Crowley steps on the gas. The trolly moves. Not nearly as fast as the Bentley could, but it does go, shooting its way down the tarmac, towards----well, towards wherever they can go. Crowley doesn't even have a destination in mind, just away.

He glances back over his shoulder to see something dark and twisting moving down from the sky, following them at increasing speed.

"There it is!" Crowley cries. "Hold on, we're taking a hard left!"