The Dark One watched the Statesman swerving through traffic, a chorus of horns honking and pedestrians shouting as he swept past boarded-up businesses and pubs packed since dawn. The gloryroading madman flew ahead of him, then disappeared at a busy intersection, but the Statesman’s shrieking tires let him know which way his quarry had turned.
image [https://media.drive.com.au/obj/tx_q:50,rs:auto:1920:1080:1/driveau/upload/cms/uploads/bewqdqn4fsuctw12h9vv]
“Watch it! Watch it!” Barry cried out just as the Dark One flew into the intersection, pulling around a sedan only for his tail-end to connect with another car’s bumper. With teeth gritted and stomach turning flips he swung wide, the wrecker’s tires wailing as he drifted, then corrected his course.
“Got your seat belt on?” said the Dark One, his eyes narrowing as the Statesman disappeared from view.
“We’re gonna n-need a wrecker ourselves, you keep driving like that!”
“Big Bopper here,” Goose’s voice came through the CB radio. “Where is this guy?”
Even as the Dark One’s hand darted out to grab the CB mic, another voice chimed in. “Perp is making for the freeway,” said Sarse. “Dark One, that you in the white wrecker?”
“That’s me, alright!” said the Dark One. “I’m en route to the freeway ramp, but I can’t-”
“I see you,” said Sarse. “Shove over, will you, mate?”
The Dark One edged into the oncoming lane just as he heard the cry of a siren, then the March Hare tore past him, a streak of yellow, red, and blue flying down the lane. A wide smile broke across the Dark One’s face.
“They got him,” he said quietly.
“I g-guess that m-means… we can pull over?” said Barry.
The smile immediately fled the Dark One’s face. “Anything can happen on the road. I’ll take a shortcut to the next on-ramp. If this guy gets ahead of our boys, we can set up a blockade and-”
“What?!” Barry shouted. “You can’t g-get ahead of somebody on the f-freeway! Especially not in this thing!”
The Dark One flashed Barry a sudden grin that seemed demonic, especially with the sound of the engine revving. “What did I tell you about that seat belt, Bartholomew?”
With a groan of despair, Barry slid down from his seat and squatted on the floorboard, curling up like a long-limbed insect seeking the safety of its cocoon.
* * *
“Bronze runnin’ up on us!” Tendy shouted, peering through the rear window at Sarse and Roop coming up from behind, the March Hare’s lights flashing in a frenzy of red and blue.
image [https://i.pinimg.com/originals/54/9a/d3/549ad38906d76e4dcfc77c550dcc39ec.jpg]
“Bronze up front, too,” Curleque said, nodding at the windscreen as the Albatross flew down the freeway exit ramp.
In the Albatross, Scuttle grimaced as Darryl stuck the front of the shotgun out of the window. “Oi, keep that thing inside for now,” said Scuttle. “I’m gonna come at these guys hard enough to let ‘em know we mean business.”
Swallowing, Darryl nodded. “Right!” he said, checking his seat belt.
In the back of the Statesman, Grassman clutched the seats in front of him, his eyes widening in terror. “Oh, God!” he cried out. “He’s coming straight for us!”
“Shut yer gob, little man!” said Curleque, smiling oddly. He pushed the accelerator and the engine roared, pressing him back into his seat. “You sound like a little Toad! You know that?”
“You’re gonna hit him!”
“Watch and learn, little Toadie!”
The Statesman was slower to accelerate, nevertheless it was soon speeding toward Scuttle’s Pursuit Interceptor. Darryl pressed his head back against the headrest, opened his mouth as if to speak, then clamped his mouth shut.
In the March Hare, Sarse eased off the accelerator and watched the two vehicles racing toward one another, swallowing in a dry throat.
With his fingers gripped on the wheel, Scuttle saw cars braking in his peripheral vision, then the world seemed to grow quiet as the brown Statesman grew in his vision.
“Jesus,” Roop muttered.
