The Dead Won't Die by Joe McKinney

get it back under control. In the backseat, Kelly was screaming. She was getting thrown around back there, trying desperately to find something to hold on to. They went through four more turns before Jacob finally started to yell, “Chelsea, slow down! You’re gonna get us killed.”
    But Chelsea was too terrified to back off. Her eyes were wide and she was panting. She kept saying, “No, no, no!” over and over again, completely out of control.
    Jacob grabbed for the wheel. “Chelsea, stop!” He yelled in her ear. “Chelsea!”
    She looked at him then, and he could see the light of clarity coming back into her eyes. “Jacob?”
    â€œYeah, now slow it down. That’s it, that’s good.”
    Chelsea eased the car down and steered through the streets.
    â€œWhere are we going?” Jacob asked.
    Chelsea shook her head. “I don’t know.” The look of panic flooded back into her face and Jacob felt the car tremble as she dug deeper into the throttle.
    â€œEasy,” Jacob said. “Chelsea, easy. Pull over, okay?”
    â€œWe have to get out of here.”
    â€œI know,” Jacob said. “But for right now, just pull over.”
    Chelsea eased the car to the curb. She looked like she was about to say something, but then the stress and fear and panic all caught up with her and she collapsed, her chin sagging to her chest, making her look like a balloon going flat. She put her face in her hands and cried.
    Jacob glanced at Kelly in the backseat and shrugged. Kelly leaned forward and put a hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “Chelsea, baby, what is going on? Who were those men?”
    Chelsea just shook her head.
    â€œWhy were they after you?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Jacob picked up the pistol he’d taken from Chelsea’s attackers and tried to find a brand name on it someplace. There was none. “This weapon . . . I’ve never seen anything like it. Where were they taking you?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said again. She was starting to whine. “Stop asking me.”
    Kelly squeezed the younger woman’s shoulder again and said, “Chelsea, please, you have to tell us what’s going on. We’re caught up in this, too, now.”
    Chelsea took a few deep breaths. Her face was shiny with tears and her eyes bloodshot. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then took the pistol she’d taken off her attackers and handed it to Jacob. “You keep that,” she said. “I . . . I can’t.”
    â€œChelsea,” Kelly said, “those men. What do you mean, they are enemies of your father? You told us your parents both died when the Darwin crashed.”
    â€œThey did.”
    â€œI don’t understand. If your father’s dead, why would those men be after you?”
    â€œDo you remember the notebooks I showed you, back on the Darwin ?”
    â€œYes, of course. Your father’s work on morphic field theory.”
    â€œI took them. Those men want them back.”
    Kelly frowned. “Chelsea, I read those notebooks. Your father had pretty much figured out how morphic fields could be used to control zombie behavior. That’s a huge discovery. Why would anyone want to kill you for that? Wouldn’t they want the world to see it? A lot of lives could be saved.”
    â€œThat’s not it,” Chelsea said, shaking her head. “Morphic field theory is the technological basis of our society. It runs our aerofluyts and powers our cities. It’s even powering this car. But there’s a downside, and it’s a big one. My father’s work showed that morphic fields were doing more harm than good. They’re cooking us from the inside out and changing the structure of our brains. My father predicted we’d have the collective thinking power of a turnip within two generations. A lot of people make a lot of money off of morphic field power. My