Zula safetied the shotgun. She was wearing a large, haphazardly made-up pack. She got a foot on one of the passenger pegs, then swung her leg over and sat down. As soon as he sensed the weight of her body against his back, he let out the clutch and began moving down the road again, just at a running pace at first—so the gunmen wouldn’t be able to gain any more ground—then faster, once he felt as though Zula had got her balance and wasn’t liable to flip off the bike backward.