Being Butch Green || ✓

Chapter 17 - Emotional Turmoil

We sprinted along the footpath; a whirr of sirens following us.

I glanced over my shoulder at two officers trailing close behind us, speaking rapidly into their walkies. It felt like a game of cops and robbers, only this time, it was real. I stumbled, noticing another three cops were already halfway over the fence, one even stopping to convene with a very low self-esteemed Henry.

I turned, pelting after Jack with the hot breath of a much larger man tingling at the hairs on my neck. I shuddered, working my lactic filled muscles harder. I don't think I've run this fast since fourth grade athletics day when a rabid dog somehow made it onto the track during the long-distance finals.

"Get in that van!" Jack yelled, pointing ahead at a parked car.

He reached it and plunged his elbow through the window, setting off the alarm. Fumbling, he found the latch and let the door spring open on its hinges. He slid into the driver's seat as I scooted around to the other side, narrowly avoiding the grasp of the officer. I jumped in, nervously sitting there as the swarm of officers caught up with our stationary getaway vehicle.

Jack started up the engine, and almost instinctively, I hastily strapped myself in. In Jack's rush to get us away from the situation, he squeezed down on the accelerator, making the van scream in protest and a thick cloud of exhaust fumes billow out from the rear end of the car.

I clutched onto the side of my chair as he pulled the handbrake off and we zoomed away down the street. I glanced into the side mirror, only just catching their failed attempt at sprinting after us.

"You still have the file?" I asked.

"Right here," he said, placing it in my lap and nervously glancing into the mirror.

I nodded, clutching it in my arms like a precious baby. I wouldn't let it out of my sight from now on. It needed protection. "How'd you escape?"

"Jumped out of the ambulance."

"But weren't you arrested?"

"Yup."

"But doesn't your injury hurt?"

"Eh, it's not too bad," he paused, instinctively touching his shoulder lightly. "I don't feel it."

"Oh." I nodded as the van whirred violently around a tight curb and I smashed into the side of the door. "Easy on the corners!"

"Relax," he scoffed, glaring over at me. "It's not like you're dying!"

"No, but we did just smoke out a bunch of kids!"

He shrugged. "So?"

"So!? If you haven't noticed, the police will be looking for us! The whole works! Helicopters and all!"

He shrugged. "I was just trying to protect you."

"I don't need your protection," I hissed, glaring away from him and at the road ahead.

"Hmmm. Sure."

The car became silent as we reached the outskirts of Melbourne. The city's tall cascading skyscrapers glinted in the late afternoon sun, and the street noises sounded like a dozen screaming babies as we slowly cruised down the street towards Southbank. The trees lining the road began to fade away as Jack drove further into the ghetto part of town.

Here, run down brick buildings replaced the trees in overcrowded concrete brick blocks which were still covered in pointless graffiti tags from last winter's tagging rage. The streets were mostly deserted except for the occasional member of society rolling a fag between his fingers as he let the toxic smoke billow out from his mouth.