Lab Rat part 47

Posted: March 3, 2011 in Fiction, Test Subject

“We’re still going to the hospital. She needs checked out, and you have to get that shoulder fixed.” I don’t waste time arguing with him. While he’s talking, I scoop up the slug and pocket it. Apparently I’m leaving a long and messy trail as it is. The driver is guaranteed to have called ahead. Johnson’s compatriots have to know where he is. By now he’ll have people waiting at whatever hospital for me. Once again, there really isn’t a decision to be made. I check to make sure that the gurney is strapped in and I tighten the straps on the unconscious EMT. She’d live if she fell out. She’s better equipped for what I’m getting ready to do than I am. I’m getting off this bus a few stops early.

“Don’t worry, man. Everything’s strapped down. I can’t go to the hospital right now though.” I can’t afford to be caught again. I pop the back door open. I’d be willing to bet that the driver is yelling something, but it’s suddenly too loud to hear him. I watch the road spilling out underneath the rear bumper. We’re doing at least forty five miles an hour. I really want to use a power. At the rate I’m burning through them, I have to have lost some weight by now. The street is sort of empty. The ambulance’s passing has left a wake of pulled over and slowed cars. The driver is slowing down. He’s probably yelling something about not jumping. Sorry buddy. I’m not going with you. I wait until he gets down to maybe thirty five, then slide out. I hit the pavement and start rolling. I tuck my arms and my head into my chest and let myself go. I feel asphalt tearing at my clothes, then my skin. It hurts, but it isn’t the worst pain I’ve had in the last few hours. The ambulance screeches to a stop a short distance in front of me.

I pick myself up off the street. I’ve got some abrasions on my arms and shoulders. My left shoulder hurts so bad it burns. I look back in time to see another car coming. It’s a silver Prius. The driver isn’t looking at me. She could be watching the screen in the dash. Who am I kidding? She’s probably texing. Great. I dive to the side, and the driver looks up just in time to swerve. I land on my face near the curb. I hear the squealing protest of tires. I look back. Black streaks on the road show me that the driver would have nailed me and then changed course. I peel myself off of the road for the second time in as many seconds and run. I take a left down the first cross street I come to. I’d head back for Johnson, but he’s bound to be conscious and angry. He has a gun too. I should have taken his gun. God damn. Why do I only come up with this shit after the fact? I keep running. I gotta find a phone. I can’t use mine. If the D.O.D. is looking for Taryn, they’ll have my phone tapped. Or maybe they won’t. I haven’t been being paranoid enough and I’m sick of these guys being ahead of me.

Read the second book in The Hunger Games series today. Yeah, the whole thing. She put in the “END OF BOOK TWO.” I enjoyed it despite that. Megan was worried that I wouldn’t like my Christmas present.

I’ve been helping guys train for Crown Tournament. Okay, I’ve been the test fight for all the maneuvers they want to use in the tourney. I’m sure Flannigan will do well. He always does. Killian will make a decent showing too, so long as he doesn’t close while he’s circling. Good luck, guys.

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