Chased

Lyn and John had no time to digest this before they saw flashing lights off to the side and heard the sirens wailing. Lyn turned to see a motorcycle policeman alongside them, with the rider gesturing for them to pull over. She told John to obey. The police motorcycle pulled in right in front of them. The cyclist got off and unhurriedly removed his helmet, before walking towards them, looking at the broken windscreen. The pair sat silently as the policeman leaned in John's window. To their amazement, he asked if they knew it was illegal to drive with the screen in that condition. With relief, they realised he hadn't heard the recent bulletins. John gave his name and address because he couldn't produce a licence. They held their breath as the copper returned to his bike, retrieved an iPad type device and began tapping away. He'd just looked back at them with alarm, when their attention was drawn to the sound of loud, decelerating Harleys. They were going the opposite way, about ten of them. The last few of them had their heads turned towards Lyn and John, the rest were slowing down, looking for a gap in the railing to cross the median strip. John reacted automatically. He started the car, shoved it into gear and took off. His plan, if he even had one, was to pass the motorcycle policeman, on the inside and accelerate along the shoulder until he had the speed to pull into the traffic. He was so intent on looking in the wing mirror that he missed the policeman's reflex action. Hearing the car start behind him, the policeman stepped away from the bike and the road. Lyn's yell came too late to stop him hitting the guy with the offside wing. Stopping wasn't an option, so John continued to accelerate. In her mirror, Lyn watched in horror as the policeman tried to roll onto his feet. An impossible task with his leg sticking out at such an unnatural angle. Lyn vented her spleen at her chauffeur. John, trying to ignore her, just pulled into the flow of cars, then wove in and out of the traffic at well above the posted speed.

With no sign of pursuit, John took the second next exit and headed away from the freeway on increasingly minor roads. They both cringed whenever they saw a motorcycle.

Five minutes later, they spotted a shopping centre car park and pulled in to let the aftermath of the adrenalin rush wash over them. Lyn kept up a steady stream of abuse at both John's judgement and driving skills. He closed his eyes and tried to blot her out. He vaguely wondered which of his pursuers he should worry about the most. The police would lock him up and destroy what was left of his career. If he was lucky, the bikers would just beat him up. Maybe even cripple him. No, they were pussies. The real threat was Carlos. If he almost killed the kid in school because he badmouthed his sister, how much trouble was John in?

To distract himself, he rooted through his wife's glovebox until he found an old Leatherman tool. After explaining his plan to Lyn, she stood guard while he removed the licence plates from the car next to theirs. He put them on their car, then as an afterthought, put their old ones on the other car. It was less conspicuous than leaving it bare. They had to buy time until they decided what to do. They then took off on the road leading further out of town, pulling into a secluded spot along a river. Exhausted and tired, they laid the seats back and rested. As an afterthought, John suggested Lyn turned her phone off to prevent it being tracked.

"What the hell do we do now, John?"

"Buggered if I know, Lyn. I've got no phone, no wallet, and no money. If I turn up back at my place before she's had a chance to settle down, I'm toast. The same goes if I turn up at any of my family's places, I suspect. What about your place? They're probably watching it but we could sneak in. Surely, your husband will look after us, won't he?"

"Um... I don't know if we'll get much of a welcome there."

"Why not? You said he knew about us and was cool with it."

"Erm.. I may have bullshitted a little about that. Yes, he did know about us, but I may have exaggerated about how well he took it, so you could relax."

"So, you mean I have to watch out for an angry husband as well as everyone else. Jeeesus."

"No, he's not like that. He hasn't a malicious bone in his body and wouldn't hurt a fly. He's a pharmacist and I think they take the same oath as doctors, you know, not to hurt anyone. "

"So, he didn't take the news well then?"

"No. He confronted me last week. Knew your name and everything. Gave me an ultimatum. Me! Like an arrogant bitch, though, I told him to get lost. I wanted everything. A career that was going places, nice house and car, comfortable husband and family. I told him I demanded to have a lover that filled me up as well. If he couldn't live with it, I would get one of the partners as my divorce lawyer. He'd end up living in a shoe box, begging me to see the kids every month or so. I was bluffing, but he didn't know that. He lives for those kids. I half expected him to call my bluff, but he just stormed out. I haven't seen him since. The next day, I dropped the kids off at my parents and met you at that motel. Last Monday, you remember?"

