Chapter 51—Hospital Standoff
Mark scrambled into the car and locked it. A futile effort, he knew, but it made him feel better. He searched for the keys. Heather has the keys, he remembered. He honked the horn, banging on the steering wheel. As he did, Heather appeared from the corner of the house. She sprinted toward the car, intermittently firing behind her.
From the other side of the house, Mark saw Lydia and her friend rushing toward him. Mark honked the horn again and pointed at them. Heather saw where he pointed and fired at the pair, forcing them to race back into the house for safety.
Heather jumped into the passenger seat and tossed the keys to Mark. She paused, reaching out to touch his head. “There’s blood on your neck.”
Mark glanced in the mirror. Wet red stains spotted his neck. “Not mine.”
“You know how to drive?” she asked.
“I have my learner’s permit,” he said, fumbling with the key ring. “I was nearly finished with driving school.”
“Time for you to graduate,” she said. She reloaded her gun and rolled down the window. Mark cranked the car and recklessly drove through the backyard’s fence. The wheels kicked up dirt and grass everywhere. When he turned into the street, Sylvia, from a corner of the house, shot at the car. Mark ducked behind the wheel. Heather leaned out the window, firing back at her.
The car jolted hard onto the road. Mark turned wildly left and right to straighten the vehicle out. Heather held onto the door. “I never thought I’d find someone worse at driving than Finster,” she said.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s alright. Just get us out of here.” She took out her walkie-talkie. “Finster? Finster, come in.” There was no sound. “Finster?” She waited a few moments and then gave up. “Hope we’re only out of range. Otherwise, we’re screwed.”
“Uh, we might be already,” Mark said. A police car was rapidly approaching them. They were leaving the thin, narrow roads of the neighborhood and returning to the wide streets of the city. The police car pulled up to their left. Sylvia was driving, with Lydia in the passenger seat and Jando in the back.
“Drive faster!” Heather ordered. She hoisted herself up and sat on the edge of the open window. Then she fired over the roof of the car at the pursuing police car.
The police car rammed into the back of their vehicle. Mark lost control for a couple of seconds, nearly hitting a lamppost. Heather continued to shoot, aiming at the wheels. Suddenly, the police car vanished into thin air. All that was visible was the boy from the hallway, hovering in the air in a sitting position. He clenched an invisible seat, a concentrated look on his face. He ducked his head when Heather shot at him. The bullet had nailed a window, and the pieces reappeared, sprinkling the boy with glass. Now the police car became visible. The boy covered his head, shouting at someone in the car.
Heather grabbed her walkie-talkie. “Finster! Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” he said.
“I need you over here!” She held her gun in her arm, loading another clip into it. “Where are we Mark?”
“Uh,” he said, looking for a sign. “We just passed 26th and Concord.” Heather repeated their location to Finster.
“Got it. I’ll be there soon,” Finster said.
Mark drove under an overpass, the gunfire from the police car echoing in his ears. His door was peppered with bullets. Heather returned fire but was still unable to strike the wheels. Mark shook with fear as Sylvia rammed the police car again. She had sped up and now the two cars cleared the overpass together. They were heading for a hardware store. Mark swerved left to force the other car into the store. The police car went up onto the sidewalk and crashed through the front window of the store. Then it rolled back onto the street.
As Heather reloaded, Lydia rolled down the passenger window. Mark watched, terrified, as he was rammed. This time, Lydia reached out and grabbed hold of the open window of Mark’s car. She stretched her body out her window, held steady by the boy in the backseat. Then she hammered Mark’s face into the steering wheel, while ruthlessly beating the back of his head. He elbowed her jaw, and the car swerved briefly out of his control.
“Get down!” Heather yelled at Mark. Lydia continued to punch him as he drove, head down, as well as he could. Heather shot at Lydia. She missed, but Lydia pulled back into her car. One of Heather’s shots pinged off the police car’s steering wheel. Sylvia shot back, catching Mark in the head. He shrugged off the force of the bullet.
“Anytime, Finster!” Heather yelled into her walkie-talkie. As if on cue, a hearse squealed from around a corner, approaching the two other cars from behind. Mark noticed that it was pretty banged up, with some logo on the side. The hearse joined the chase, sandwiching the police car between itself and Mark’s car in front.
“Wasn’t Finster in a truck?” Mark asked.
“Must have had to grab something else,” Heather said. The hearse rammed the police car, battering the vehicle over and over. From out of the back window, Sylvia fired on the hearse, hitting its right front wheel. The wheel exploded and the hearse jerked sharply to the side, but continued on. “Alright, that’s good!” Heather said over the walkie-talkie. When one particular attack rattled their car, she yelled, “Take it easy or you’re going to wreck our car!”
“What are you talking about?” Finster said. “I’m still several streets away, nowhere near you guys.”
That was when Mark noticed it was the hearse they had passed by earlier. The passenger window rolled down. It was Rooke, a maniacal glint in his eye. He held onto the steering wheel with one hand and leaned over, propping a sub-machine gun on the side of the door with the other. Then he fired away. He shot indiscriminately, hitting both vehicles.
Mark veered away from the gunfire. The police car crashed into a wall, its engine smoking. Rooke stopped firing and the hearse sped off down the road, sparks flying from its damaged wheel.
“After him!” Heather said. Then she called Finster. “We’re trailing Rooke. He’s in a hearse. Hurry up!”
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Halfway Heroes Page 93