Though Scuttle had been planning on braking hard as soon as Curleque either braked or turned down a sidestreet, his heart slammed against his chest as he realized the criminal was not going to move. He jerked the wheel, then felt himself flung against his seat belt as the Statesman slammed into his rear-right corner, spinning him across the intersection. Slamming on his brakes, he swore he heard Curleque laughing for a split second, the sound stretching out unnaturally.
With his rear wheels swerving Curleque raced through the intersection, tapped the brake and jerked the wheel, then drifted through the freeway ramp. Darryl flung an arm over his head as the Albatross sideswiped a food cart, tossing hot chips and oil skyward before they sandwiched the food cart against the brick wall of a boarded-up grocery.
Roop hung out of the window of the March Hare as Sarse blasted through the intersection, laying on his horn.
“Scuttle! Scuttle!” Sarse shouted.
“He’s alright!” said Roop, pulling his head back in the window. “They’re in one piece, but Scut’s as red as the devil.”
Sarse swept onto the on ramp, catching Big Bopper’s flashing lights from the corner of his eye as Charlie approached from a side street.
“Don’t worry, Scut!” Goose’s voice came through the radio. “Me an’ the boys will bring this one in!”
“The hell you will!” Darryl immediately answered. “Talkin’ about us like we’re dead! We’re not-”
“Can it, Probie!” Scuttle’s voice crackled through the radio. As Charlie and Goose followed Sarse and Roop onto the freeway, Goose smiled at the sight of Scuttle’s dark blue Pursuit Interceptor pulling away from the devastated food cart, limping as it came off the sidewalk. “You just get ready with that shotgun!” Scuttle added.
“Like I wanted from the start,” the young probie grumbled.
* * *
“Yeeeeeaaaah!” Curleque screamed. “Eat that, Bronze!”
He felt alive, his blood replaced with electricity, coursing through his hands and into the steering wheel, uniting man and machine in a ritual of violence. He knew there was no longer any way that the Nightrider could ignore him. Better still, that theatrical fop, the Toecutter, would be old news after the tale of Curleque’s rampage spread. Curleque was on the freeway flying past traffic by the time he realized Tendy was laughing hysterically and poor Grassman was crying out in horror.
“You see that, little Toadie-Man!” Curleque spat, glancing into the back so that he could see the bank manager lying down in the seat, his face frozen in a bulging rictus of terror.
Tendy’s laughter cut short when she looked through the rear window. “Two Bronze behind us now, babe!”
Swerving around a truck and edging a motorcycle into the grass, Curleque gunned the engine, then said, “I’m busy here!”
“I’ll handle this, then.”
Tendy reached into the back seat. Grassman flinched as if under attack, but Tendy ignored him and pulled a long bundle out of the floorboard. She unwrapped it, revealing a lever-action Long Ranger .308 rifle. She jerked open the glove compartment and found several large .308 rounds lying in a pile. Smiling in anticipation, she loaded four rounds, then threw the lever and chambered one with a satisfying klack!
image [https://s3.amazonaws.com/mgm-content/sites/armslist/uploads/posts/2018/10/10/8995382_01_henry_long_ranger_rifle_308_wi_640.jpg]
Glancing over her shoulder and seeing two Interceptors approaching, she took a deep breath, then got up in her seat, pushed herself through the window, and sat on top of the door’s window frame. Wind roared in her ears, blowing her hair around her face like a black halo. Her gaze fixed on Sarse behind the wheel of the March Hare, then moved to Roop cursing in the seat beside him. She caught her balance as Curleque weaved around a slow-moving van. Taking another deep breath, Tendy lifted the rifle, placed her cheek along the side, took aim at Sarse - then fired.
The rifle bucked in her hands and immediately flew out of her grasp. She looked on in horror as it disappeared in the thick grass of the median strip between the east and westbound lanes. Glancing at her target, she saw that Sarse was alive and well.
Tendy pulled herself back into her seat. Noticing her stony expression, Curleque did a double-take.
“Well?!” he said.
“Oi! Gimme another gun!”
Curleque glared at her, then looked around. “What’d you do with the other one?”
