"We should drive to Chicago," I said. "There's less of a chance of
something bad happening to us if Steven takes us, and it's less risky
than riding the rails."
Steven nodded. "Sounds like a good idea. My car's got a full tank o'
gas in it and there's extra shells for ol' Betsy here in the glove
box." He patted his shotgun. "Time's a-wastin', we should get a move
on."
I got into the back seat of Steven's Ford truck and Cindy got to ride
"shotgun," though the real shotgun was put in a holster on the
driver's side. Carolyn walked out on the porch and Steven walked over
to her to give her a good luck kiss.
"With any luck, I'll be as young as you when I get back," he said.
Carolyn was worried but agreed to let him go with us, warning him to
drive safe.
Traffic was pretty light for the first portion of the trip until we
left the farmlands behind us and started hitting the suburbs. I was
pretty bored the whole time and kept looking out all the windows as
best I could with my diminished height. I thought I saw the same car
behind us a few times but I wasn't sure.
Cindy was less bored because she was sitting in front and she could
see Steven's slow regression better. Steven whiled away the driving
time by telling us stories about how he had fought in World War II and
how he met Carolyn in Honolulu. His white hair turned grey, then
started turning darker until it was black all over again. He checked
himself in the rear view mirror every few minutes and kept nodding and
smiling. He wasn't very fat, but he began to bulk up slightly as his
old fighting muscles started to come back and he began whistling a
tune.
"I think we're going to make it!" said Steven as we passed into the
city outskirts. He was a downright young man now, rough and muscular.
"I don't know, Steve, you're getting awfully young," said Cindy.
"You're in your early 20's now and I don't know if we can make it into
Chicago proper and to the lab without you getting too young. Maybe
you should drop us off."
Steven wouldn't have any of it. "I ain't gonna abandon you here,
little missy, not in these parts of the city! It's more dangerous
here than out in the country for a little girl."
"I am not a little girl, I am 52 years old and I have two doctorates!"
retorted Cindy.
"You shore look like a little girl to me," snorted Steven. "Easy
pickin' for a mugger. I won't stand for it. Now a little more
drivin' aint gonna hurt none and-"
"You might be too young to drive by the time we make it to the lab,"
said Cindy.
They kept arguing as we drove further, Steven slowly but surely
getting younger and passing into his late teen years as Cindy got
nearly hysterical, pleading for him to stop. Steven's body got
slimmer and started to get shorter as he wheeled the truck into the
city. Finally, at 16, Steven agreed to Cindy's incessant nagging and
pulled into a parking lot at a gas station to let us off. I then
noticed something alarming.
"Guys! Look! The car that's been following us...it's right behind
us!" I cried as it pulled