A heavy bump jolted me awake. Not that I wanted to rouse at all – my stomach still hurt, though it now only throbbed dully. I groaned, and put my hand to my also-aching head when the van suddenly hit a bump, sending me airborne. I landed unceremoniously in a pile, clutching my hand in pain after it cushioned my head from smashing against the wall.
My eyelids flew open. The familiar dank insides of the van's back slowly floated into view, but the vehicle now swerved left and right wildly. I tried hard to get back on my feet; the continuous swerving made it much easier said than done. Then the van just had to make a sharp left, and send all that effort crashing back down onto the floor.
I growled, desperately looking around for something to grasp onto and brace myself. The brownish-black metal walls loomed over me, their many indentations too shallow to hold on to, as if to tease me. The perpetually cold and slimy floor didn't help either. Guh, I'll become interior deco at this rate... there must be something... ah, the bars on the van's doors!
I staggered over, thankful that the next mad turn came only after I held the unrelenting bars firmly. With some fancy footwork I should keep standing... at the cost of trying to ignore the irritatingly ticklish loose bandages, the now-splitting pain in my stomach and acrid burnt tyre fumes. Still, myself in one piece beat being all over the van...
Through the narrow gaps between the bars I saw a long strip of asphalt and many scattered vehicles: the van had reached the city's main highway, and wreaked havoc on the afternoon traffic in its way. The van left behind automobiles in very interesting positions, some involving trees and each other – most appeared to have narrowly dodged the berserk van, but others announced a hefty repair bill. Drivers shook their fists and fingers at the van, their swearing blurred out by the van's screeching wheels and roaring engine.
Did the driver somehow get drunk, or did the vehicle get damaged? I heard something over the screeching tyres; some odd clicking sounds from nearby, the sound of slots being punched into metal... wuh?
Sharp triangular tips of metal jutted out from the van's back door handles, with more appearing in rapid succession... and I stood smack in the middle of their trajectory! I quickly jumped to one side of the van, my free hand shielding my body. Something shot them at the van, but what, and why? I peered out – no... no way! Yards away, green girl proudly rode motorrad into view, left arm lifted and stretched out slightly, hand holding some contraption.
The doors' locks suddenly gave way, allowing the doors to fly open – with me still clutching their bars! I clung on stupidly, and got half-dragged and half-flung out. I felt absolutely nothing fun about imitating a flag waving up and down, especially when holding onto a crazy, speeding van. I tried pulling myself in, but every inch gained got lost to the van's swerving antics.
I peered back at green girl on her motorrad – she merely adjusted her aim with a cool movement of her shoulder. You certainly know sick, twisted ways of toying and then disposing of my life, green girl. As if she heard my vilifying thoughts, her forearm bent back slightly – I felt a sharp sting on my left hand, and my right instinctively went to clutch it.
As I fluttered in free fall, time did slow down just enough for me to realise my stupidity then. And of a word profane enough to describe my situation.
"I still cannot believe that we're doing this!"
"Then don't."
"You might find it easy, but what about me when I have you on top of me, revving me to these crackneck speeds?"
"Good fun sometimes, this. And it's 'breakneck'."
"Oh, you just have to have the cheek. First you kick me up to insane speeds. Next, you just had to rile up the land's law over some obnoxious man you do not even know and should not even care about. Then you use up your remaining ammunition so carefreely on an armoured vehicle so much larger than I. And to top it all of it off, you can still take aim so well, talk to me so calmly, and then tell me about my mistakes, as if everything is still normal at 75 miles per hour?"
"Takes practice. Now shush and let your engine do the blaring alone... then we might only just pull this off."
"Why, I... wait, what? Only just?"
"... yep."
My inner eye focussed as much as it could; now if only my body did the same! My fingers trembled terribly, my view blurred by tears pooling in my goggles and my ragged breathing veered my aim about. Even thought became difficult, my head reeling from coursing adrenaline. Just hit close by his hand... shock him into letting go... Now or never... now or never... now... now!
The silver blade gleamed as it exited the rotary blade-gun, sleek curves betraying razor-sharp edges and jagged tip. I would have used something more benign, but most of my arsenal... he-hey, that's headed too close to his hand...! O-oh, it missed, just barely... wait, d-don't! N-no! It hit! It's just a nick, right? Just a nick, please, just a nick...
"He's fell off! This IS part of the plan, right?"
Snapped back into reality I quickly stored my weapon, thankful the move came instinctually, and gave the right handle the strongest twist in all my riding years (the ensuing boyish scream could nearly overpower the engine's roar), hoping for the best...