Despite everything they'd been through that day, John was horrified to be sharing a car and a nightmare with the creature Lyn revealed herself to be. It took minutes for the speechlessness to wear off.

"So, you gave him a choice; put up with you screwing around on him, or lose everything?"

"Why not? The law says I can get away with it, so why wouldn't I? Why look so shocked? Weren't you screwing around on your wife as well?"

"Yes, I was, but I didn't insist on ripping her balls off to do it. Pardon the pun."

Lyn shrugged. John saw Lyn in a whole new light. With his blinkers off, he realised that the smile he'd found so sensuous until now, had a hard edge to it. He couldn't imagine such a cruelty as the one she'd just blithely described, with all the signs of a clear conscience. For her part, Lyn wondered where she could get a drink. She still had that damned metallic taste in her mouth. She joined John in dozing until hunger woke her in the late afternoon. She roused before him and turned her phone on to send a quick text to her mother to look after the kids indefinitely. God knows what her parents were being told.

When John woke, they pondered the known mysteries of the last few days, to avoid the difficult questions like, 'what the hell are we going to do next?' Not turning up for a contract signing after having obviously slept together, had lost them their jobs, obviously; but what made them sleep for a solid seventeen hours? Then, how had John's wife not only known where to find him, but had a way of opening the front door? They knew if it wasn't for the safety chain, they would both have had their skulls crushed in. They'd seen the look in Maria's eyes.

They were stuck on this point when Lyn glimpsed Carlos's car cruising slowly down the road, through the trees. It kept going, however, and as soon as it disappeared around a corner, they took off the other way. John was pissed when he learned that Lyn had turned her phone on earlier. He reached over to grab it and throw it out the window, but she protected it.

Again, they turned off as quickly as possible and headed in a completely different direction. That didn't matter; they didn't have a destination in mind anyway. It was two hours before dusk when they passed a remote fuel stop about two-hundred kilometres from home. With a glance at the fuel gauge, John took the risk and pulled in. While he fuelled up, at the automatic bowser, Lyn went in, used the facilities, then grabbing some food before going to the counter to pay. Two attempts at paying with her debit card were declined. She looked to see how much cash she had while the attendant tried her credit card. That was declined as well. Just then, the attendant looked over her shoulder and asked what her husband was waving at. Lyn turned and saw John gesticulating to her furiously. She sprinted from the office, deaf to the shouts of the shop assistant yelling about the food she still held clasped in her hands. She walked briskly to him; he was babbling about two bikers that had just showed up. One of them had immediately gotten his phone out. Lyn ordered him to get in and go. John obeyed, with haste and they sped off. Lyn again watched in the mirror as the bikers gave chase. She didn't think it was a good time to burden him with the fact that the police had arranged for her cards to be cancelled to stop them running.

They'd only made it a couple of kilometres when the sound of revving motorcycles could be heard over their own screaming engine. One bike was on each of their back quarters. John steered into the middle of the road as they went around a corner. As soon as they hit the next straight, the bike behind their left side surged forward to overtake. Reflexively, John edged left. That allowed the guy on the right to seize the opportunity. He was level with the rear door before John saw him in the mirror. Purely on instinct, he swung the wheel to the right. He didn't hit the bike, but the cyclist's own reflex was to bear off. Right off the side of the road. Lyn looked on in fascination as the bike went into the spoon drain, before catapulting the rider off. She watched as his mate slowed and turned to assist him.

John, with adrenalin running high, asked Lyn if she'd seen what was on the cyclist's jackets. When she said that it showed a guy in a Mexican style sombrero, John groaned and explained that was the Bandidos, a club with a violent reputation. Both driver and passenger anxiously watched the fuel gauge. John had only just started fuelling up when the bikes arrived.

