Police En Route

We were on the highway before the first siren cut through the night. The flashing lights were a distant strobing red in the rearview mirror. I kept the bike steady, the rain stinging my face like needles.

"Are they coming for us?" Arthur shouted, his grip on my waist tightening.

"No," I lied. "They're going to the house."

But I knew better. The police scanner in Dr. Thorne's boat had been clear. *All units. Suspect vehicle identified. Black motorcycle.*

We were exposed. Vulnerable.

I needed to get off the main road.

I veered onto an exit ramp, the bike leaning dangerously. We were in the outskirts of the town now, a maze of strip malls and closed gas stations.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked.

"The old mill," I said. "It's abandoned. We can hide there until morning."

We rode for another ten minutes, the streets empty and slick. The mill loomed ahead, a hulking brick structure by the river.

I pulled the bike into the loading bay. It was dark, smelling of oil and rust.

We got off. Arthur's legs buckled, and I caught him just before he hit the ground.

"I need to sit," he gasped.

I helped him to a crate. "Rest. I'll check the perimeter."

I walked to the door, peering out into the rain.

Nothing. Just the sound of the storm.

But then, a noise.

Not a siren. Not an engine.

A scraping sound. Metal on concrete.

I turned.

Julian was standing in the shadows of the loading bay. He was wet, his clothes clinging to his frame. He held the axe in one hand, the blade resting on the floor.

"You're fast, Helen," he said, his voice echoing in the empty space. "But not fast enough."

"How did you find us?" I asked, backing away.

"I know this place," he said. "We used to play here as kids. Remember, Dad?"

Arthur looked up, his face pale. "Julian. Please."

"Please what?" Julian asked. "Please don't kill you? Please don't take what's mine?"

He walked toward us, the axe scraping against the concrete. *Scrape. Step. Scrape.*

"The money is gone," I said. "It burned."

"I don't care about the money," Julian said. "I care about the principle."

He raised the axe.

"You took my life, Helen. You took my name. You took my daughter."

"I saved her," I said. "I saved her from you."

"Did you?" he laughed. "Or did you just save her for yourself?"

He swung the axe.

It hit a metal support column next to my head, sparks flying. The sound was deafening.

I scrambled back, tripping over a coil of wire. I fell hard.

Julian loomed over me.

"Get up," he said. "It's no fun if you don't run."

I looked around for a weapon. There was nothing. Just debris.

Then I saw it.

On the wall behind Julian.

A fire extinguisher.

It was old, covered in dust. But it was red. And heavy.

I rolled to the side as Julian swung again. The axe buried itself in the floor where I had been.

I grabbed the extinguisher. I pulled the pin.

"Hey!" I shouted.

Julian looked up.

I sprayed him.

A cloud of white powder exploded into his face. He choked, stumbling back, blinding him.

I swung the canister. It hit him in the ribs with a solid thud.

He grunted, dropping to one knee. But he didn't drop the axe.

He swung blindly, the blade catching my leg.

Pain flared, hot and sharp. I screamed, falling back.

Julian wiped his eyes, blinking through the powder. He saw me. He smiled.

"Here's Johnny!" he mocked.

He raised the axe for the killing blow.

But then, a gunshot.

Loud. Close.

Julian froze. He looked down at his chest.

A small, red hole appeared in his shirt.

He looked up, confused.

Behind him, in the doorway, stood Arthur.

He was holding the silver pistol. His hand was shaking, but his aim was true.

"I'm sorry, son," Arthur whispered.

He fired again.

And Julian fell.