“I didn’t like it. I, uh… I put it in the back seat…”
Suspecting something was off, Curleque glanced over his shoulder. He saw nothing in the back seat but Grassman staring upward like a corpse. “You didn’t drop it, did you?!”
“You were swervin’ around!”
“You idiot!” Curleque shouted. “You have any idea how hard it is to get a gun like that? Nightrider’s gonna kill me!”
“Oh, cry harder! Just gimme another gun.”
Seeing an Interceptor approaching in his sideview, he hissed through gritted teeth, then threw open his jacket. Tendy quickly untied the slender rope holding the sawed-off to his shoulder, then rummaged through his jacket pocket for shells.
“Those are solid slugs,” Curleque grated. “That rifle was gentle compared to this monster!”
“You just drive without doin’ this,” said Tendy, jerking her fists up and down.
* * *
Goose wiped the sweat from his hands, then unholstered his Smith & Wesson Model 28 - a large .357 service revolver issued to all MFP officers - as Charlie brought them up close to the Statesman’s left side. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Sarse was approaching the Statesman from the other side. He smiled as he noticed Roop already hanging his head out of the window, lips puckered in anger, no doubt ready for action.
image [https://www.gunsamerica.com/UserImages/6160/920894898/wm_5474386.jpg]
“Sarse, you ready?” said Goose. “We’re about clear o’ traffic, perfect chance to blow his tires out.”
“We’re ready, Goose,” Sarse’s voice came through the radio. “Let’s take care of these scags and get a bite to eat.”
Goose unlatched his seat belt, then nodded at Charlie. The young probie’s face was a steely mask of fearful determination.
“Easy, Charlie,” said Goose. “Just box him in, and I’ll let a little air out of his tires. Then we back off and let him wear himself out.”
“Right, sir,” said Charlie, nodding quickly.
The Goose pressed back against his seat as Big Bopper accelerated, then he suddenly leaned out of the window with his revolver extended. He nearly smiled at the sight of the March Hare drawing up on the other side, with Roop red in the face and muttering oaths as he extended his shotgun. Wind whipped through the Goose’s hair and rasped in his ears as he balanced one foot on the dashboard and aimed across the windscreen at the Statesman.
A bolt of fear shot through him a split-second before he saw Tendy turn toward him, taking aim with a sawed-off shotgun. Goose ducked back within the cab just as the shotgun roared and the windscreen spiderwebbed. Tendy screamed with manic delight as she fired again, obliterating the sideview mirror inches away from Goose as he leaned into his seat.
“Damn it!” Charlie cried, turning wildly in an effort to get away from the madwoman. At the same moment, Curleque jerked the wheel and sideswiped the March Hare. Roop fired but missed the tire, instead tearing holes in the Statesman’s rear with a spray of buckshot. Charlie overcorrected to avoid a truck that had pulled over onto the side of the road, and ended up ahead of the Statesman. To avoid Charlie, Curleque jerked the wheel toward the March Hare once again, this time with enough force to push it careening across the grassy median.
Nearly blinded, Charlie hit the brakes just as his front headlight smacked against a parked sedan’s left tail light, sending Big Bopper’s tail end swinging out. As if in a dream he saw Goose’s legs in front of his face a moment before his teammate was thrown into the backseat. His Interceptor came to a shrieking standstill with bits of glass raining down from the limp windscreen.
While Sarse fought the steering wheel as he tore across the median, Curleque smacked into his side once again, forcing them both into a one-eighty, their cars launching over uneven ground and spraying clods of dirt before their tires smacked into the opposite lane.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Saint Peter!” Roop screamed, hanging onto his dangling seat belt with one hand as if clinging to a life raft. “This… shit!”
With the brake jammed into the floorboard, the front end crashed into a waist-high median barrier and came to a stop. Glancing over at his partner, he caught sight of Curleque’s face reddened with laughter, his shoulders shaking as he gunned the engine and scraped the Statesman’s flank against the March Hare before swinging into opposing lanes of traffic. Traffic ground to a halt as Curleque swung around the barrier, tore across the median once again, then spun out like a caterwauling demon before tearing down the eastbound lanes once again.
