Page 23 of Ruined Omega

From behind, there is a squeal of tires. Three pairs of blinding lights gleam painfully in the rearview mirrors.

“Tal, they’re still behind us,” I whimper.

He guns it, slaloming between the wrecked carcasses of old cars furred with rust, then throttles the bike down a clear straightaway. The motorcycle blasts between the dark, enclosing shadows like a bullet down the barrel of a gun.

Behind, our pursuers don’t even bother to swerve. They simply smash through the rusty husks of the old cars amid a shower of sparks.

This was a mistake. At least up above there were other people around. Traffic to block their pursuit.

Down here, we’re totally screwed.

A burst of gunfire erupts behind us. Bullets whistle past and ricochet sickeningly off the broken pavement.

“We’re going to die,” I cry.

“We’re not going to die.”

Tal’s voice is cold and hard. He twists the accelerator as far as it will go. The engine sounds like it’s on the verge of exploding. Intense vibrations flood upward through my body.

More gunfire. The left mirror disintegrates in a shower of glass and I scream.

Tal lets go of the handlebars with one hand. Before I realize what he’s doing, his pistol lets out three ear-splitting barks. He’s returning fire, shooting behind us without looking, seemingly aiming at random.

Somehow, impossibly, one of his bullets flies true. In the one remaining mirror, I see one of the pursuing cars swerve, smashing head-on into a wall. The horn sounds, a single sustained note that gradually recedes as we barrel ahead.

But there are still two more cars back there, and they are gaining on us

More bullets zip around us, spraying chips of pavement

We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die.

The words play over and over in my brain like a mantra.

My already shallow breath catches in my throat. My mouth goes dry, and my blood freezes in my veins.

Ahead of us, in the yellow beam of the headlights, the road is blocked by a wall of rubble. It is far too steep and high for us to climb. A wide jumble of bricks and twisted metal spattered with filthy water raining from the levels above.

We’re trapped.

But Tal doesn’t slow the bike. If anything, he clenches the throttle even harder, as if trying to wring even more power out of the overworked engine.

What is he doing?

What the hell is he doing?

Has he admitted defeat and decided our best option is to go out in a blaze of glory?

“Tal, look out!”

Then I see what he’s steering for. A huge flat slab of metal angled against a heap of rubbish forming a ramp.

“Close your eyes,” he growls.

“Tal!”

We hit the ramp at full speed. The nose of the bike angles upward, and we go airborne, soaring over the wall of debris. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of screeching tires behind, as our pursuers slam on their brakes. Wind stirs my hair.

Time seems to slow to a halt as we glide through the still air.