Right on dusk, with the fuel gauge wrapped around the peg, John pulled off into a quiet country lane and killed the engine. In the last light of day, they could see some a farm and outbuildings several hundred metres away. Sitting separate from everything else, on a stand, was what looked like a 10,000-litre tank, complete with hose and nozzle. John reconnoitred in the gloom of early evening. Lights were on in the farm building, but otherwise no one was in sight. He checked that the fuel nozzle wasn't locked, and liquid came out when the trigger was pressed. He looked around in the gloom for some sort of container but found none. He debated whether or not to turn his phone on and use the torch function. Concern about being traced through it won over the urge to keep moving. John returned to the car and, with Lyn, hunkered down to wait. The plan; to wait until midnight, push the car to the bowser, fuel it up and continue running.

To while away some of the time until the lights went out in the farm, John and Lyn started talking about the strange events of the last day and listing who was after them.

First, they'd fallen asleep while making love on Lyn's bed. That in itself wasn't strange but sleeping for seventeen plus hours was. Unconsciously, Lyn grabbed the remains of the packet of potato chips she'd shoplifted from the roadhouse. Maybe, they would remove the lingering taste from her mouth.

Much of what happened since they woke that morning—or was it a week ago?—was caused by John's car apparently being used to ram-raid the local biker hangout. Obviously, it had been stolen, and given time, John could have convinced the bikers of that. That was all a little academic now, after they'd injured one or worse, escaping from the roadhouse.

Through the slightly optimistic eyes of those in these types of situations, they reviewed the motivations and intentions of those arrayed against them. John thought that his wife and brother-in-law would be satisfied by a light beating followed by a rapid, wife-centric divorce agreement. The police? What did they know? Only that he'd knocked over and injured an officer and failed to stop. The failing to stop was justifiable, given the bikers. Would the injury result in jail time? They both considered it a small possibility. It was a justifiable accident, after all.

That left only the bikers. John suggested that their reputation had been exaggerated by the media and they weren't actually as bad as everyone made out. Lyn kiboshed that optimistic line of reasoning. Her husband used to be in a biker club. He'd described a culture of crime that was an accepted way of life, and violence was endemic. Her husband's office in the club was in charge of stealing cars. Either for sale, or for use in their various nefarious activities. It became obvious to John that due to Lyn's memories of those stories, she was very, very afraid of the bikers. She went on to describe how her husband had escaped from the criminal life, got a straight job and worked his way through university. It was obvious that Lyn was quite proud of her Pharmacist. The car went quiet and silence reigned until the lights went out in the farmhouse.

Between John and Lyn, they pushed the car, with difficulty, over to the bowser. Nervous and panting, John opened the fuel cap on the car and started filling. It gurgled nicely into the tank until it overflowed. Hobbling back to the driver's side, he got in, started the engine, then floored it so the farmer wouldn't glimpse them and pass on a description. They'd just made it to the farm gate, about fifty metres, when the car hesitated. Twenty metres later, all the lights on the dash went on as the engine stopped. Looking out the back window, Lyn urged John to get it restarted. Despite continuous cranking, it refused. A horrible thought occurred to Lyn.

"Is this car petrol or diesel?"

"Er, petrol. Needs 98 octane, I think."

"And what was in that bowser. Most farm equipment runs on diesel, doesn't it?"

"How the fuck should I know? I'm a city boy."

They both began yelling at each other and still were when John's door was wrenched open and the farmer dragged him out. Pressing him to the side of the car, he demanded, loudly to be told what the fuck was going on. Lyn used the opportunity to jump out. The car was in a gateway and there was no room to get between them, so she was forced to go around the back, then along the driver's side. As she passed the struggling pair, she saw a short length of tree limb, about seventy-five millimetres thick and nine hundred long. It was bad enough being on the run. The thought of being on the run alone was terrifying. With only a second's hesitation, Lyn pick up the log and with no style, wacked the farmer over the back of the head. He went down like a sack of spuds. Wide eyed, they stared at each other, then John hobbled after Lyn as she fled toward the highway, using her impromptu club as a walking stick.

They didn't hesitate when they reached it. Just started walking in the direction they'd been going all day. Towards nothing. Away from everything they knew. They threw themselves off the road every time a car came along. Two hours later, they passed a sign saying the next town was still ten kilometres ahead. They were both mentally and physically exhausted. John's ankle hurt like hell and Lyn was starting to get blisters.