Sarse exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding. “You alright, Roop?” he said.
“Am I alright?!” his probie shouted, leaning out of the window and glaring at the Statesman.
“Don’t worry, you guys,” Scuttle’s grim voice came through the radio. “We’re gonna smear this scag on the pavement.”
The dented Albatross raced down the freeway, siren howling and lights flashing as it pursued the Statesman. Lifting up from the backseat, Goose shook his head and smiled at the sight of young Darryl pumping his shotgun, mullet dancing in the wind.
* * *
“Another one comin’ up?” said Curleque, smile fading as he glared at his rearview mirror.
“Oi!” Tendy shrieked. “How do I open this thing up to put another bullet in it?”
“Oh, God!” Grassman suddenly bolted upright. Curleque thought at first that he was going to be sick, but instead the bank manager turned toward the rear window. “I have to tell them!”
“What are you on about?” said Curleque. Grasping the sawed-off, he pulled the top lever and opened it up. Tendy pulled it back out of his grasp so that she could reload.
“I have to let them know I’m a hostage!” Grassman wailed. He began waving his hands awkwardly, shouting, “I’m a hostage! Don’t shoot!”
Curleque grimaced, feeling sick looking at such hysterical behavior. “Just lay down, you idiot! We’ll wake ya up when it’s time ta split the money.”
* * *
“The hell is he doin’?” said Darryl.
“I don’t know,” said Scuttle. “But be careful not to shoot him. Here - you just watch out for that gal, while I fishtail him.”
Scuttle swung the Interceptor to the right of the Statesman. Already enraged by what the gloryroader had done to them, the sight of an Interceptor’s yellow paint scraped along the side of the Statesman sent still more blood rushing to his head.
“Probie,” Scuttle said through gritted teeth, “as soon as we force them off the road, I want you to blast that-”
“Look out!”
Tendy popped out of the window on the other side of the Statesman, her mouth hanging open as she took aim at Scuttle. He jerked the wheel, the shotgun roared and kicked in her hand, and the windscreen shattered, blinding him. She fired another shot and Scuttle felt something like hot water splash onto the side of his face. He braked hard, sending them into a skid, and then Darryl fell against him.
Turning to him, Scuttle saw Darryl’s chest had turned into a faucet, with dark blood pumping down the front of his blue t-shirt and splashing onto the seat. The large solid slug had drilled through the center of his chest, punching through bone and killing him instantly. Scuttle caught a glimpse of the young man’s face, bone-white, drained of blood, his eyes staring into nothingness. Scuttle immediately looked away. He had the distinct impression that he was not skidding across the road, but rather, falling into a dark pit, or into a nightmare that would never end. He shut his eyes to block out the horrible sight, then felt the Albatross sideswipe a median barrier and slide along it, the sound of metal shrieking against metal like a distant high-pitched whistling that he could hardly hear. He came to a stop, but could not open his eyes. The vision of Darryl was seared into his mind, the young probie with his future ahead of him suddenly erased and replaced with a corpse.
* * *
“Got ‘im! Got ‘im!” Curleque shouted, laughing with manic intensity.
“I got him!” Tendy shouted, falling back into her seat. “I got him, babe!”
“Oi, I guess you think you’ll get a phi tat then, eh? A real mark from the Nightrider hisself?!”
“Right, I will!”
“When I’m the one behind the wheel? When this whole thing was my idea!?”
Tendy scoffed. “You just worry about drivin’, an’ let me worry about…”
She saw Curleque’s eyes go wide, then she turned in time to see the Dark One’s white wrecker flying up the freeway entry lane. Curleque hit the accelerator, but still the white wrecker slammed into their side. The rear windows shattered in a glittering spray and Tendy was sucked from her window as if a giant’s hand had snatched her out. The Dark One flinched as Tendy smacked against the corner of his windscreen, shattering glass as well as her spine before she went spinning sideways, destined for the pavement.
Curleque swerved into the grassy median, one wheel wobbling off kilter as he scraped against a fence. The Dark One pulled away, his nerves rattling.
