The Ambulance Ride

"We have to stop him," Elias said, his voice trembling but his hands firm on the steering wheel.

"How?" I asked, checking the magazine of the flare gun. One shot left. "He's at the airport. He's probably already through security."

"He said he was boarding in ten minutes," Elias said. "That was five minutes ago. He's not on the plane yet. He's at the gate."

I looked at the time. 8:50 PM.

"We can't get through security," I said. "We don't have tickets. We don't have ID."

"We don't need to get *through* security," Elias said.

He swerved around a slow-moving truck.

"We need to stop the plane."

"Are you insane?"

"Maybe," he said. "But I have a plan."

He reached into the glove compartment. He pulled out a walkie-talkie. An old, brick-like device.

"This is tuned to the airport frequency," he said. "I use it to listen to air traffic. It's... a hobby."

Of course it was.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to call in a threat," he said.

"A bomb threat?"

"No," he said. "Something better."

He handed me the radio.

"You do it. You know the script."

"What script?"

"The one Julian wrote," he said. "The one where the hysterical wife makes a scene."

I stared at the radio.

"If I do this... I go to jail."

"If he gets on that plane," Elias said, "he disappears. Forever."

He was right.

I pressed the button.

"Mayday, Mayday," I said, my voice shaking. "This is... this is Flight 815."

Static crackled.

"Flight 815, go ahead," a controller's voice replied. Calm. Professional.

"There's a man on board," I said. "He has a chemical weapon. Phosphorous. And he's going to release it."

Silence.

Then... chaos.

"All aircraft, hold position. Emergency on the tarmac. Security to Gate C4 immediately."

I dropped the radio.

"We did it," Elias said.

We sped toward the airport. The lights of the terminal loomed ahead.

We didn't go to the passenger drop-off. We went to the cargo entrance.

The gate was closed. A guard shack stood nearby.

"Hold on," Elias said.

He didn't slow down.

He rammed the gate.

*CRASH.*

The chain-link fence buckled. The Mustang tore through, metal screeching against metal.

We were on the tarmac.

"There!" I pointed.

A plane. Sitting at the gate. Lights flashing. Police cars swarming around it.

Stairs were being rolled up to the door.

People were coming down. Hands on their heads.

"Where is he?" I scanned the crowd.

Then I saw him.

Not coming down the stairs.

Running across the tarmac.

He had jumped. From the jetway? Or an emergency exit?

He was running toward a baggage cart.

"He's stealing a tug!" I yelled.

Julian jumped onto the small tractor used to pull luggage carts. He started it. He drove away, weaving through the parked planes.

"Go after him!" I screamed.

Elias gunned the engine. The Mustang roared.

We chased him. Past the fuel trucks. Past the private jets.

He was heading for the perimeter fence. The one that led to the highway.

"He's going to ram it," Elias said.

"Cut him off!"

Elias swerved. He pulled the Mustang in front of the tug.

Julian slammed on the brakes. The tug skidded, tipping onto two wheels.

He jumped off.

He rolled on the asphalt.

He stood up.

He was holding a knife. A ceramic knife. Non-detectable.

We stopped. We got out.

We stood there, on the wet tarmac, under the glare of the floodlights.

Julian looked at us. He smiled.

"Act Four," he said. "The Chase."

He looked at me.

"You really are persistent, Elara. It's... annoying."

"It's over, Julian," I said. "The police are coming."

Sirens wailed in the distance. Blue lights reflected off the wet pavement.

"They're coming for *you*," he said. "You called in a fake threat. You broke onto a secure airfield. You're a terrorist now, darling."

He laughed.

"I'm just a victim. Running for his life."

He lunged.

Not at me. At Elias.

He tackled him. The knife flashed.

Elias screamed. He fell back, clutching his arm.

Julian stood over him, raising the knife for the killing blow.

"No!" I shouted.

I raised the flare gun.

"Drop it!"

Julian looked at me. He didn't drop the knife.

"You only have one shot," he said. "Don't miss."

He was right. One shot.

And if I missed... he would kill Elias. Then me.

I aimed.

Not at him.

At the fuel truck parked ten feet away.

"I won't miss," I said.

I pulled the trigger.

The flare hit the puddle of fuel under the truck.

*WHOOSH.*

Fire.

A wall of it. Separating us from Julian.

He stumbled back, shielding his face.

The heat was intense. The truck was going to blow.

"Run!" I grabbed Elias.

We ran. Away from the truck. Away from Julian.

*BOOM.*

The truck exploded. A massive fireball that lit up the night.

We were thrown to the ground.

When I looked up...

Julian was gone.

Consumed by the fire?

Or escaped into the shadows?

Police cars surrounded us. Guns drawn.

"On the ground! Now!"

I raised my hands.

"He's gone," I whispered.

They handcuffed us. They put us in the back of a cruiser.

As we drove away, I looked out the window.

At the burning truck.

At the chaos.

And then... I saw it.

On a billboard near the highway.

A digital ad.

*The Widow's Lament.*

*Now a Bestseller.*

And under it... a news ticker.

*Architect Julian Vance presumed dead in airport explosion. Wife in custody.*

He had won.

He had written the ending.

I closed my eyes.

But then... my pocket buzzed.

The officer hadn't checked my dress pocket.

I pulled out the phone.

A text.

From *Unknown Number*.

*Good show. But the sequel is always darker.*

I stared at the screen.

He was alive.

And he was watching.

I looked at Elias. He was bleeding, but alive.

"He's out there," I whispered.

Elias nodded.

"I know."

He looked at me. His eyes were hard. Determined.

"But so are we."

The cruiser turned onto the highway, heading for the city jail.

I leaned back against the seat.

I wasn't scared anymore.

I was ready.

Because now I knew the rules.

In a thriller, the victim runs.

But in a sequel