I saw the flashing lights of the police roadblock from about a mile-and-a half out, and quickly considered my options. There were no exits, and the desert on either side of the highway was too rocky for my low-slung Holden. I could throw the car into a slide, spin around and head back the other direction, but a trio of cruisers had already closed in, blocking the road behind me.
And besides, why would I want to turn back? Life’s about moving forward, about conquering the challenges of the future, not settling into the comforts of the past.
No, the only logical thing to do in this situation was to stop and let them take me into custody. Do my jail time and move on to the next job. Winning is good, but you can’t win them all, and it’s important to know when to cut your losses. To make rational choices.
Problem was, I just didn’t feel like it.
Fuck their roadblock.
I pressed the pedal to the floor, and smiled as the 644 horses under the hood broke into a growling gallop, momentarily lifting the front end of the Holden into the air and pressing my back and head into the seat. The speedometer climbed impossibly high, and the car surged ahead, speeding toward the roadblock until the wind outside wailed like a phalanx of banshees marching into hell.
They’d probably stop me, all right.
But they were going to have to work hard for it.
This is my second entry for the second day of 30 Days of Writing, a competitive blogging meme sponsored by my good friends Nicky and Mike at We Work For Cheese. Please visit them for a list of all the participants, and then visit those folks, too.