The Race

Alice Glanced behind. His headlights almost blinding her. Hands gripping the steering wheel. A tremor shot through her body. Her breath came in a sharp burst. Her hands clammy. Sweat beaded her forehead. He was gaining. She leaned forward as if her car were a horse. “Another mile, another mile.” She prayed, “Just one more mile.” She pushed the accelerator to the floor. The speedometer climbed to a 100, then 110. Her PC cruiser maxed out.
Their bumpers kissed, sending her in the direction of the roadside ditch. At the last second, she pulled the car out, twisting the wheels. She mowed down the neighbor’s mailbox, sending it flying. It flew over her, hitting him on the hood. It slowed him down just enough for her to spin into her driveway. Skidding to a stop, Alice jerked her door open. He was halfway out of his truck, the rifle in his hand. She drew her Glock. “FBI down on the ground now.” If he heard her, it didn’t affect him. He fired she fired. His bullet went wild, her’s didn’t.