The ground shook.
It wasn't an earthquake. It was the sound of something heavy and angry moving very fast through the cobblestone streets of the Merchant District.
Arthur, Julian, Vivian, and Zack stood in the ruins of the museum entrance, watching the street corner.
CRASH.
A fruit cart flew into the air, scattering apples like shrapnel.
The Pendelton Cruiser drifted around the corner. It looked awful. It was covered in swamp mud, tangled in a clothesline it had snagged, and the front bumper was dragging a wooden fence post.
"It hit everything," Julian noted, horrified.
"It took the direct route," Arthur corrected. "I didn't program it to respect traffic laws."
The car slammed to a halt in front of them, tires smoking. The driver's door popped open (actuated by a spring).
"Get in!" Arthur yelled over the sirens wailing in the distance.
They piled in. It smelled like wet dog and ozone inside—the smell of home.
