"Look what I got off Sergeant Slaughter back at the nursing home," Clark said, holding up a walkie-talkie, "Now if we want, we could radio them and tell them that we're the general and that......."

"The general'll've come there by now, Sparky, you should have thought of that sooner," Neal pointed out. He glanced over at Del at the wheel. "Can't you go any faster, Del? I want to turn these codes in at the next police station we come to."

"I've got a better idea, Neal, let's just burn them and they'll never know what happened," Clark suggested.

"But they'll still be coming after us, Sparky, and I want the protection of the United States government if we are cornered by them!" Neal responded, "We all want to live to see our families again for Christmas, remember?"

"Not me," Nancy said.

"Huh?" Neal was puzzled.

"I have no reason to see them again, so I'll just check into a motel, take a quick look around town, and be on my way after Christmas," she told him.

"But then you'll be ruining your family's holidays if you don't show after...!" Del began in protest.

"For your information, Mr. Griffith, I have no intention of ever setting foot in the same room as Jack again, and none of your bleeding-heart telethon stuff will get me to change my mind!" Nancy shot at him. "And also for your information, Andie never loved me, so I have no obligation to say hello to her!"

"Oh come on now, all kids love their parents, at least early in their lives at least, and.....!"

"I could tell that from her early years she disapproved of everything I did, so I did the only thing I could do, return the favor! There's no reason she'd have changed her thought process over the last three years, so there's no reason to......!"

"You see, that's where you're the problem, not your daughter, Miss Vickerella," Del said, cutting her off for a change.

"Me!? How am I the guilty one!!??"

"Well you see, the way it should go is that all parents should love their kids unconditionally, no matter what," Del said with a great air of pride and confidence, "which also goes to say that they should try and be there for them at all times whenever possible. I've met some lulus over the years who have felt their jobs and personal affairs are more important than their families, and most of them are now all alone in the world. Love should never have to be conditional; it should be given whenever and wherever the kid needs it. It's not that she's never given you a reason to love her, it's that you've never given her a reason to love you."

Nancy's face twitched with anger. "And you think, you low-lying buffoon, that you know any better to.......!!!!!!"

"All right, all right, time out!" Neal made the T sign with his hands, "There's no need to act like you're married here! Let's all get along like the mature people we are!"

"Well he started it, Neal!" Nancy pointed into Del's face.

"I don't want anymore fighting between you and Del, Nan; I've got enough of that with Sparky on my own watch to hold us over till we get back," Neal told her.

"Oh all right," Nancy grumbled and slouched back in her seat.

Neal was glad this latest turmoil was settled, but some of what Del had said was now troubling him. He turned to his friend. "Say Del, can I ask you something personal?"

"Sure, fire away," Del told him.

"Um, you said something with your father back there that you'd had a little rough time of sorts, or something like that. Was it serious?"

"Well, nothing too bad, at least not in hindsight," Del said, "But you know how it is when a parent's away from home most of the year, it hurts the kid a little in the head. With Dad gone with the circus most of the year, he missed a lot of the stuff I'd've liked him to see-plays, high school football games, graduation, stuff like that. Well, when I was about sixteen or so, his absences had gotten to me enough so that I felt a little mad at him, and when he came home the one time, we got into this big argument over it all. He screamed that he couldn't help it and that we'd be flat broke if he didn't travel around all the time. I in my youthful convictions didn't believe a word of it and told him I couldn't respect a slacker. He said pretty much the same and stormed out, and we didn't talk again for about six years, until I felt a little sorry about the whole affair, so I tracked him down to the nursing home and we made up then. There were times in between then, though, that I'd hoped he'd never come back. That's sad, isn't it, when a father and son can't speak to each other for six years."

"You'd better believe it," Neal said uneasily. Del's words had a certain connection, he now thought, with his own family. True, they'd been forgiving of all the times he'd been unable to be there for them in the past, but he knew that they could stop forgiving at any time if he made a promise about something and then broke it, even if only accidentally. And the last thing he wanted was to lose them. In some of the conversations he'd had over the phone with Susan last Thanksgiving, he'd gotten the impression that her patience was no longer boundless, and he knew that his decision to move closer to home to work was probably the best thing for their marriage. Having seen endless movies in recent years about deadbeat, workaholic fathers (most of them had been terrible films, to be sure, but they'd still raised his unease) causing grief for their families, he was determined not to fall into that trap.

