She gripped the wheel and pushed the accelerator to the floor.
He flipped on the lights and siren and pushed his engine to the limit.
She glanced in the rear-view mirror and clenched her teeth, willing to go faster.
He gained on her; he would catch her.
She could outrun him; she would outrun him.
They whizzed down the vacant highway, turning the serene country night into a Las Vegas weekend.
She was the outlaw.
He was the law.
She felt she could do anything right now.
He would catch his fugitive and be the hero.
No hero could ever stop her; she would escape.
They crashed through the peppermint blockade at a toll booth, leaving the operator wondering what in the heck just happened.
Again, she looked behind her.
He was gaining on her.
She screamed and punched her steering wheel; doubt infiltrated her conscious and called out to her. You’ll never make it!
Joline slammed her brakes and came to a complete stop in the middle of the turnpike. She jumped out of the car and sprinted to the edge of the road, hoping to beat the cop on foot. Nothing but pure adrenaline coursed through her veins. She left the asphalt road behind her and entered a jungle of knee-high grass, which only slowed her progress. A mere football field away was a grove of dark pine trees: refuge.
Jon halted his car behind the fugitive’s and chased after her. She was young and spry; she was faster than he. There was no way he could catch her on foot. He drew his .9mm and penetrated the crisp air with three vicious shots. The first two bullets missed their target but the third struck her calf, sending her to the ground. He holstered his weapon and sprinted toward her. Just before he reached her, she leapt to her feet and with all the speed she could muster with an injured leg, raced for the trees. Again Jon drew his handgun and this time it only took one shot to keep her down. The pursuit was over; the outlaw was captured.