Page 45 of Stars and Scars

We catch air again, a lot this time. The jeep drops almost a dozen feet through the air, giving us a second to contemplate the sloped concrete sides of the flood sluice we now find ourselves in.

The jeep crushes its shocks to full compression on impact. We bounce a little as I swerve around to regain control, but out in the middle of the sluice there’s nothing to hit.

I slam on the brakes and do another handbrake turn, leaving twin black rubber trails on the concrete as I come to a screeching halt.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Charlotte says.

I look over at her. Charlotte’s lovely black hair now spreads all over her head and face like wild vines. Sweat shines on her visible skin, and her chest heaves with heavy pants.

“I’m sorry. I know this has been rough. If I didn’t think it was a great shot to get you out of danger once and for all, I wouldn't take the risk.”

The SUV’s gunning engine sounds through the break in the trees.

“Now we just wait for the idiot to try the same maneuver, then swoop in and pick up the pieces.”

“What?” Charlotte says as the SUV appears at the top of the twelve foot drop.

The driver slams on the brakes, but it’s too late. The SUV lands as much on its nose as its front tires, creating a terrific smash. Glass and chrome shower to the ground as the SUV comes to a halt, for good this time. A hissing cloud of steam spews from the radiator, filling the air with the sickly sweet smell of antifreeze as I undo my seat belt and get out of the Jeep.

“Stay here and keep your head down. The firewall of the jeep is practically bulletproof.”

“Oh Jesus,” Charlotte says as I draw my .38. Not the biggest caliber, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s accurate and reliable, and easy to conceal.

I approach the ruined SUV, gun leading the way. A man’s groan carries over the susurrus of steam and the popping of the overheated engine. I come around the side and find the driver holding a hand to his bleeding forehead.

“Get out.”

I undo his seat belt and hook my fingers underneath his jawbone. The pressure point allows me to drag him out of the truck, whether he wants to go or not. Not that he can offer much resistance in his current state.

He spills out onto the concrete and I put a foot on his chest, and a gun in his face.

“You’re with the Order, aren’t you?”

“What?”

He blinks blood out of his eyes, staring up at me with apparent confusion.

“I’m not with the government! I swear to god! I’m just a photographer. I’m a photographer, see?”

He points a shaking finger into the ruined cabin of the SUV. I peer inside and see an expensive looking camera in pieces.

“Bullshit. You expect me to believe you’re a paparazzi?”

He nods vigorously and pulls a media pass out of his pocket. “I am, I really am. I spotted Charlotte at the party. I just wanted a scoop, that’s all. Everyone is talking about her since she’s been having trouble with Anonymous or whatever.”

He’s coherent enough, though obviously shaken. I can’t see anything that refutes his story.

“You fucking idiot! You almost got all of us killed for what? A damn picture? You need to get a real job…”

My voice trails off as I notice a pair of headlights up on the gravel road.

“Who’s that? One of your paparazzi friends?”

His face wrinkles up.

“What? I don’t know who that is. I crashed the party alone.”

The headlights dwindle as the vehicle backs up. I can’t even tell what kind of car it is from down here. There’s nothing I can do but watch them pull away.

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