"Do you guys hear something?" Clark asked suddenly, raising his hand, "It sounds a bit like a peanut whistle."

"I can't hear......" Neal started to say, but once he'd turned around, he saw exactly what was making that sound. "Missile at six o'clock!" he shouted, pointing to the large ICBM about twenty-five hundred feet behind them in the air and closing fast.

"I don't know about six, Neal, it looks a bit more like seven-thirty to me from this angle........" Clark began.

"Oh just be quiet!" Neal snapped at him. "Del, floor this baby!"

"Right," Del accelerated as fast as he could, swerving back and forth across the yellow lines as he did. "Is all that REALLY necessary!?" Nancy snapped at him.

"Well moving targets ARE harder to hit you know, Miss Vickerella!" Del retorted.

"Hang on, I've got an idea," Clark began rolling down his window.

"Let me guess, we ask the missile if it'll nicely turn the other way," Neal said sarcastically.

"No, I'm going to jam it with this radio here," Clark explained.

"Sparky, you can't jam a missile like this with a radio like that!" Neal protested.

"Sure you can; Russ and I have done it this way before," Clark told him, undaunted, "All you have to do is set the right frequency and make the right sound, and it'll be disabled."

"And I suppose you happen to know exactly what the right frequency and sound are!?"

"Watch and learn, Neal," Clark leaned out the window, made some last-second adjustments to the radio, pointed the antennae at the missile, and shouted, "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPP!!!!! at the top of his lungs into it. Five seconds later, the missile exploded a good thousand feet away from them. "See, I told you it would work," he told his former friend.

"That was luck," Neal said, unmoved.

"Oh yeah, well I'll prove it wasn't with the next one coming up," Clark said, pointing to a second missile blasting over the horizon at them. Again he yelled, "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPP!!!!!!" into the radio, and again it exploded before it could hit them. Unfortunately, this time it exploded only about fifty feet away, and immediately following the explosion, everything in the car started going haywire. The radio started blasting on and off, the air conditioning started and stopped repeatedly, the windshield wipers started wiping at fantastic speed, and the front seats started accordioning back and forth. "Nice going, Sparky, now you've broken the whole car!" Neal shouted as he was slammed face-first into the windshield over and over again in his out of control seat.

"I don't think it was him, Neal, I think it was the shockwave of the blast," Del said over the radio's stop-and-start blaring. "You see, Elmo told me this car has a special conversion computer under the hood controlling its special features, and I think the shock must have penetrated to the mainframe center of it and blown it out, and so we have the madness around us. I can't pretend to know too much about this stuff, but I can say for sure that......"

Before he could go any further, a third explosion came from right over them. A flash of flames engulfed the car as it was lifted clean off the ground. Neal closed his eyes tight in terror. This was the end, he figured. Any minute now, he'd be sent burning to the pearly gates.........

"Neal!" he could vaguely hear Nancy calling to him over the sound of the flames. He put his hand to his face. He was still alive as far as he could tell, but then again in heaven, perhaps you weren't just vapor.....

"For God's sake, Neal, snap out of it and stop this thing!" a slap to the back of his head caused Neal to open his eyes again. They widened at the sight before him....or rather aside him. The DeLorean had been split clean in two by the explosion, and the two halves were now traveling on each side of the road. Across from them, Del and Clark were looking equally as amazed at what had happened.

"Neal, stop this car, or what's left of it!" Nancy yelled at him again.

"How!? I don't have any brakes on this side!" he protested.

"Improvise, you fool!" she screamed. Neal saw a hairpin turn in the road ahead. "All right, here goes nothing!" he said, and, without really thinking, leaned sharply to his left and jammed both his feet down on the roadway. Sparks flew upward from under his shoes, and the pain was rather unbearable, but he dug deeper into the road, and managed to stop the remains of the car just a few feet from the turn.

"Say Neal, you OK?" Del asked, running over (with the luxury of the breaks being on his side of the car, he'd been able to stop relatively smoothly).

"Yeah Del, we're just......YEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!" Neal hopped up and down in pain, flames leaping from his shoes. He galloped over to a nearby snow bank and pushed his feet in as far as they could go until the fires were out.

"Boy Neal, you sure did a number on the road," Clark commented, pointing to the long black skid marks on the highway from Neal's feet.

