Triple Digits

Corey Strickland

He had fucked up, that much was obvious, his car slowing to a stop, Grandmama Josephine hearing the commotion and rushing out the back door of her café at the same time Corey threw himself from the front seat, sprinting down the street to where Miles' car was upside-down in a ditch, fuel leaking from it, pooling in the dirt.
Their chase had lasted less than a minute, Miles' car reaching one-hundred-and-fifty kilometres before she had hit those spike strips, her blown tire locking her car and flipping it in a matter of seconds, too fast for Miles' to react.
He had been far enough behind her, beginning to believe he was going to lose her, that he had seen the entire car flip, the movement making his jaw drop open, the dashcam automatically recording the footage, sending it to the computer he had set up in his offices both at home and at work.
Sliding down the ditch, already demanding dispatch send out an ambulance, Grandmama Josephine rushing back into the café to grab her first aid kit, he gripped the mangled drivers door of Miles' car, trying to rip it open, the hinges squealing.
More fuel was leaking from the car, soaking into Strickland's shoes, and it would only take one spark to send this place to high Heaven, taking Corey and Miles' with it.
Managing to pull the door open enough he could see in, he spotted Miles, still in her seatbelt, thank whatever Gods were watching, upside-down in her seat, blood gushing from a wound on her forehead. Her fingertips of her left hand were brushing the top of the car, her manicured nails coated in blood. He could see glass poking out of that arm, like she had tried to shield herself. Her right hand was tucked up, near the seatbelt. Her braid, which was a light brown, hung down like a snake from a tree, now stained red with more blood.
She was unconscious, her phone near the passenger seat, her wallet beside it.
Reaching up, careful not to jostle her neck or back, in case either were broken, he undid her seatbelt, his other hand catching her when she dropped into his arms, Grandmama Josephine ordering him to come out of the ditch to where she had prepared the first aid kit.
The hospital was thirty minutes away, which meant the ambulances were now twenty-five minutes away. If Miles' condition was life-threatening, she wouldn't make it.
He clambered his way up, swearing, Miles still out like a light in his arms, to see Grandmama Josephine had laid out an old door as though it were a stretcher, Corey laying the woman out on the surface, Grandmama Josephine handing him tweezers, ordering, "Pluck that glass out of her, boy!" The blood coming from Miles was enough to kill her, if she didn't get help soon, her eyes closed, her breathing erratic.
He had done this... Seeing that he was useless, the tweezers hanging limply from his fingers, she snatched them back, cursing under her breath, pulling glass out, dropping it into a plastic container before picking up pieces of gauze, cleaning the cuts left behind and patching Miles up with a handful of stick-on bandages. Cheap, but they would have to do.
He had stupidly chosen to race her. He had put spike strips down where he knew she would drift, hoping to simply pop her tire. He hadn't thought- Gagging at the sight of a particularly large piece of glass being pulled from Miles' arm, he turned away, staring instead at the car in the ditch, wondering what the sight looked like on his dashcam. Probably some dystopian nightmare...
He hadn't thought this would happen, hadn't even considered what could happen if a high-speed car hit the spike strips.
Hell, he hadn't even used them before! They had just been an idea he had read about in his police handbook!
The sound of police sirens pierced the thoughts swirling in Corey's mind, and he sat back in shock as four of his colleagues surrounded him, asking questions- Was he okay? What had happened? Had he seen the crash?
He simply shook his head, Grandmama Josephine barking at them to make themselves useful while she treated Miles, Corey rising to his feet, stumbling back to Miles' car, where he had seen her belongings.
Reaching in, knowing the police would want the evidence, he pulled the wallet and phone out, spotting what looked like a pierced cannister of spraypaint, the neon green staining the material on the roof.
Neon green, like the Triple Digit tags that had been appearing around the city.
He left that where it was, tucking the knowledge into the back of his head, taking a seat outside Grandmama Josephine's café while his colleagues cleared the area of prying eyes, some of the farmers pulling over to see what happened.
If Miles died because of him, he would never forgive himself. The thought that he could lose his job over this played in his mind, along with the images of Miles' hanging upside-down from her seat.
A crash like that... She was lucky, so far, not to be dead on impact.
Looking down, he froze at the sight of the blood on his hands- Miles' blood.
Gagging, he wiped his hands on his pants, knowing it was in vain.
The ambulance arrived quick enough, Miles being carried away on a proper stretcher, although the paramedics certainly thanked Grandmama Josephine for the work she had done.
When the paramedics came for him, Corey was confused, staring at the wrecked car that the local tow-company was now loading onto a wrecked-vehicle trailer. He wasn't hurt, why would he go to the hospital?
All the paramedics would say was they wanted to check on him, too, since he had witnessed the crash.
Stepping into the ambulance, he took a seat across from Miles, that braid of hers tumbling down her shoulder, still red with blood...