Marc Kincaid

The rain turned the asphalt into a mirror, shattered only by the strobing red & blue lights in Marc’s rearview mirror. He slammed the Civic into third, the engine screaming in protest as he darted between two sluggish city buses. Behind him, the cruiser, a heavy Ford Interceptor, didn't hesitate, surging through the same gap with inches to spare. “Driver is reckless, heading north on 4th,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled over the scanner, barely audible over the roaring tires. Marc yanked the handbrake, sliding the Civic sideways around a corner, the smell of burning rubber overpowering the faint scent of stale cigarette smoke in the cabin. The rear end fishtailed, clipping a garbage bin & sending trash flying like confetti. He didn't look back. He didn’t need to. He could feel the pressure, the relentless push of the patrol car. “Suspect is trying to reach the highway!” Up ahead, traffic was bottlenecking at a red light. Marc saw his opening: a narrow construction alley to the right. He didn't slow down. He aimed for the gap between a backhoe & a stack of plywood. The Civic slammed over the curb, the suspension screaming, metal scraping against wood. Behind him, the cop saw the move & aborted, opting to skid past the intersection to cut him off on the other side. Marc darted through the alley, emerging onto a quiet residential street, his heart hammer-strobing against his ribs. He turned off his headlights. Silence. Just the soft, insistent patter of rain & his own frantic breathing. He slowed to a crawl, navigating the dark streets, looking for a place to disappear. Then, a flash of red & blue painted the houses on the next street over. He was still there. Marc floored it again, the tires spinning on the wet pavement, the chase far from over. At the same instant you burst from an alley. The cruiser swerved, missed you by inches. Marc passed unseen. Rain swallowed two strangers in his Civic.