Chapter 1: A Messy Escape
LILA
"Do you know the best thing to do when facing a pissed-off guy with a gun, Cassel?" I ask rather rhetorically, as I hunch over the steering wheel of a small Toyota that I don't even remember stealing, most of my focus on the road and the high speed car chase that we're in with the police, on the wide streets of Ottawa. This must be the third car Cassel and I have boosted since my old Jaguar got stolen in Toronto.
"I'm taking a wild guess that it doesn't involve mouthing off to him and having him shoot you dangerously close to the sweet spot," Cassel replies with his teeth gritted, equally rhetorically and considerably more deadpan, despite the obvious pain from the bullet in his thigh and the blood all around it.
"Oh, wonderful. And there I was thinking that you didn't know what you were doing. Now I'm not sure I feel better, though, seeing as you obviously intended to get shot. Can't imagine why." I can't get rid of my old habit of sarcastic banter, even in a life-or-death situation, like the one we're in. To be fair, though, neither can Cassel.
"Lila, these weren't gangsters!" he protests. "How could I assume that a police officer would shoot me?"
He has a point. Especially considering that I'm the one the Feds are chasing. No, that's not true: the cops are chasing me for the murder of a FBI agent, and now a cop (my troubles just keep adding up) to possibly lock me up for the rest of my life, or use me against my father. The real Feds—the government attack dogs-are chasing Cassel, even though he's committed no crime and couldn't legally go to jail.
I wouldn't trade our positions for the world.
Well, perhaps I would. I can't say that the idea of being the rarest worker on the planet doesn't tempt me with dreams of endless money, power and respect. And I mean that literally; sometimes when conning people I give them such dreams—of becoming powerful-and the blowback is just the same dreams right back at me.
But then, I see Cassel. I see him—what his blowback does to him when he uses his power, because that is when he's most vulnerable—and more importantly, I see him when he thinks I'm not watching. He's crushed under the weight, of possibilities or responsibilities, I'm not sure which. I recall how Cassel told me once, what my father said to him: "A man may daydream of spending a million dollars, but the same game with a billion sours the fantasy." Cassel wanted to be a worker with all his heart. I wonder if he still feels the same way.
I often feel jealous of Cassel; but I recall feeling overwhelmed, before, at stepping into the massive shoes of my father, the legendary worker Ivan Zacharov. How could I live up to the name?
That doesn't even come close to the responsibility of being the most powerful worker of our generation.
Gunshots jolt me out of my reverie. Cassel, despite the pain in the wound, is wielding a pistol and firing at our pursuers out the side window. An answering burst follows, but one of the police cars cracks a windshield and careens off the road onto someone's property while another simply screeches to a stop right there on the road. Cassel has blown out their tires.
"Good shot," I say, though we both know full well he just got lucky. Cassel may be the most powerful worker in the world, but he's no crack shot. And I think that if he does become one, he'll forever regret it.
That's just how Cassel is: he's forever thinking about the consequences of his actions. He's just too moral for our dirty, bloodstained world, the gang world. He's the diamond under the coal.
And I love him for it.
Me, on the other hand. I killed the officer who shot Cassel. Put a bullet through his mouth on a reflex. Didn't think twice before racing to our escape vehicle with a hobbling, screaming Cassel.
What would Cassel have done if our positions were switched? He certainly wouldn't have killed the man; maybe he would have transformed him. There's no way these people know what he is; that's top-level security information. So he would get the drop on them.
And find a way to let them live.
Does that make me evil?
The jolt, as a police car hits ours and Cassel continues firing, shoots me back to reality again. "Shit!" I swear, banging my fist on the wheel. I can't zone out like this! Cassel is almost out of ammunition, and our tiny, if fast, vehicle is taking a beating. We need to escape, now. The streets separate at a wide T-junction less than half a mile from here, I figure from looking at our GPS. I have no doubt whatsoever that this junction will be blocked by chase cars, perhaps even a helicopter. I could try and make some dangerous manoeuvers, but that's a no-go in Cassel's state; just being in a police chase can't be too good for him. There's an alley, but….
"Take the right into the alley!" Cassel screams at me, pain twisting his face. That alley is a dead end. "I'll transform into something, and you run! There's a route there, small, but big enough for a person. I can hold them while you escape-"
"Not a chance! We're both escaping!" I shout over the squealing of tires and howling of sirens. "And what about blowback?" I trust him to figure out the logistics; he scouted some places for us to make a quick getaway when we first arrived. It's only him I'm worried about: I know he would rather die than let me be caught.
That will have to change soon.
"I can handle it-" he breaks off and transforms right there, into a brown mouse, writhing horribly from the blowback, blood on its tiny brown limb. It makes for a rather odd and incongruously amusing sight.
I veer into the deserted alley at incredible speed and pray my driving skills come through. I've been learning since I was thirteen; of course, once I became a cat, that had to stop. Oh, the inconvenience. I'm sorry my poor driving got us caught, Cassel. Being a cat does that. You'd know, wouldn't you? I blink suddenly, refusing to let thoughts like that distract me, especially not now. Cassel has given up everything for me. And yet... three years of electric shock collars and days of ill-treatment don't wash off like water.
The alley is the width of a car's length; if I do this right and drift enough, I can block the way for even a person. Of course, they could vault over the car, but it delays them and buys me and mouse-Cassel precious seconds to escape.
I stomp on the brakes and twist the steering wheel. The stunningly battered little vehicle just manages the feat, and I've thrown open the door and used my forward momentum to leap and roll onto the ground in a lightning motion before the car shudders to a stop. Police cars pull up outside the alley, sirens blaring, and sparks fly as bullets impact on the car and near me, but I'm unharmed. Cassel scampers out after me, having rode out the blowback, and I dash towards the smaller alley that Cassel mentioned, set in the wall between two garbage bags. I can see mouse-Cassel make a split-second decision; stay and hide under the car, safe from the cops, or run after me and risk getting shot.
Of course, he scurries after me. I don't even have time for an expression of exasperation as I find the alleyway and dash through, attentive to the shouts of policemen and the thumps as they leap over the car, delaying them again. I feel a tiny bit affectionate; the car pulled through for the last time.
Mouse-Cassel is safe; he's still injured, but once we get out of here, I'll just find a local illegally practicing doctor and get him fixed up.
Only me to worry about now.
The tiny alleyway opens onto a big street. I take off down the pavement, after Cassel dashes into my hand, and I've placed him in my pocket. The police officers don't know to come through, one at a time. By the time they emerge, I'm gone, a figure in the crowd with a baseball cap pulled over a mop of blonde hair, and a gray coat for the cold, moving briskly through the streets. At the other end of the street, police cars have stopped traffic and it looks like it's about to get messy. That's the junction that they would have caught us at.
Never let it be said that I am not eternally grateful for Cassel Sharpe.
A/N: Do you like it? It might not be the best idea to start off with, but this is my first fic. R&R please! I don't think I'll update otherwise. No, I will not update otherwise. Review even if you didn't like. Tell me what I could have done better.
