Dont Be a Hero

Fugitive

He pulled to the shoulder and came to a stop. His head was swimming and there was a feeling similar to vertigo (but far more intense) pulsing through his body. He stepped out of the truck and slowed his breathing to a steady pace.

Once he had it under control and the feeling had subsided, he got back in and pulled back out onto the highway. He was just about to turn his stereo back up when something caused him to hesitate. He cocked his head, listening.

Thwap thwap thwap thwap thwap...

He looked out and up, into the sky. There was nothing.

Thwap thwap thwap thwap thwap...

It seemed to be getting louder.

Thwap thwap thwap thwap thwap thwap...

It was definitely a helicopter. He slammed his fists on the steering wheel and floored it. The truck responded and the needle crept up to over 100 mph.

Thwap thwap thwap thwap...

The chopper was getting closer. Jackson kept scanning the sky in every direction, trying to see it. He couldn't quite tell what direction it was coming from. He kept his foot on the gas.

Suddenly he was blinded by huge, bright lights directly in front of him where the chopper finally made an appearance, surging up from behind a hill. He swerved, trying to regain his vision. There it was. It came out of nowhere right in front of the truck. It was so loud and so bright that he almost lost control. The propellers were kicking up a dust storm that blinded him even more than the temporary loss of sight he'd experienced because of the bright lights.

"Detective Jackson Wolfe," he heard a voice say through a loud speaker somewhere on the chopper.

"You have got to be shittin me," he growled under his breath.

"Please pull over your vehicle and surrender or we will use deadly force."

"Like fucking HELL!" he snarled and with a swift jerk of the wheel, he threw the truck into 4WD and left the highway. He was driving out onto the open desert. Only a few hundred feet and he'd reach the mountains but then what? There wasn't much out here and hiding places were limited. Also, his truck was a 4WD, but it was not a mountain goat. 

He bounced over the terrain, glancing behind him. The helicopter had taken a minute to regain composure. They had not expected him to take of across the desert and it was dark. It must have seemed to them, in all the dust and confusion, like he'd vanished. He knew it wouldn't be long before they picked up his tracks. He kept going.

The terrain was getting rockier and more uneven. This was a good sign. It meant he was getting closer to the mountains where he might be able to find cover. He turned his headlights off and drove by braille.

He was hoping the chopper wouldn't see him in the blackness of the Utah wilderness. Ahead he saw the lights of St. George coming into view. He would be able to melt into the scenery there. He drove carefully, keeping the lights off. He could hear the helicopter in the distance, somewhere behind him, but he didn't give up hope. He kept going. 

He crawled into the coverage of the outskirts of St. George and made his way onto one of the side streets. He looked around, trying to find a decent place to hide his truck. He heard the steady "thwap thwap thwap" of the helicopter. It was closing in. Suddenly he spotted someone's wide open garage. It looked as though they had pulled away from home and forgot to hit the button to close it. The house was dark. He pulled into the garage slowly and put the truck in park. He got out and found the button on the wall that closed the automatic door.