The lake was placid with the sort of surface you only see just after the planet’s atmosphere’s been blown into space. The whisper car erupted continuously as its pulsejet fired us down the track. The left rear wheel still squealed, but Forn assured me it was harmless. He reached down to the phase radio and cranked the station to P4938.7. They were playing Pijhtn & Fitnr’s Dance of the Titans. The thunderous drums echoed along the lake and it rippled, rippled more, and created a massive tidal wave that ran away from us, then rebounded off the bare valley wall and engulfed our car, lubricating the squeaking wheel and filling my lungs with sweet blorkel.

     Forn turned and winked massively at me, the whole right side of his face twisting around his eye.

     “Watch the road,” I said, pointing ahead.

     Forn grinned. “Yeah,” he said. He cut the car right and we swerved into the thick eastward forest, trees with thick ponytails hanging from each branch, red, blonde, black, French braid, straight, and whatever else I didn’t recognize. The ponytails swished harmlessly against the windshield and hood as Forn effortlessly dodged tree after tree after tree. I let the hydraulic belts keep me safe against the mold-o-chair.

     After a few minutes, I grew bored. “How is this going to get us there sooner?” I asked.

     “Sooner?” said Forn. “Later? The same time?”

     “Yeah yeah yeah,” I said. The right side of the car scraped a tree, making an angry rasping noise. It probably tore something off, the door handle maybe.

     Porno Magnet’s Franky came on the phase radio. The super-low bass line thundered against the trees, sending the ponytails wagging and the trunks swirling. One trunk caught us in its branches and shot us upwards and we spun around and around in a loose spiral until we peaked at about one hundred and ten blizzwads. The whisper car slowly drifted back to the road and we were only one jolpy from the store.

     Forn didn’t say anything but I knew he had a smirk on his face. He had been right. The dashboard handle waggled, then waggled again, then waggled again.

     “It must be low,” I said, indicating the handle.

     “Oh,” said Forn absently, “yeah.”

     He spun the wheel to the left and the car dove into the lake.

     “Is this submersible?” I asked, as water flowed in through the door seams.

     “No,” said Forn. He hit a button somewhere to the left of the steering wheel and he was clothed in instafit scuba gear. He broke the driver-side window with something in his hand and swam away.

     Betrayed. I had had a feeling. But you can never be sure about these things. I retrieved my metal flask from my inner shirt pocket and beat it against the passenger-side window until it shattered, then swam through and reached the surface gasping for air. Forn was nowhere to be seen.

     I tread water for a few seconds until I gathered my breath, then began swimming towards shore some fifty-eight feet away. After two strokes, something suddenly gripped my ankle – a human hand. Forn’s hand. I tried to kick it loose but couldn’t shake his grasp. I turned to face him. He was gone. I tread water for a few seconds, scanning the lake and seeing nothing, then decided I had nothing to do but begin swimming again. Two strokes later, I again felt the hand against my leg. Again I kicked and again I turned and again Forn disappeared. I turned, began swimming, and with two massive strokes reached the shore.

     I stood and walked towards the road to flag down another car, when behind me, I heard a noise – I spun and there, gripping a sea anemone, was Forn. He grinned maliciously and the moon glinted off his eyeteeth.

     “Going somewhere?” he sneered.