A swarm of red lights envelops us: a fleet of bicycles. The riders wear skintight neon suits and elaborate helmets – twisting ram’s horns, the curved spikes of a bull. There’s a child on the last bike, perched behind the rider. Their pink helmet holds a single horn trailing streamers – a unicorn. As quickly as they appeared, they’re gone. I sit up, catch my breath. The driver lets go of my sleeve.
‘Are you crazy?’ he says. ‘You want to get out here, fine. But don’t kill anyone with my car door. And pay me first.’
He looks mad and that makes him look honest.
The wave of paranoia recedes. It’s good to be paranoid when people – or things people created – are out to get you. But I still have to get all the way to the cemetery, and every choice I make comes with risk, even the good choices.
