Latrice shouted at the rearview mirror.
The road curved to the right, and her headlight beams cut through the rain as she followed it around, and the beams fell on a large redwood tree across the road a hundred yards ahead. Lodged against the tree was a large, half-crushed truck camper without a truck.
“Shit!” Latrice said as she hit the brake.
The Highlander went into a sideways skid over the wet road and slammed broadside into the tree. The airbag deployed and Latrice was momentarily stunned once the SUV stopped moving. Then she began struggling against the bag. She groped for the door handle with her left hand, found it, and shoved the door open. She squeezed out of the seat and fell from the SUV, hitting the pavement hard below.
She climbed to her feet and saw the police car parked several yards away, facing her. The car’s door was open and the police officer was heading toward her.
Latrice began to stomp toward him, her right arm outstretched, finger pointing at him as she shouted, “Motherfucker, you made me do that! You fucking asshole, what were you chasing me for, motherfucker!”
As Latrice continued to shout at the cop, advancing on him while pointing at him, the officer quickly drew his gun and aimed it at her between both hands.
“Drop it!” he shouted. “Drop it now or I will shoot! Drop it now !”
She did not lower her arm and continued to shout at him as she drew closer.
The cop fired his gun twice.
A huge invisible fist punched Latrice in the chest, then in the gut. She found herself on the wet ground, staring up at the black sky.
She was vaguely aware of pain, of a shortness of breath that rapidly grew worse, but she quickly got to her knees, then her feet. She pointed at the cop again, screamed at him again.
“I told you to put it down, goddammit!” the cop shouted.
He fired again.
This time, fire began to spread through her abdomen. She went down again. The next time she tried to shout, she made only a gurgling sound as blood rose up in her throat.
She tried to get up again, but her strength was draining from her fast and she dropped back onto the pavement and closed her eyes. Rain fell on her face.
“I gotta get to my babies,” she said, spitting blood, tasting it in her mouth, shallow breaths coming rapidly. “I gotta . . . get to my . . . my fuckin’ babies . . . so I can . . . make them . . . pay.”
When she opened her eyes again, the cop towered over her, head forward, looking down at her. “Aaawww, shit ,” he said, staring at her hand. He bent down, pulled up the cuff of his right pants leg and produced a small gun. He put it in her hand, then closed her fingers around it.
Blood bubbled up from Latrice’s mouth and dribbled down her cheeks when she said, “Fuck you.” Then she died.
Emilio’s testicles throbbed with pain that extended into his gut and made him severely nauseated. On hands and knees, he stared at the floor and waited to see if he was going to vomit. When he didn’t, he slowly got to his feet with a grunt.
Ollie was rubbing his jaw. “That woman is dangerous,” he said.
Then they heard her scream.
“Oh, Jesus,” Emilio groaned, limping to the door. He stepped outside and looked down the corridor in the direction Fara had fled, but he saw nothing.
He heard something, though. Rumbling. And crashing. He’d been hearing it occasionally for a while, but now it was becoming steady. He went back into the office and said, “What’s that noise?”
“Holy shit,” Ollie said. He went to the couch and clumsily, roughly pushed Sheriff Kaufman into a sitting position, saying, “C’mon, sheriff, we’ve gotta get outta here. Now. Everybody. Now ! I think this fuckin’ building is coming down.”
Emilio didn’t stop to think about it. In spite of his aching balls, he helped Ollie. Flanking the sheriff, the three of them left the office and hurried down the corridor with only Ollie’s headlamp to guide them.
They turned left down
The road curved to the right, and her headlight beams cut through the rain as she followed it around, and the beams fell on a large redwood tree across the road a hundred yards ahead. Lodged against the tree was a large, half-crushed truck camper without a truck.
“Shit!” Latrice said as she hit the brake.
The Highlander went into a sideways skid over the wet road and slammed broadside into the tree. The airbag deployed and Latrice was momentarily stunned once the SUV stopped moving. Then she began struggling against the bag. She groped for the door handle with her left hand, found it, and shoved the door open. She squeezed out of the seat and fell from the SUV, hitting the pavement hard below.
She climbed to her feet and saw the police car parked several yards away, facing her. The car’s door was open and the police officer was heading toward her.
Latrice began to stomp toward him, her right arm outstretched, finger pointing at him as she shouted, “Motherfucker, you made me do that! You fucking asshole, what were you chasing me for, motherfucker!”
As Latrice continued to shout at the cop, advancing on him while pointing at him, the officer quickly drew his gun and aimed it at her between both hands.
“Drop it!” he shouted. “Drop it now or I will shoot! Drop it now !”
She did not lower her arm and continued to shout at him as she drew closer.
The cop fired his gun twice.
A huge invisible fist punched Latrice in the chest, then in the gut. She found herself on the wet ground, staring up at the black sky.
She was vaguely aware of pain, of a shortness of breath that rapidly grew worse, but she quickly got to her knees, then her feet. She pointed at the cop again, screamed at him again.
“I told you to put it down, goddammit!” the cop shouted.
He fired again.
This time, fire began to spread through her abdomen. She went down again. The next time she tried to shout, she made only a gurgling sound as blood rose up in her throat.
She tried to get up again, but her strength was draining from her fast and she dropped back onto the pavement and closed her eyes. Rain fell on her face.
“I gotta get to my babies,” she said, spitting blood, tasting it in her mouth, shallow breaths coming rapidly. “I gotta . . . get to my . . . my fuckin’ babies . . . so I can . . . make them . . . pay.”
When she opened her eyes again, the cop towered over her, head forward, looking down at her. “Aaawww, shit ,” he said, staring at her hand. He bent down, pulled up the cuff of his right pants leg and produced a small gun. He put it in her hand, then closed her fingers around it.
Blood bubbled up from Latrice’s mouth and dribbled down her cheeks when she said, “Fuck you.” Then she died.
Emilio’s testicles throbbed with pain that extended into his gut and made him severely nauseated. On hands and knees, he stared at the floor and waited to see if he was going to vomit. When he didn’t, he slowly got to his feet with a grunt.
Ollie was rubbing his jaw. “That woman is dangerous,” he said.
Then they heard her scream.
“Oh, Jesus,” Emilio groaned, limping to the door. He stepped outside and looked down the corridor in the direction Fara had fled, but he saw nothing.
He heard something, though. Rumbling. And crashing. He’d been hearing it occasionally for a while, but now it was becoming steady. He went back into the office and said, “What’s that noise?”
“Holy shit,” Ollie said. He went to the couch and clumsily, roughly pushed Sheriff Kaufman into a sitting position, saying, “C’mon, sheriff, we’ve gotta get outta here. Now. Everybody. Now ! I think this fuckin’ building is coming down.”
Emilio didn’t stop to think about it. In spite of his aching balls, he helped Ollie. Flanking the sheriff, the three of them left the office and hurried down the corridor with only Ollie’s headlamp to guide them.
They turned left down
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