night he was unable to save her from the fire. The night he let her down. The night he froze like a coward, just like he was frozen now.
    Robin shut his eyes tight, tighter, tighter still. His hands flew up and made fists, and he shook his head violently from side to side, fighting the fear with all his might. No! He could not, would not let it win! Not this time, not again! Not ever! NO! Never again!
    Robin opened his eyes and leapt to his feet, his face contorted with rage. With a blood-curdling scream he hurled himself headlong under the trunk of the car into the blisteringly hot space where Arty was flailing, struggling, trying to free his legs. With his small hands, Robin grasped Arty’s left arm and pulled for dear life. Arty realized what was happening, despite his warnings, and redoubled his efforts. Ignoring the heat and the flames, Robin spun around on his butt, put his sneaker-clad feet firmly against the edge of the roof, and pulled again. With his right hand Arty pushed himself upward, lifting just enough to turn slightly and pull his legs to him. At last they were free, but of little use.
    Grunting fiercely, Robin repeatedly dug in his heels and pulled like he was rowing a boat. On the next pull Arty’s body came free, and on the one after that they were out from under the trunk. Robin dug in and pulled, dug in and pulled, dug in and pulled until they were thirty feet or more up the ramp, away from the car, and kept on going, the boy desperately, defiantly dragging Arty uphill with the strength of a giant.
    “Robbie!” Arty shouted at last. “Robbie, we’re out, we’re out! Stop, you did it! We’re out!”
    Arty’s voice snapped him out of it. He stopped pulling and let go of Arty’s arm. They looked at each other, stinking and smoldering and panting. Before them, Kelly’s cute little car blazed and crackled. “It’s okay, Robbie. It’s okay.” He smiled weakly. “You did it.”
    Robin suddenly threw himself into Arty’s arms and sobbed great heaving sobs, sobs of grief for Mama and for Lizzie, sobs of joy for Arty, sobs of relief for himself. Never, ever again.
    By the time Arty and Robin reached Kelly and Steve, a few drivers traveling north-east on Culver had stopped to offer help, pulling off onto the shoulder. Someone had called 911, and Kelly could hear sirens in the distance. Wheeler had come around; he assured Kelly he was all right, just a bit dazed. Artie’s 2034 fire-resistant coveralls were ruined, but thanks to them his legs were not badly burned. Robin was still shaken, but somehow seemed to stand up taller than before. Despite the dire circumstances, she noticed, he was smiling.
    Wheeler pressed a damp cloth to his head, given to him by a nice older woman. It smelled funny, like she had dampened it with old-lady perfume. Some of the good Samaritans milled around nearby, having promised to stay until help arrived. Wheeler heard the sirens and forced himself to focus. “Is the Honda…?” he asked Kelly.
    She nodded. “DOA, big time.” She stamped a foot. “Damn it. I loved that car.”
    Wheeler looked at the brightening sky. Time was short. He lowered his voice. “It’s getting late, and we don’t have time to explain this to the cops. We have to get to E-L-One ASAP.”
    “Yes, but how? The Accord’s not going anywhere.” The fire had just about burned itself out, and the car was now a miserable-looking mass of blackened metal and plastic.
    Wheeler looked at her and nodded toward the cars parked on the shoulder, pointed in the right direction, even. “You know what we’ve got to do, right?”
    She looked briefly at the cars, back at him, got his point, sighed. “Shit. Yes, I know,” she said wearily. She nonchalantly surveyed the cars more carefully and made her selection. “Blue Beemer M5? Four door, straight six, five-speed, bat out o’ hell? What do you think?”
    “Works for me.”
    “Is there a plan? Tell me there’s a plan.”
    “Leave it to the master,” Wheeler said smugly. He turned to Arty and Robin. “Be ready, guys. When we move, you move.” They nodded their agreement. “And I’m driving this time,” he said pointedly to Kelly. She shrugged.
    Steve turned to