“Bartholomew? Bartholomew! Are you okay?”
He did not respond, but when the Dark One turned to him, the mechanic nodded, then tucked his head back down into his arms.
“Right, then,” said the Dark One, “looks like we just bagged ourselves a-”
The Dark One was caught unawares as the ragged Statesman raced toward him, smashing into the front-right corner. With surprising force the Statesman pushed him across the road, then sent him bounding over a mound of dirt. He closed his eyes and felt the truck taking off in flight, then the frame shuddered as the back wheels smacked against a section of barrier. His stomach leaped up into his throat. The Dark One opened his eyes, then saw that they were flying down a hill. A stand of eucalyptus trees lay below, gathered around an aged tree with pale, gnarled branches held wide as if in expectation of an embrace.
* * *
Along the winding beachfront road, Max’s blood ran cold when he saw Barbelon leaning out of the window with his .44 Magnum held level. The wind whipped Barbelon’s suit jacket and tie, and his hair tossed around his high forehead. Max jerked the steering wheel to the right just as the Magnum barked. A neat hole appeared in the center of a spiderweb on the windscreen, then Barbelon fired again and again, sending another round smacking into the glass.
image [https://www.gunsamerica.com/userimages/3602/920653074/wm_14314999.jpg]
With preternatural control Max jerked the wheel moments before careening off the road, somehow riding the wave of fear as he brought the Interceptor back into Barbelon’s line of sight. Max gunned the engine, swerving left, then right again as the Magnum kicked in Barbelon’s hands. Barbelon glared at Max with unrestrained hatred. They locked eyes for one moment, then Barbelon slid back inside the blue coupe. Max slowly exhaled.
image [https://topworldauto.com/photos/9b/1c/mazda-mazda-818-coupe-mazda_8b527.jpg]
Max’s gaze lingered on one of the holes in his windscreen, mere inches from his head. The fear he had felt only a moment before turned his heart to ice, the racing thoughts suddenly forming into a sharp and very clear understanding of what was happening. He had no doubt that the criminal was reloading his revolver at this very moment. Any thought of waiting for backup now seemed laughable as he followed the coupe around a tight turn that whipped around a stony rise.
Max floored the accelerator and let himself press back against the seat. Just as Barbelon swung out of his window once again, the Interceptor’s bumper smacked into the coupe’s rear end. Barbelon cursed, jerking in fright as he fought for balance. He flung himself back inside the coupe like a frightened mole just as Max rear-ended the smaller vehicle once again, sending its back end swinging left and right.
As Pinko fought to get the Mazda back under control, Max noticed Barbelon climbing into the backseat. Even as he struggled inside the swaying coupe, the young man took the time to look back at Max, sending him an angry glare. Max wondered if he was planning on trying to stick his gun through the tiny rear window, if that was even possible, so that he would not have to hang out of the passenger-side window. Imagining the criminal straining to come up with a good plan, a slight smile cracked the corners of Max’s mouth.
Max had always wondered how he would perform under pressure. Would the fear be too much for him? Would he cave? Would he have to go back to his little apartment with Jess and tell her that he had resigned, the job was too difficult, there would be no house on the beach? Max’s slight smile suddenly melted, for he realized that there was something worse than being broken by the fear of violence along the white line…
He was actually enjoying it.
Barbelon rose up into a crouch while examining the narrow rear window on the driver’s side. The coupe slowed just a bit; spotting an intersection ahead, Max instinctively knew that the driver was contemplating whether he should make a last minute high-speed turn and lose him. Realizing that Pinko’s indecision was an opportunity, Max pressed the accelerator, sending the Interceptor roaring at the coupe. Turning slightly, he slammed into the left corner of the Mazda’s rear, sending it into a squealing spin. The last thing he saw before tearing ahead of the coupe was Barbelon bouncing around inside the cab in a blur of tangled limbs.
