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traffic he could see was headed his way. Headlights ahead swerved and horns honked. There was a moment’s break in the gunfire from the other car. Then it started again, from directly behind; the back of the Hutchen shook under dozens of impacts.
Harris swore. The car pursuing him was a long, low-slung, fast-looking job like one of Doc’s. He wouldn’t be able to outrun it.
One of the oncoming autos roared past him in the other lane. A few hundred feet ahead, both lanes were occupied by oncoming headlights.
Harris yanked the wheel left, aiming for a gap between two trees in the median. He felt a tremendous bang as his front wheels hit the curb; the Hutchen bounced up, slowed as it plowed through a bush planted between the trees, and rocked as it came down the curb on the far side.
An oncoming car in his lane screeched as it braked; it swerved but managed

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