I was forced out of my nap, pulled through mushy delirium caused by withering pain to consciousness by a loud sputtering engine. There was a car, and it was heading straight for me, out of the roundabout, tyres screeching and rear smoking. I braced myself for the grinding pain that followed as the car passed on top of me. small chunks of loose cement was torn out of me, splashing on another part of me, where it rested on a pile helpfully labelled as “Spare Gravel! Buy a metric ton get another one free!”
It was only then that I noticed him. He seemed to be a tourist, touring me, as apparently I had “good scenery”. At least that’s what they told me when they threw my existence into this motorway. If I actually looked that good, I’m sure they’d repair me, but there’s nothing I could do about that. My attention wafted back to the tourist.
He was standing on me now, and he was strange for a tourists. There was irrational fear and wild, silent, muffled rage burning ice cold in his dilated eyes, He wore turbans fashioned out of reused plastic bottles, cut into strands that made them up.
***
I was half immobile with rage and cold. How could they just deny us like that? I was persecuted to near death and finally escaped to the supposed land of “freedom”. Now I’m on the run again and I’ve got two government people after me. I might as well be dead, the amount of begging for a boat I had to do. I walked down the road. There was a sea beside me, refracting the warm, brilliant sunset. I kept walking. Now there was a bridge connecting this road to another over the peninsula. As the warm sunlight hit me, a rarity for so many days underground, I felt good. Good was a term that I have not seen or used in almost a decade. But, being here, albeit being hunted and tired beyond description, was uplifting, and I can actually think properly now.
I considered my unfortunately extremely limited options. I could run, and I had enough food and water for at least a few days. I shudder to think what will happen after a few days have run out. Yes. This will do. There was a dock of rich people’s yachts at the end of the motorway. I might be able to find one with only mediocre security and escape on that. So I walked on, occasionally eating corned beef and crackers or drinking tap water months old.
***
I was asleep, glasses skewed and nose uncomfortably pressed on the car window when it started to blare chunks of raw police code uncomfortably closely into my ears. I woke up with an almighty twitch of my leg and almost sent the police car into the next one. After the shock of what had happened settled, I slapped my colleague, John Smith, awake and listened to what the still unnervingly loud “communication” system had to spit. Apparently another idiot arrived thinking that we don’t have enough problems and demanded asylum with the nearest guy he could find. The guy freaked out and called the police. They sent somebody to interrogate them. They were denied asylum. Serves ‘em right. Now he’s on the run. And we had to chase him down. I slammed the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot.
***
The “Tourist” was going further. He was close to my end. Close to escape. But the cops were near. Another day and they’d catch up. And he would, judging by the average time somebody took to cross me on foot, take another day. It would be saddening to see this chase done. I haven’t had so much fun for ages. I considered helping the person. It will be disturbing, and probably would cost me my uneventful life. No. I wanted to watch unbiased. Or it wouldn’t be as fun. I drifted back to sleep, only this time it was’t groggy or mushy.
***
I ran. Behind me sirens blared. They must be within a kilometer. I hid behind a leafless bush and waited as thankfully only one fuming automobile went past, quicker than any car I ‘ve seen before. But a cop must have seen me, as the car screeched to a halt and did a formidable stunt move. It drifted in a circle and was facing me. Then I understood. They didn’t care if they brought me in dead or not. I scrambled away from the bush and ran for my life, whose life expectancy wasn’t exactly high at the moment. But even as I started running, the car were turning around once more.
***
I watched. It was unfortunate he had to die. I actually thought that he’d outrun the cops. But no. It’s too late for him to do anything now. “But you could do something,” a voice rang in my ear. I ignored it. It pestered me. I still resisted it. It still pestered me. I gave in.
***
I waited for the end. Then it felt as if the road was moving like an escalator, moving me with it at dangerous speeds. My stomach threatened to part with me but I held on. Screaming. Ten minutes later, it stopped. I fell to my face, lungs gasping for rest. The road must have carried me all the way to the end. But before I could think another thought I saw the police cars. I had around a mile’s head start. I looked around for a mediocre yacht. They were nonexistent. Only a small, half rotten, hand rowed wooden fishing boat was available to break into. I climbed into it, feeling the warmth of the fuming engine of the car behind me and rowed. Water was coming in at an alarming rate, but I seized a bucket and emptied it. I patched up the leaking plank with my jacket, sitting on its threadbare cotton and rowing towards a slight hope in the distance.
***
I cursed. The idiot was gone. I heard a grunt of “at least he won’t last that long in that boat” from John. I shrugged. Time to go back and get scolded. I turned around and floored it, probably getting the last chance to do so until they sacked me. John grunted in his sleep.
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