"It's nothing compared to the number the road did to these shoes, Sparky," Neal grumbled, looking at the charred remains of his shoes, the bottoms of which were almost completely burned away, "And I just put down over seventy dollars for them, too!"

"Well, you can pick up a new pair when we get back to Chicago," Del said optimistically, "Come on, let's get moving before they launch any other missiles at us."

"Forget it; I've taken all I can take for one trip!" Nancy exclaimed. She looked pale in the face still. "For the last 24 hours, I've been almost killed too many times to count! There's only so much a person can take, and I've just crossed the threshold!"

"Oh really?" Del seemed rather glad to be losing her company, "Well, in that case, take care and don't get hurt on the way back."

"After a day with you, you can bet every last cent I'm going to be okay, you fat, obnoxious, motor-mouthed, uncouth, smelling, ignorant, arrogant, hopeless, brainless, idiotic, horse-faced, dirt-ridden, flea-infested loser!!!!!!" Nancy emptied her soul all over Del, who cringed in pain at this outburst. "Is there anything else you want to get out of the way while we're still here?" he asked quietly.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot that you're fat; fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat!!!" Nancy spat at him. Del's face brimmed with tears as she turned and stormed away up the road. He took a deep breath and recollected himself.

"Yeah, you're right," he called after her, "I am all of those things. I won't dispute you on it. And I turn off lots of the people I meet. Because I'm not quite up to their standards, they say. I get that all the time. But you know what? I wouldn't have myself any other way. I like me, and that's what really matters, not what you or anyone else says. You can think what you want about me, but I'm happy with my life, and I'm not changing just to please others. I'm not perfect, and to be quite frank, I don't want to be. And I don't want to interfere into your perfect zone here, but maybe if you tried thinking this way, you'd be a lot happier with your life."

Nancy stopped in her tracks and turned very slowly to him. "And you think you can judge me after only a day with me?" she asked softly but darkly.

"Oh, people say I'm a great judge of character," Del said, contentedness coming back to his face, "And there's just one other thing-two other things, actually-that I'd like to say to you before you go."

"Oh yeah!? What's that?"

"First off, I really enjoyed your company with us over the last day, and secondly, have a merry Christmas," Del said with a warm smile that somehow seemed natural considering how out-of-place it was for the situation. For the briefest of moments, a shadow of guilt seemed to cross Nancy's face, but just as quickly she shook it off and continued back up the road. Del shook his head and trudged back over to the other men.

"You OK, Del?" Neal asked, concerned that the verbal abuse his friend had just gone through had short-circuited something inside him.

"Yeah, I'm fine Neal, thanks for asking," Del said, quickly bending down to pick up his trunk from where he'd dropped it.

"That was incredible how you handled that," Neal went on.

"You really think so?" Del asked, the hurt draining away from his face now.

"It definitely topped what you told me in the motel room last year," Neal said, "But I have to know, all this time you didn't care for her, and you still could say that you appreciated her company? It doesn't really make much sense."

"I know it really doesn't, your right, but I've learned to turn the other cheek, as you know," Del told him, "And I know it seems like I didn't like her, but deep down, I really did. I meant every word when I told her I enjoyed her company."

Neal felt like crying himself upon hearing this, but quickly pulled himself together. "Well then," he said, picking up some of his suitcases, "like you said before, Del, we'd better get moving before they fire more missiles at us and get another car."

"You want to drive this time?" Del asked him.

"I guess so, why?"

"Well, since Clark drove the first one, and I took this last one, I figure it's your turn," Del explained.

"Works for me," Neal started walking around the hairpin. He cast one more glance over his shoulder at the ever-diminishing Nancy in the distance. Although he had hoped she'd have stayed with them a little longer, he realized it was probably for the best if they went their separate ways now.

"What the hell is all this!?" Peter exclaimed, pointing through the windshield of the rental car he and Kate had picked up just after missing Kevin at the train station. They'd made good time up through Illinois, but now there was a mess of emergency vehicles all over both of Interstate 55's northbound lanes just ahead of them.

"If this is a multi-car pileup, I'm going to scream," Kate muttered between gritted teeth.

"We'll find out in a minute," Peter rolled down his window as he slowed up in front of a row of flares. "Excuse me sir," he asked a firefighter standing nearby, "What's the story here?"

"Gasoline truck slipped on some ice and rolled over," the firefighter said. "Eighteen cars behind it ran into it after it blew up."

