Mitchell turned around to see Rick leap over the fence and pass right over the trashcan.
Fuck.
Rick looked to his right, then to his left and stared right at Mitchell. He pumped his arms and came at him like a sprinter out of the starting blocks. Mitchell ran into the street, not caring about traffic, and ran straight down the middle.
His best hope was to spot a cop or someone who could help.
Already in pain, his body was crying out to stop. He could feel bile build up in the back of his throat. He couldn’t keep this up much longer.
The only thing that kept him going was the thought of what would happen if Rick caught up with him.
The sound of bare feet hitting the pavement was getting louder. Rick was letting out the loud puffs of air sprinters sometimes do when they are trying to use their lungs as a muscle to pull themselves forward.
A smaller set of footprints was farther back. Rachel was following them.
Mitchell heard a scream right behind his ear. Something reached out and touched his backpack. The adrenaline gave him a burst of energy. For a brief moment, he felt something of a high.
He reached another intersection. A car was driving across it. Fuck, it was going to be close.
Mitchell jumped. His could feel the wind of the car. The driver slammed on his brakes as Mitchell flew past his windshield. The driver turned to watch as Mitchell kept running. He never saw the other man run into his car at full speed.
The front bumper sent Rick flying into the ground. There was a snap as his right leg broke from the impact.
Mitchell turned around and saw Rick crumpled on the asphalt. His leg was at a funny angle. Rick was still staring right at Mitchell. He struggled to his feet and fell down. Blood spurted from where bone stuck out of the skin.
Rachel ran around the car and blew right past Rick as he struggled to get up. She never looked back.
The fear, the adrenaline, it all went numb as Mitchell saw Rachel ignore Rick as she dodged between him and the car without missing a beat.
Mitchell ran down the next service road. He immediately took a turn through another alley and toward his car. He hoped this would confuse Rachel when she got to the service road.
On one side of the alley was a wooden maintenance shack. He ran around the back of it and waited.
He could hear footsteps as Rachel raced to where she last saw him. The footsteps grew louder and then passed where he was hiding.
Should he call for help now?
He reached for his iPhone and then froze when he heard another sound. It wasn’t as fast as Rachel, but it was definitely footsteps.
Near the entrance to the service road he could hear a footfall and then the sound of something being dragged. Step. Drag. Step. Drag.
Rick.
Mitchell decide to break for his car and call for help from there.
He rushed down the alley and onto the street where he parked his car.
He prayed that Rachel didn’t decide to emerge from the service road as he ran by.
Finally he reached his car. He opened the passenger side door and slid in as he caught his first relieved breath of air.
A tire squeak made him jump. He slid away the sunshade as a parking enforcement officer pulled up in her three-wheeled cart to ticket the car in front of Mitchell.
Thank god for meter maids, thought Mitchell as he got out of the car to ask for help.
7
Mitchell went to open his mouth. He hyperventilated as he tried to think of what to say. The parking enforcement officer, a middle-aged stocky Hispanic woman, was typing something into her handheld computer.
“
Excuse me!” Mitchell called out.
She looked up at him from the other car. It was a defensive expression she’d shown a thousand times to people who thought they could plead for a break.
She just looked at Mitchell and raised an eyebrow. No, “How can I help you?” or anything resembling courtesy.
“
I’m being chased by two people. ... I think they’re trying to kill me.” He made a conscious choice not to say ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend.
Mitchell looked over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he was more frightened about seeing Rachel running toward him with murder in her eyes or Rick slowly plodding along with his bloody mess of a leg and bone poking through.
The officer walked to the driver’s side of Mitchell’s car and looked at him from across the hood.
She could see the terror in Mitchell’s eyes. There was a fleeting moment of humanity.
Mitchell tried to figure out how to explain what had just happened. But even he didn’t understand it.
The woman reached for her radio. Then her face lost all expression.
Oh fuck
, thought Mitchell.
The woman’s lips pulled back as she bared her teeth.
Passenger side door still open, Mitchell leaped back in and slammed it shut. The officer jumped onto his hood and started slamming the radio into his windshield as she screamed.
“
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he shouted.
He looked over at the driver’s side. He started to climb into it when he heard the windshield crack from the impact of the radio.
He looked back out and saw the radio break apart as it made a hole the size of a soda can in the glass. The parking enforcement officer reached a hand through the opening, scraping the skin off her knuckles, and grabbed Mitchell’s hair.
She started to yank it.
Mitchell whipped his head back. Her bloody fingers still held on to clumps of his hair.
He leaned back out of her reach. Red polished nails flew past his face.
Did he try to start the car and drive off with her on it? Could he even drive with her trying to rip his face off through the windshield?
He fumbled his keys from his pocket and shoved them into the ignition from the passenger side. He tried to pull the car from park to reverse so he could throw her free. Fuck. He forgot he needed to press on the brake pedal to do that.
Mitchell tried to reach under her arm as it swung through the hole like an angry snake looking for something to strike.
His left hand felt a pedal. He pushed it. The engine revved up. Damn it! He pushed the other pedal as his right hand tried to pull the shifter.
