Killer Instinct

Chapter VIII

Speeding through the streets of Queens isn't a good idea, and I wouldn't recommend it under any other circumstances.

But these were dire circumstances, like men on motorcycles trying to kill me, dire.

Thankfully, I was learning Apollo's flaming red Ferrari happened to be bulletproof, which was working in my favor for now. But I of all people knew that bulletproof cars were only a minor obstacle in the grand scheme of things.

Which was why I had to figure out a way to get away, and get away fast.

Using the car's phone service I dialed up my father's direct line that patched me through to him directly. Using our telepathic connection would take even more energy away, and I was running on nearly empty.

"Isley!" Doug Spielman's voice was 50% surprised, 50% furious. "Where the hell are you? There were no survivors at Dulce-"

"Captured by the Resistance. I've escaped but they're pursuing with deadly force." My voice cracked. "Dad, I don't think I'm gonna make it."

My hands began to shake on the steering wheel as I realized the possibility of that truth. I was going to die right here, right now unless Dear Dad helped.

"I've locked into the car's GPS tracking system. I've ordered an extraction team to come get you. All you have to do is stay alive for ten more minutes and they'll be there. Can you do that Isley?" His voice demanding and loud in my ear.

I took a deep breath. Ten minutes. I could do this.

"I can do it." I ended the connection, and performed a severely illegal drifting U-Turn that shook up my pursuers and sent towards my destination. I was going to Brooklyn.

Unfortunately my excessive speed and illegal U-Turn had garnered the attention of added pursuers. Cops were such a pain in the ass.

I floored it, weaving through traffic expertly, before reaching in the center console. Sure enough there was a blocky CFG, crystal-future Glock with two clips of crystal-future bullets. The heat-seeking kind.

Loading the gun with one hand, and steering with the other, a flipped off the safety and rolled down the window, using my rearview mirror to aim in the general direction of my pursuers. The bullets did the rest, dropping one siren screaming police car. It blew up in a fiery display, causing a wicked grin to spread across my face.

The explosion caused a pileup, eliminating more of the chase. No the motorcycle gang. They were smart enough to maneuver around the crash.

And the bullets continued to fly, until I felt my back right tire burst, causing the car to somewhat go airborne.

Panic fled through me. I didn't know much about cars, I just knew about driving. But I did know that a flat tire wasn't good. I didn't dare attempt shooting back at them. The target was too small, and the bullets to unpredictable. I could accidentally kill a civilian, something I knew I couldn't let happen.

Instead, I picked up speed, the Brooklyn bridge my goal. They couldn't catch me. I wouldn't let them-

A deathly popping noise, and my other tire burst. I punched the gas, while making a wild left turn for the bridge, the car flipping mid turn, the sound of scraping metal louder than anything I'd ever heard in my life.

I thanked my lucky stars I had thought to buckle up, or else I'd be one dead girl. But the pain from being jolted around in the car, cracked glass, the airbag detonating in my face like a sucker punch from hell. My face burned, and I tasted blood in the back of my mouth, not to mention the throbbing coming from all limbs of my body.

When the car finally jolted to a stop, I flexed my muscles, testing if anything was broken. My right leg twinged painfully, and I knew I'd fractured it.

With my left leg, I kicked open the car door, with my last bit of energy summoning a protective force field as I made a dead run for the side of the bridge.

Bullets ricocheted off the force field, and I sprinted as fast as I could ignoring the pain, the force field faltered and failed as my Mental strength gave out, a bullet hitting my right shoulder. I saw red as I leapt off the bridge and into the freezing Hudson river. Before I hit the water I heard a helicopter in the distance, and then a splash to follow mine.

The cold seeped through my clothes and body, freezing me, and then slowly turning me numb. Numb to the point where I couldn't feel anything. No pain, no pleasure. Oblivion.

I tried to swim, but my leg prevented me from kicking, my right shoulder from stroking. And although nothing hurt anymore, the fatigue had become too much. I was so tired and weak, and hungry, and scared. My thoughts and emotions began jumbling together in one complicated blur, but one thought stood out among the rest: I'm dying.

My life was flashing before my eyes, the intensive training that was my childhood, the isolation, my induction ceremony when I officially became an agent for the MIA, a brief flash of my mother's beautiful face, a carbon copy of my own, and then another, so brief I didn't understand it. A handsome face, godlike and strong with stunning aquamarine eyes that spoke to the power he wielded.

And then there was nothing, nothing but blackness as my lungs burned for air. Under normal circumstances I could've drawn the oxygen from the water around me to for an oxygen bubble, but I was drained dry, so weak I couldn't even open my eyes.

So weak, so tired. I couldn't fight anymore. I simply gave up.