We got the freeway in our sights and steadied and slowed and kept slowing.
She was about to cross the freeway to the ride when her phone rang.
I folded there, and the next thing I knew, I was on my side in the rubble under the freeway, holding myself and crying.
Well, going 60 and 70 miles an hour right up a Freeway and took curves kind of fast.
The top of the skeletal cracking plant across the freeway glowed with St. Elmo's fire!
My revolver and her dart gun were both tucked in the cave back at the edge of the freeway.
For some reason the spot on the freeway by the old cracking plant was recognized as a marked locality by the screen.
They arrived to discover a fire-truck parked on the side of the freeway nearest the shantytown.
Kettlewell worked his way cautiously across the freeway, climbing laboriously over the median.
Now the shoulder was getting really crowded and freeway traffic was slowing to a crawl.