True to her word, Kate started screaming in frustration. Peter quickly covered his wife's mouth. "Uh, well, are you going to clear this mess up soon?" he asked.

"We're doing the best we can, but due to the size of the wreck and the snow and all, it'll probably be at least four more hours," the firefighter admitted.

"Okay, well then, do you know any back roads around here? We've got to get to Chicago lickety-split."

"Chicago, huh? Well I'd guess I'd swing around and go back down the interstate about five miles to the last exit, turn right off the ramp, and go until you reach where the old Carpet Warehouse building was. Then you go left and keep going until you cross over Jordan Creek for the second time and hang a right at the big sycamore tree with the funny-shaped leaves. Then about two miles before the road dead-ends, go right again and follow the railroad tracks into a small town called Brocktown. About a mile on the other side of town, you need to make four lefts in a......."

"Uh, sir, could we have some directions that are actually USEFUL!?" Peter interrupted. He'd never be able to follow what he'd just been given.

"Well, I guess you could also turn left off the ramp, take the bridge over Sharp Creek, and save yourself a load of time........" the firefighter began.

"Thanks," Peter backed down the road, unable to hear the firefighter yell after him, "But I wouldn't go that way if I were you!"

"So, how much do you think this'll delay us?" Kate asked as they pulled over the emergency roadway onto the interstate's southbound lanes.

"You're guess would be as good as mine, honey," Peter admitted. He flicked on the headlights in response to the increasing darkness. "Assuming that was the only accident out there, and that once we get across the creek there'll be another exit nearby, we'll probably be home by eight-thirty at the latest-if they don't shut down the interstates from this storm, that is."

Kate screamed in frustration again. "Honey, honey, nice deep breaths," Peter told her, squeezing her shoulders, "That's just the worst-case scenario. There's probably nothing further to worry about, and you know Kevin, he's probably safe at home with the porch light on for us as we speak."

"You're right, you're right," Kate collected herself, "I'm just a little overcautious, that's all. Nothing more to worry about-I hope."

They turned off the exit ramp the firefighter had directed them to and veered to the left. "There it is, a half-mile ahead," Kate said, pointing to a yellow road sign on the other side of the overpass.

"Well, once we're over this, all we have to do is find some signs telling us where to go next and we're...." Peter abruptly slammed on the brakes as he turned around a bend in the road and came face to face with the bridge-or at least what in theory would pass for a bridge. It was a decrepit, run-down concrete structure with visible cracks along the sides. Indeed, a knocked-down ROAD CLOSED sign lay on the ground directly before them on the roadway. He reached for the gearshift to put it in reverse, but Kate grabbed his hand. "What are you doing!?" she demanded.

"Honey, that thing isn't safe enough for a rollerblader to go across!" Peter protested. "We'd better just take that really complicated way the nice fireman told us and hope we somehow make it back to the interstate." "We're going over it," Kate said firmly.

"Honey, would you just...!"

"We're going over it and saving time like the nice fireman said!" Kate jammed her foot down on top of her husband's on the accelerator before he could protest further, and the rental car lurched across the bridge. Immediately, the sound of rusted steel and old concrete giving way drowned out the car's engine. Peter grabbed the gearshift and switched it into reverse, but slammed on the brakes again when he saw the section of the bridge he'd just gone over buckle and collapse into the creek. He hastily threw it back into forward and brought down his free foot on top of Kate's on the accelerator. "Pray for good luck!" he shouted as they rocketed across the collapsing span doing at least a hundred and thirty miles an hour.

Miraculously, they made it across to the other side of the creek and safety. Looking back, they watched as the rest of the bridge tumbled into the stream in a large cloud of dust. "Boy was that close," Kate commented as they braked to a stop, "Were you scared?"

"Uh, no, of course not," Peter said quickly, although the moist feeling he now felt in his pants said otherwise. He looked up at the fork in the road before him. "Which way do you think we go now?" he asked his wife.

"We were going to the left roughly when we were on the interstate, so I'd say go left here and keep going left until we get out of those woods over there," Kate reasoned.

"Well, I'll buy that if you promise me one thing," Peter told her.

"Sure, what?"

"If we come to another bridge, let's just try and ford the river rather than cross it," Peter said crossly.

"Okay, I promise, you don't have to get snipey!" Kate said, irritated.

"I'm not being snipey; it's just that I don't like us putting our lives in danger for something like this!" Peter argued back as they drove left into the woods and the ever-increasing storm.