Baked Scribe Flashback : Chase

Jared pulled the satchel tightly around himself as he sprinted, the sound of his feet slapping the pavement the only thing he could hear over his ragged breathing. The burning in his lungs, the ache in his lower back and arms, the pain in his legs were irrelevant. He could not let the train beat him. He turned off the road, parallel to the tracks and listened as the force of his footfalls kicked the gravel out behind him.

It all would be decided in the next minute. His leg buckled slightly where the ignorant hick had gone crazy with the hockey stick. He tried to block out the sensation of blood trickling down into his ears from where one of the other ones had smacked him with a putter. He would not let the burns on the bottoms of his feet from the cigarette lighter slow him down either. If he didn’t make it onto that train, all of this would seem mild in comparison.

From behind him in the distance he heard the sound of the truck. It was the kind of truck that was modified so that it could be heard from seven counties away. It was the kind of truck whose owner wanted people to know that they filled their gas tank up every other day, and dreamed about running down baby seals under their over-sized tread. He heard those tires screaming for purchase as the engine revved. The train would make all of this irrelevant.

He felt like he was running down a long tunnel, his lungs about to burst out of his chest in protest, while his cramping legs were on the verge of collapsing. He wasn’t sure if he would have enough strength left to jump onto the car, even if he got there. And to top everything off, dizziness was starting to set in, adding another voice to an already crowded chorus.

Then, he reached out to his left and took hold of the rusted rail of the train car. His legs felt like jelly, but he was able to grip the rail tightly enough to let the momentum of the train lift him up, and into the car. He felt the rush of relief as he skidded to a halt and turned to look back for the first time. Only then did he see the hick and his idiot friends, standing on or next to the truck yelling and shaking fists at him.

Jared laughed and shook his head. He turned and pulled the door shut, letting himself fall down to the floor and tried to catch his breath. So he had slept with the hick’s wife and stolen most of their money. Why were they so upset about it?

He thought it was fucking hysterical.

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