Spotting a lone barn, they forced a way through the fence and made for it. There was enough hay in it to provide an adequate bed. They both fell into a troubled sleep.

DAY 2

Lyn woke way before dawn. Still tired, hungry, and thirsty, she was a little confused, not realising where she was. The metallic taste, still in her mouth, brought the unpleasant memories of the previous day crashing back. Strangely, her first coherent thought was of her children. Her recent, entitled, selfish mantle aside, Lyn loved her children. If she could avoid being killed or thrown in gaol, she would go home; hug her children like never before and wait for her husband to come grovelling back to her. With time, things could go back to normal. Delusions, all of them, but believed by a famished, thirsty, exhausted, and desperate mind.

How much trouble was she in, Lyn asked herself? John's wife and her mob brother were after John. If she could get to the police, they would protect her. It was John's car that had been used in the ram raid, and John who'd knocked that biker over. They were after him, not her. Again, the police could protect her from them. That left only the police to worry about. What had she really done wrong? Pilfered some stuff from a roadhouse without paying. Hardly a custodial offence. Shit! Now, she'd assaulted a farmer. That was time for sure. But how did the world know it was her that did it?

The solution to all her problems suddenly became obvious. If she left John sleeping and got to the nearest police station first, she could lay just about all the blame on him, even claiming the assault on the farmer was him. With turning him in, all she could expect was a slap on the wrist. Once the world knew where he was, they'd forget about her and she could sneak quietly back home. Lyn examined her conscience with this plan in mind. Could she do that to her lover? Like most relationships that come out of cheating, Lyn realised theirs was doomed from the start. He was just a new cock when she needed one. Besides, he was a cheater. She'd never trust him enough to have a long-term relationship.

Lyn smiled to herself and prepared to sneak away from the barn. A faint rustling noise caught her attention. In the moonlight, she saw John quietly picking up his shoes and heading out the barn. Instinctively, Lyn knew what was happening. After his own internal debate, John, the rat, had decided to shop her. The little cunt. Enraged, Lyn sprang to her feet, picked up her walking stick and brought it down on John's head. He went down and stayed there. Removing his shoes, she threw them in separate directions into the darkness. Lyn's plan was modified. She'd claim self defence when it came time to explain this episode to the police. Jaw set, Lyn strode toward town.

An unknown time later, Lyn risked turning on her phone briefly to check the time and distance to town. She was almost done, when it began operating and changing screens by itself. In a panic, she realised that it was being controlled remotely. Only one person could do that, the person whose phone it was paired with. Why would her husband be trying to find her? No, she thought; the police must have insisted he give them his phone. Lyn quickly removed the battery and restarted toward town; ears ever vigilant for the sound of approaching traffic in the pre-dawn darkness.

As she walked, she plotted. She would accept her rap on the knuckles, then demand her husband come back home. If he played up, she'd use her secret fund, siphoned off her salary into a separate bank account, to divorce his ass. Not working and not in a hurry to get another job, she'd demand maximum child support while making it impossible at every turn for him to see the kids. After the appropriate amount of grovelling, she might take him back and this time, if he objected to her taking a new lover, he'd know exactly what was in store for him.

Before she was a third of the way to town, even her seething rage couldn't mask the pain of her feet from the inappropriate footwear. Even her blisters had blisters. But stagger into town she did. The police station was half-way along the main street, but a sign on the door said it wasn't manned until 9:00 a.m. She guessed it was around seven, so sat on the step to wait.

She'd no idea how much time passed, but gradually became aware of a mounting roar. It penetrated her over-loaded, tired brain that it was the sound of motorcycles. Many, many motorcycles. Leaping to her feet she ran around the side of the police station and hid in some bushes. As she peeped out, she saw pairs of bikers stop every fifty metres or so down the main street, get off and look around. The door of the station opened, and a uniformed man with sergeant's stripes walked to the kerb and looked up and down the street. Lyn jumped up and ran into the open door. Curiously, the policeman followed her in.