Run For Your Dinner
Dia threw herself into her car and stomped on the gas. The force of the car lurching forward pushed her back into her seat. The child rocked back in the passenger seat, digging his hands into the leather with a yelp.
The loud “b*tch!” shocked Dia. The voice, deep and angry, sounded like it was coming from right outside her car window.
Dia’s head whipped to the right and she hit the brakes reflexively, jerking the car to a stop. The thugs leader was stood blocking the car park’s exit. He glared at her, craggy face hard. He reached around to his back and—
Dia froze, staring down the barrel of the gun pointed at her windscreen, a gruesome smile on the gunman’s face.
“Give up the kid and you’ll live,” he shrieked, absolutely incoherent with rage. The man’s eyes were bulging, a vein was pulsing in the centre of his forehead.
Dia gripped the steering wheel; she clicked the lights onto full beam, and he lifted his arms to shield his eyes from the bright glare. She used that moment to stamp on the gas pedal and sped forward. But he’d recovered from his moment of blindness and began fired bullets at her car wildly.
She ducked, bracing as she heard some of the shots hit her windscreen, the enforced glass catching and stopping the bullets, creating tiny explosions at the point of contact.
The gunman spat curses and kept shooting. Dia caught a glimpse of his two friends running towards the car in her side view mirror. They were both holding guns.
She couldn’t let them catch up to the car. Couldn’t stop driving, because if they managed to get the doors open, she and the kid were dead. She’d only gone into the Store to pick up dinner and had found the three men beating up the boy. A couple of beer bottles thrown at their heads had distracted them enough to escape with the boy, but now…
Dia had a moment of complete panic, the breath forced out of her lungs in a clench. Only she could get the child away. But she was trapped, nowhere to go, walled into a carpark, the only exit blocked—
The answer came to her in a rush and, without time to think, her body reacted. She pressed the accelerator down further, setting her jaw, pointing the steering wheel straight until—
Dia drove straight into him.
The front bumper hit the man with a bang, lifting him off his feet and into the air, the gun flying out of his hand. He slide over the top of the car and hit the concrete with a wet thwack. Matt’s flunkies stood a few meters behind him, guns held loosely at their sides as they stood fixed in place, bewilderment written on their faces. As if they couldn’t understand how their leader had ended up on the ground.
Dia didn’t stop.
She sped onto the highway, gone before they looked up.