Song: Shelter by Machineheart
***
"Okay, you can do this," I reassure myself as I place my hands on the steering wheel. I haven't driven on my own in forever, because my mom would never loan me her car.
And ever since kids have been allowed to legally drive alone with just their permit, I haven't exactly been to eager to get back on the roads. Fourteen year olds are the most reckless drivers I know, after all.
I put the car in drive and carefully back out of the driveway and onto the main road. The car babbles to me about an autopilot mode, and I quickly decline the offer. I personally prefer to be the one in control of my own car.
Now where do I even go? I ask myself. I know that I'd be safer in a small town, but that's exactly where anyone who knows me would expect me to go. So, I decide, a city it is; I had just better hope that this disguise works well enough.
I decide to settle on a city extremely far from home, the first one coming to my mind being Seattle. Seeing as most speed limits are now set at around two hundred miles per hour, it shouldn't take me too terribly long to get there.
After just an hour of driving, I begin to notice the enormous amount of other drivers who use autopilot. Deciding it would be best to fit in, I reluctantly switch my car to autopilot. The only plus side to this is that I'm now able to use the car's search engine to search up job offers in Seattle.
Nearly every human-needing job imaginable pops up, the only issue being that most require a college degree. Seeing as I'm technically only sixteen, I don't have a degree of any kind. And suddenly, the jobs become more and more unappealing.
Ever since prostitution was made legal in all 50 states in 2020, hundreds of prostitution agencies have sprung up in every state. There are seven in Seattle alone, and they pay extremely well. I can't deny that it's tempting, but my decent morals get the better of me and I scroll past them all.
Several other options happen to be manicurist, waitress, and even dogsitting. But every single job that I could possibly take seems to pay absolutely terribly.
I hesitate, but force myself to select the option for an interview as a waitress. With jobs like these, they never need an application. They're far too desperate for employees.
I exhale deeply after setting up my interview, closing my eyes and leaning back in my chair. My eyelids feel heavy and I let them droop shut for a quick nap.
***
My body gently lurches forward, and I can feel my car begin to slow down. I open my eyes, glancing at the clock in horror. I was asleep for four hours!
"What the-" I mutter as I peer out my side window. Red and blue flashing lights flicker from behind my car, and I realize immediately that I'm being pulled over. I groan as my window rolls down, and a blue-clad officer approaches.
"License or permit and registration, please," he says monotonously. I fiddle in the glove box for the registration as I hand the officer my permit. The officer simply nods at the registration papers, not even bothering to check them. I sigh in relief, stuffing them back in the glove box. But as he checks my permit, I hold my breath. "Do you know why I pulled you over, m'am?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No, sir," I gulp. I watch as he squints at my permit then back at me, repeating the gesture several times.
Choosing his words carefully, he states, "Step out of the car please. You're under arrest."
My heart thumps wildly in my chest. "U-Under arrest? For what?" I choke.
"I think you know, Miss Brennan. You're a Dasher and that no-good gang leader everyone's after," he says, then orders once more, "Now step out of the car."
Oh that's right, you're the "gang leader" everyone wants dead, I tell myself. But what the hell is a Dasher? And how did he recognize me?
"What's a Dasher?" I ask, refusing to step out of the car.
The officer doesn't answer, and instead draws his gun. "Get out of the car. Now," he orders once more, and I know that I have to either go with him or make my move.
And I'm not doing the former.
I floor the vehicle, sending it speeding up the highway in a flurry of burning rubber. "You're an idiot," I mutter to myself, shaking my head. The officer makes a mad dash for his car, but I'm already so far ahead that I doubt he'll catch me.
Turns out, I'm wrong.
Next thing I know the officer is not just behind me, but in the lane beside me, on my right. All other cars move out of our way with ease, most likely on autopilot themselves. The officer has his window rolled down and his gun pointed directly at my head. I set my car on autopilot at its fastest speed and duck down beneath my seat just as the officer fires a round into my car. The passenger side window shatters, sending a spray of glass everywhere in my car. I cover my head with my hands to protect from the falling shards, wincing as several pieces pierce my hands and send ribbons of warm, sticky blood trailing down my arms.
The officer fires several more rounds into my car, but misses all of his targets. He fires another round which manages to blast through the passenger's side door, but nothing more. I stay crouched low as my car speeds onward, and I can only pray that it's making ground. I'm just grateful that I haven't died yet.
Suddenly, the onslaught of bullets stops. The noise ceases, even the sounds of other cars are gone. I will myself to peek up over the side of my seat to see that the officer is gone. Cautiously, I peer out all of my other windows to find that now there aren't actually any cars in sight. Even the police car has miraculously disappeared. I'm now on a small back road with no one around, trusting that my car knows where it's supposed to be going.
I pull myself up, sitting back in the driver's side seat and taking a deep breath as I run my fingers through my short hair. Although I don't want to believe it, I know deep down that that probably won't be my only run-in with authorities.
It appears as though my lane was an exit only lane, and I must have been the only car able to get into, or stay in, that lane. Lucky me, I suppose. But still - it seemed too easy.
I watch the road fly by in front of me and am just barely able to catch the sign reading, "Welcome to Seattle!" in big, gold letters.
As I grip my bleeding hand my car speeds onward into Seattle, which is about to be my new home.
***