He landed quite neatly onto my arms nearly breathless and out cold from fright – huh. Lighter and scrawnier than I first thought; his little inertia only pushed me back an inch or so. I quickly dropped him onto my lap and resumed control of the handles. Okay, that's that...
... but I had to be sure. It was just a nick, right? I fumbled for his hands, and fiddled them over. Crap, just narrowly avoided slicing his hand in two... crap, nothing to wrap this bloody mess up with... let's not make a fuss out of this. It was just a nick. Blood-soaked as it appeared, it was just a nick, just a nick –
"HEY! LOOK WHERE WE'RE GOING!"
I threw my hands back onto the handles, my view ahead and felt my heart leap twice. The van, now right in front of us, skidded into tilting precariously. At that angle a tumble became inevitable... with us right behind it! No!
I jammed the rear brakes, the deceleration punching me forward. I hoped hard that the threads from the land of rubber ducks held at least for this much more. Front brakes now too, come on... The scream came much clearer this time, the boyish voice hollering out in pain. Amidst all this chaos, even I felt my mouth gaping and throat itching to shriek. The tyres screeched and smoked against the asphalt – we slowed down little by little, until we finally caught up with the van; I had to swerve! And swerve I did, to a near impossible angle, bringing us all to a complete stop.
The van had no such luck. It slid on and collided into a lorry ferrying a large cylinder, the metal vehicles making beastly, unearthly sounds as they contorted and merged into each other. It all happened in slow motion, like in films before something big and bad happened... Common sense gave me a sharp boot, and I quickly revved away from the wreck, just before the loud rush of searing air billowed past.
The deafening boom blew past me. Silent, scorching air engulfed me in silence for goodness knows how long... just ride away from the blast; far, far away... don't look back, no matter how hot it felt, and no matter how much flew past you, or how close they did... just go... don't care...
... riding away, without a care. For parents and family who drove a knife at me, rules and country that wanted me dead inside, the flying bullets, the city's gate that nearly slammed shut in my face, a dead person, and the many twisted smiles left behind. I didn't care for them, did I? Just ride away, so my life would be spared... yes, without a care.
... riding away, without a care. For a girl with high hopes and her hospitable family, a homely inn in a pleasant land, the flying confetti, the city gate slowly closed from a great distance away and the warm, glowing smiles left behind. I didn't care for them too, until... Just ride away, so my life would be spared... the volcano ate them all up because they wanted it that way. The land I wanted to stay in for three days and more, heh, them and their suicidal thoughts, all of them.
No. I cared for them, and I cared most for her! She didn't want to die; she didn't even know she'd die then! Did she even have the chance to make it out of her bed, let alone flee without daring to look back like me now? If only I convinced her... I couldn't convince her then, no, I didn't convince her... I didn't try hard enough... because I just didn't care enough about her... didn't care enough...
"K-k-kuh, I've had much, much better days..."
The now tinny and hollow voice brought me back to my senses again. The wind now blew cool respite, and the motorists oblivious to us, their attention only for the scene we left behind. We cruised to a stop by the side of the road, under a banyan's shade. I pat the right gripper on the motorrad, pledging to myself never to be so cruel ever again.
The motorrad made a sound in its 'throat', as if wanting to respond, but chose to keep silent. I did the same. I stroked the handles slowly, mouthed my thanks for making everything go smoothly and turned the ignition off. The world became still and silent, almost timeless, save nearby people talking and gawking at the flaming wreck.
That, and our passenger's unintelligible mumbling. I dropped him off me and onto the yellowing grass. He seemed barely conscious and unaware of things, clutching his injured hand, mumbling, groaning and hallucinating aloud:
"... no, please don't, please don't hurt me –"
"Look here."
He turned his bruised and soiled face around to my voice, brown eyes revealed by eyelids which opened slowly and then suddenly flew open. He whimpered and tried crawling away on his back, but I held out my rotary blade-gun, its metal casing reflecting strong afternoon sun down onto him.
I had only one blade left. I must make this one count.
Green girl stood towering over me, goggles raised onto her hat, her khaki overcoat streaked with soot and brownish-red stains flapping in the feeble breeze, and bloodstained right hand aiming a cylindrical contraption with four circles on its flat side towards my head. W-why...?
Her lips parted, and she spoke in her emotionless tone:
"You won't live a free man any more."
... what? As if readying for disobedience, the weapon clicked, and I saw a small silver triangle jut out of a hole that opened up on one of the circles. The wind picked up, and thunder rumbled in the far distance. Her dark green eyes narrowed, and her pale pink lips moved once more:
"Show me where the law enforcers of your land are headquartered."