As the Mazda spun it smacked into a stop sign, laying the metal against the earth before crashing into a wooden fence. Wooden posts raked the passenger’s side, tearing metal and shattering windows. The coupe rose up on two tires as it came to a stop, then seemed to consider its fate before slamming back down in a torrent of dust and debris.
Max jerked the wheel and pulled the parking brake, painting the pavement with a line of black rubber. He threw open the door and was on foot before the white smoke of burnt tires could even clear the pavement, the acrid stench stinging his nostrils. He unholstered his Smith & Wesson .357 revolver and approached the smoking, hissing coupe with quick steps. His awareness was filled with a white-hot intensity, free of fear, buzzing with a sort of primal, predatory caution.
Reaching the Mazda, he said nothing, but only threw open the driver’s side door. Pinko sat staring ahead with dull, glassy eyes, blinking as if trying to recall some dream. Two lines of dark red blood ran down his nose and mouth. Max grabbed him by his arm, flung him out of his seat, and sent him tumbling into the dirt. Pinko coughed violently, but fell limp, offering no resistance.
Max peered inside the coupe with his revolver extended. Expecting to see Barbelon glaring at him, he saw only the young man’s rear end. He sat curled up in the passenger seat, his face pressed against the door, where blood was smeared across the leather interior. Unmindful of his injuries, Max reached in, grabbed an ankle, and with adrenaline coursing through him he jerked Barbelon out and sent him flopping onto his belly. He felt sickly satisfied at the sound of Barbelon’s forehead smacking against the door frame.
Just as Pinko began to stir, Max holstered his revolver, rolled him onto his belly, and cuffed his wrists. Then he bent and cuffed Barbelon as well. Breathing a ragged sigh of relief, he suddenly looked at Barbelon. He was not sure if the criminal was even alive or dead. He rolled him over, and was surprised to see him staring back at him through a mask of blood. His mouth was clenched tight, but the hatred in his eyes was evident. Max felt a chill run up his spine. There was something inhuman about the young man, as if he was merely a puppet inhabited by some madness that was incomprehensible to man. Max swallowed, then grabbed Barbelon by the collar.
“Up,” said Max. “Come on. Both of you.”
* * *
Curleque was finally free of the Bronze. But he would need to get another ride soon; even with the accelerator floored, the Statesman could hardly pick up any speed. He was not surprised. One tire was a shredded mess, the engine was straining, and something was bouncing around under the crumpled bonnet. His neck was killing him, and it was made even worse by leaning over to see between cracks in the windscreen.
“Wh-where did she go?” Grassman muttered from the backseat. “That girl? D-did she leave?”
“Leave?!” A hot spike of anger shot through Curleque’s veins. “You saw her fly out the window, same as I did!” he shouted.
Grassman said nothing. Wondering if the old fool had passed out, Curleque turned to get a look - and saw Big Bopper racing up behind him. With the Pursuit vehicle’s windscreen kicked out, he could clearly see Charlie glaring at him behind the wheel. A slight smile playing on the Goose’s face. With Curleque’s rear window cracked, it was impossible for him to make out the battered March Hare directly behind Big Bopper.
Curleque’s eyes scanned the road ahead, desperate for an exit, maybe a parked car - anything. Within a moment, Big Bopper pulled up alongside him, on the left-hand side, the blare of the siren filling the cab and drowning out all thought. Charlie’s gaze fixed with his, a cold glare of authority warning Curleque against anymore bullshit.
“Hey, fella!” Goose shouted through the open window. “Pull over! Or you’ll regret it!”
Swallowing in a dry throat, Curleque stuck one hand in his jacket. Though his mouth had clamped up, and he could not speak, he hoped that the Bronze would back off if they thought he had another gun. Charlie’s mouth fell open.
“He’s got a gun,” the Goose said calmly. “Tap the brake, will ya, Charlie?”
Big Bopper shrieked as her tires locked up and slid against concrete. Curleque breathed a sigh of relief. Facing front, he realized that two other Bronze were looking at him from the March Hare driving along his other side.
“You see a gun on him, Roop?” said Sarse.
Roop leaned over with his pump-action shotgun held level. “Yeah, far as I can tell,” he said, then pulled the trigger.
