Danger Kid

Chapter 16

The problem is that even though a relatively new invention, hover cars are still faster than wheelers. Sure, their mileage is terrible and they are prone to a large variety of malfunctions that normal combustion vehicles aren't, but they are generally a bit faster. Even though we had a huge head start, I can already see the police on our trail, catching up to us at an alarming rate.

The one good thing is that Brittany seems to know how to drive, for the most part. We swerve in between cars, going at a brisk speed of ninety miles per hour, and we are still accelerating. Our engine roars so loud it seems on the verge of exploding, a striking contrast to the barely audible hum of the police vehicles.

We are progressing into the outskirts of town, but traffic is still relatively thick. Brittany jerks the car to avoid a near accident, tossing the contents of her trunk to and fro.

We have a few other close calls with shocked drivers, nearly bending fenders and almost bumping people off the road, but Brittany manages to avoid collision. Despite Brittany's reckless antics, the police are now close, but they seem to be slowing down suddenly. Within a few seconds they could be at our sides, pushing us off the road or trying to pop our tires. But instead, the lead cars passenger door opens, and Torres tumbles out.

The police cars are cruising at a solid one hundred, so as Torres hits the asphalt he face plants a few times as he rolls and smacks into the concrete, tearing his Gauntlet uniform and messing up his ridiculous hair. However, he is soon on his feet. A deviant has the potential to be faster than even hover cars, but for short distances only. I see a few other agents tumble out of other cars, but only Torres accelerates up to us. Soon he's at my door, and is wrapping on my window.

I sigh. Brittany looks over at me, questioning me on what to do, but I motion for her to keep driving. I roll down the window, and ask politely, "Is there a problem, sir?"

Torres grabs onto the sill, and uses it as a support, half running, half hanging.

"Yeah, idiot," he pants deeply, taking a few moments to catch his breath before continuing. "You're not dead."

"Now that's harsh," I say in a mock attempt at sympathy. "Me dead? We used to be friends."

"Yeah, you used to be Brayan's friend, too. But where did that get him?"

"Good point." I concede, losing the sarcastic interchange. "But aren't you at least a little excited to see me?"

"Overwhelmed."

"Well, good. I'm at least whelmed to see you."

I smirk a little bit at his struggles to keep up. He appears athletic, but was never the type of agent to hit the gym very often. I used to be that way, but the past year has left me toned, strong and fast. Well, not so fast or strong now, since I am suffering from extenuating circumstances.

Gasping a bit more, Torres continues to seek a rise. "How was your fall from grace, friend?"

"Like my ascension from hell. A pain in the butt." I reply.

He chuckles. "You do know, you can't get away from this. You can't avoid us any longer."

"Can, have, am, and will." I say maybe with a little too much confidence.

"Alright." He says. "I would have been disappointed to take you in without a fight. But let me give you one more chance. Pull over now, and we don't have to hurt you, or your friend." He stumbles briefly, the blurring grey texture below him threatening major rug burn.

"Um, actually, she's not a friend. She's a hostage." I say.

Brittany remains focused on the road, continuing to swerve in between cars. It's not too bad now, the traffic is narrowing. We're basically outside of city limits, and it's late, as seen by the orange glow of the setting sun. Most people are home.