Crack!
Mitchell looked up as pieces of glass began to rain down him.
The parking officer was trying to squeeze her round body through the opening she’d just made larger.
Her right shoulder and head were coming through the glass.
Mitchell pulled himself back into the passenger side.
The stout woman tried pushing through as her left hand pounded on the outside of the windshield. It was a mess of cracking glass and bloody handprints. Her eyes kept staring at him, never looking away.
Crack!
The window blew apart and showered small pieces of broken safety glass everywhere. She placed a hand on the window frame and pulled her body toward Mitchell.
His right hand found the door handle and pulled on it. Mitchell fell out of the car and to the ground.
The woman climbed all the way into the car. On impulse, he slammed the door shut and kicked it closed.
Still on all fours, he crawled backward over the grass to the sidewalk.
The woman slammed her face against the passenger window and let out a scream. Bloodshot eyes tore into him. She began beating on the window with bloody fists as she pounded her head into the glass.
Her face was crisscrossed with lacerations. More blood was visible than skin.
Mitchell knew he couldn’t stay there. He was certain she was either going to break through the glass or just open the goddamned door when she calmed down for a second.
Did parking officers carry guns, he wondered?
He looked to his left and then to his right. Somewhere out there Rachel and Rick were still trying to hunt for him.
The woman in his car started kicking at the window.
Fearful of getting cornered by Rachel, Rick or the parking officer, Mitchell got to his feet and started running toward a more populated part of town. Maybe someone could tell him why people were acting so crazy.
He ran down the street and crossed several intersections without looking. He ran up another street to put him out of the line of sight of the parking woman. As he bolted through another intersection, a car honked at him.
That normal human reaction made him feel slightly better.
When he got to a safe place, he could call the police and try to find out what was going on. How come four out of the last seven people he talked to in the last 24 hours tried to kill him? He wasn’t a spy. He didn’t have any secrets.
What the fuck?
A mile away from his car he started to slow down his pace. He needed a place to think and sort things out before he called the police. He had no idea what to tell them.
Every time he tried to think about what happened, he felt disconnected, like he was watching someone else’s bad dream. Rachel’s face was something out of a nightmare. Nothing made sense. He did the only thing he could -- keep moving forward.
Up ahead he saw the mall where he would sometimes go hang out while Rachel was at work. He picked up his pace and hurried there. He knew he’d feel safer in someplace public, somewhere people could help him if Rachel, Rick or the parking woman came after him.
Mitchell jogged past the half-full parking lot and went through the sliding glass doors.
Safety in numbers
, he thought.
8
Mitchell headed straight from the entrance and toward the food court. Under the skylight, surrounded by a dozen fast-food places, he knew he would feel less alone, less vulnerable.
This was where he went when Rachel told him it was over and he didn’t have any friends to talk to. The mall was where he went for a sense of normal.
He walked briskly past the shops and kiosks. The smell of orange chicken and french fries told him he was getting closer.
He pulled out his iPhone and sat down at a table on the outskirts of the food court.
A few tables away, a woman knocked over her drink as she tried to reach across the table to feed her baby in its highchair. She got up to get some napkins to clean the mess.
He looked at the lines of people forming at the counters during their lunch break. Hunger began to overtake all his other instincts as his stomach let out a growl. He ignored it and stared at his locked phone screen. He’d removed the photo of Rachel after she’d broken up with him.
He tried to swipe the unlock, but his finger was still shaking from the adrenaline and anxiety. He tried again and unlocked it. He pressed the phone icon and began typing 911 into the keypad.
His finger paused over the “call” button.
How would he explain what was happening to the calm voice on the other side?
He wouldn’t tell them about the girl the night before. That would only complicate things. Should he tell them that Rick was trying to kill him and leave out Rachel entirely? His story sounded better that way.
What should he say about the meter maid? His stomach turned into a knot when he realized the woman he had just run from was effectively the police.
“
Fuck. I’m a fugitive from the police.” The words slipped off his tongue as the severity of it all went beyond the immediate implications of people trying to kill him.
Had he broken any laws in trying to get away? How fucked up would that be?
He heard another faint growl. He looked at his stomach. It didn’t feel hungry at that point. He heard the growl again. It was coming from off to the side.
Mitchell looked toward the direction the sound was coming from. The baby in its highchair was staring at him. Its mouth was wide open, revealing little teeth in pinks gums. The child’s tiny bloodshot eyes were locked on Mitchell. It let out another growl as it creased its forehead and squinted its eyes.
Mitchell slid his iPhone back into his pocket and watched. The baby began to rock in its highchair, letting out its animal groan. It gnashed its teeth and rocked harder. It let out a shrill scream.
Mitchell was afraid the child was going to tip over. Instinct told him to go help it. Other instincts, more primal than his protective mammal ones, told him to stay clear.
The child rocked the highchair so hard it slid a few inches across the tile floor. The baby reached out a hand and clawed at the air. It clawed again and tried to grab Mitchell from twenty feet away.
Mitchell jerked back in his seat, as if the baby was going to reach across the distance.