The shotgun kicked against Roop’s shoulder and in a flash of fire Curleque’s throat and jaw disappeared. Grassman flinched at the horrific sound but even as he slammed his eyes shut, he still caught a glimpse of the red wave, with teeth and meat slapping against the interior of the passenger side door. He heard a dull thud as Curleque fell dead against the wheel. The sound of sirens grew dim as the Main Force Patrol officers slowed down, waiting for the Statesman to roll to a stop.
* * *
“We’ll check on the Dark One!” the Goose shouted, then Charlie peeled out, turning a one-eighty. Roop stepped out of the March Hare while Sarse remained behind the wheel.
“Scut! Scuttle!” said Sarse, one hand resting on the radio switch. “You there, mate? Darryl? Come on, guys!”
With his shotgun held in both hands, Roop approached the wrecked Statesman. The back door flew open, and Roop’s heart leaped into his throat. Grassman fell out, colliding with the pavement like a heavy sack. Roop froze in his tracks.
“Oh, God! God! I’m alive!” said Grassman.
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Roop, taking in a breath and easing his finger off the trigger. “You’re okay, pal. Just relax, alright? Emergency Response’ll be here in a minute.”
Roop expected the bank manager to sit back and take a breath, but instead, Grassman crawled up to him on his hands and knees. Roop stepped back, unsure of himself. Grassman closed the gap and grabbed Roop by his knees.
“Don’t kill me!” Grassman shouted.
“Hey, calm down, mate! Alright? Look, we got you. The bad guys are done for. Alright?”
“L-listen to me, I’m not a threat!” Grassman stammered, spittle flying from his mouth. “There’s no reason to hurt me! Or kill me! I’m… I’m just a Toad! A harmless Toadie!”
Roop pulled his leg free from Grassman’s grip, but still the broken man crawled toward him. Roop was confused by the force of his own disgust. It was not the first time he had seen someone traumatized, but there was something different about the man’s behavior. An over-the-top show of fearful submission, but with dull, empty eyes leading down to a bottomless pit.
Though it was his job to protect him, Roop found the man inhuman.
* * *
Max sped east along the freeway, following a plume of smoke until he saw Big Bopper parked near a leaning steel barrier hanging over a steep incline. Max brought his Interceptor to a screeching halt. Charlie watched him from behind the wheel of Big Bopper, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold it together. Goose stepped out, his gaze fixed on the two criminals cuffed in the back of Max’s Interceptor.
Max hopped out, nodding to Goose. “The others alright?”
“You took ‘em alone?” said Goose, ignoring the question.
Max nodded once.
“That was really stupid,” said Goose. “Good on ya, mate!”
“Somebody go over the side here?”
“Yeah, come on.”
As they made their way over to the damaged fence, Goose glanced over at Max. Though he was only a probie, the Goose could not help but think that he would likely become their top pursuit man. He certainly had the potential for it.
Max suddenly froze in his tracks, then Goose did the same.
At the bottom of the steep dropoff, they saw that a wrecking truck had gone over the side and wrapped its front end around a eucalyptus tree. The windscreen was blasted out, and a splatter of blood dripped down the hard bark of the tree, looking almost like the blood of some ritual sacrifice. It was obvious that the driver had flown through the windscreen, collided with the tree face-first, and then bounced back inside the vehicle. Running along the fence so they could get a better look, they saw Barry, the mechanic, curled up on the floorboard.
The Dark One was still sitting behind the wheel. He was moving. They could see that he was alive, but something was wrong.
“Dark One!” Max called out. “Dark One! You-”
He fell silent as the Goose gripped his arm in sudden alarm. Then Max finally understood what he was looking at.
The Dark One’s mouth hung open, and he was taking in deep gulps of air, as if trying to draw in breath so that he could scream. But his face was gone. Or rather, his face had been pushed back from his skull, torn free so that it lay piled up around his forehead, a grotesque mockery of the human form revealing the crimson visage of the bloody skull, eyes swiveling like mad as the Dark One tried to scream without a face.