Chapter 15

Mark's brows twitched together as he watched Cheryl slap her light onto the roof of the car and heard the beginning wail of the siren. "Cheryl's pulling out…" he remarked uneasily to Jesse.

Jesse watched. "Yeah. Maybe she got another call."

Mark shook his head slowly. "I don't think she'd take it, under the circumstances, unless it was urgent."

"Maybe it was."

"Mm…" Mark sat for a second, undecided, his instincts itching uncomfortably, then abruptly made a decision and yanked his car out of traffic to follow Cheryl's rapidly diminishing rear fender. "Then again…"

Jesse watched what he was doing with growing unease. "Mark, she said not to try to keep up if she had to…what are you doing?"

Mark steered his car around the lane of waiting vehicles, clenching his teeth a little. This looked so much easier on TV…"Tailing her. Just in case she took a call about South Beach mall. If it was about someplace else, I'll pull over when we get to the mall - no harm done."

"No harm done!" Jesse's voice rose. "Now you sound just like Steve! Mark, Cheryl's in an official police vehicle, and you're not - you're going to get pulled over for speeding!"

Mark was concentrating hard on leaning in on the accelerator while still maintaining control of the car. "If we get stopped I'll - just explain that I'm with Cheryl."

"Oh, yeah - that'll be a big hit! You know how much Steve loves it when you do that kind of thing?"

Mark chuckled a little, even though he was staring intently ahead, focused on catching up with Cheryl's cruiser. "Oh, yeah."

"Well, I have a feeling that Cheryl will love it even less!"

"Mm hm." All Mark's energy was centered on his driving now. "Well, we'll cross that one when we come to it. Don't worry, I know - " he winced involuntarily as the car slewed for an instant, but wrestled it back under control. "what I'm doing," he finished weakly.

He nudged the speed a little higher, purposely ignoring the speedometer. After all, what you didn't know couldn't hurt you, right? They had to almost be there…and he just plain had a bad feeling…They slid into a turn, the spinning wheels losing purchase with the road for a minute, then landing again with a thump that swerved them part way across the lane before righting. Mark gulped. "See?" he offered with shaky good cheer. "Nothing to it. Um - you remembered to buckle up good and tight, right, Jess?"

*

His timing was off this time. Or maybe Brian Fuller was just getting impatient - tiring of the game. Either way, he knew it at once, as soon as he made his move toward the tiny island of trees - that he had moved too soon, tipped his hand. One second the car was aimed straight toward him, the next, as he rolled to the left and his oasis, it veered abruptly, accelerating loudly, instead of continuing straight ahead as he had hoped. He had an up-close glimpse of the crumpled front end, felt the heat of the overworked engine blasting on his face. He scrambled clumsily up the slight rise, the fender's growing shadow snapping at him like a hungry beast, dove between the small saplings, found himself tangled and fell into a somersault. He attempted to control his momentum with a tuck and roll, but tumbled down the other side haphazardly anyway and landed with a smack that body-slammed him against the pavement, cracking his chin resoundingly on the asphalt. For a second the world bleached away in a conflagration of white.

He twitched in a feeble, automatic effort to rise, lay limp again. Through the high pitched ringing in his ears he could just make out the screaming whine of Brian's engine, the sharp, dry report of snapping wood, the rustle of leaves. The grind-and-drop, grind-and-drop shriek from under the hood told him that Brian was hung up in the trees somehow - for the moment at least. Time to get up - to make his move. Somehow he was still just lying there.

He felt his ragged hands try to fist on the hot tar, to get a grip on something and still the wildly swinging world. He made another feeble attempt to rise, flopped back as his damaged leg folded beneath his weight again, just managed to cushion his head with his arm before it could crack against the ground one more time. He lolled there for a moment, floating. He really didn't feel so good.

Faintly, through the roaring in his brain, he made out the continued high-pitched yowl from the Crown Victoria and he groaned, turning his head slightly. If you'd just get out of the damn car you could finish me off easy, you dumb punk, he thought dimly. He squinted blearily ahead, saw the bouncing square blob of his personal Mecca a short way - an interminable way - away. He should - he really should…his eyes fluttered shut. Too hard.

So what, Sloan? You're going to just lie here and wait to die? Give up?

He stiffened his elbows again, tried to push upward, foundered. Maybe.

Well, that'll be great - what a way for a cop to go - squashed like a bug by some half-grown teenager. He tried using his forehead and his elbows and his good knee to push this time - got a little further up, choked painfully on a throatful of air and toppled.

I tried. Let me black out in peace.

Go ahead then, you big sissy - just lie there. Nice for your Dad especially - he can come here and identify the remains as they hose them off the…

All right!

He didn't even try to rise this time, just coughed again and stretched as best he could, inched himself forward. All right - I get the point…If the ground would just stay still, this would be so much easier…

He refused to listen for the car, to even think about it - just continued his serpentine crawl until he found he could pull himself up the smallest bit, actually saw his goal in front of him, within fingertips' length. He reached forward and just brushed it, dug his toes into the tarmac and pushed himself another few inches. Okay. Almost.

Bracing his knuckles against the looming box, he maneuvered his good knee under him, pressed his forehead against the gritty metal wall and pushed himself slowly erect - more or less - thinking wistfully that just a week ago he would have been able to vault effortlessly right over the side …don't think now, thinking is not your friend - just do…if I could just rest for a second…no resting - you can rest all you want later - for now just…just…he felt with his foot for the metal notches along the side of the corrugated metal square, used one to push himself up high enough to drop his arms over the side, hung there dizzily. Good. You're doing fine. Keep going. Don't think. Don't listen. Don't stop. He felt with his other shoe for some kind of footing, slipped and dangled for a second, his weight dragging on his armpits and his feet scrabbling weakly for purchase against the dumpster's side. Mindlessly, he swung one leg, was stunned when it actually hooked over the top of the dumpster. He wriggled until he lay along the lip of the dumpster and sagged for a just moment, trying to collect himself, resting his aching skull against the metal, listening to the ugly rasping sound of the air dragging unevenly in and out of his lungs. Almost there.

There was a full-throated growl from the Crown Victoria engine and he stiffened - car must be about free. For a second he couldn't remember which way was which - which way he had to roll to take refuge inside and which way would dump him right back into Brian Fuller's path. The sky and the earth were doing a slow revolve and "up" and "down" had ceased to have any meaning. Didn't matter: in the end the decision was made for him.

There was a deafening clang and the dumpster rocked, tearing him from his perch and flinging him against the opposite side. He felt the molded steel brand his back then he dropped like a stone, directly into the garbage. Well, at least it broke his fall. He closed his eyes. And he could lie still…

There was another hollow clang, rattling the dumpster like an earthquake. Steve reached out uncertainly with one hand to steady himself against the side, his shredded palm skidded along the surface, slipped down again.

There was another boom of concussed metal and the dumpster shook again. Oh, give it a rest, he thought wearily. What good do you think this is doing? This ought to kill that car of yours pretty quick anyway…The walls around him reverberated with another bang, shivering his cocoon again. This must be what a pinball feels like. One thing is certain - after this? I don't ever want to try another amusement park ride, ever in my life, ever again.

The ringing in his ears was louder now, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. There was something familiar about it, but it was much too much trouble to figure out what. Almost seemed to be getting nearer, too. The walls around him rang again, convulsing violently. He closed his eyes more tightly and burrowed into the garbage to anchor himself. The ringing in his ears started to sound friendly to him, like the whistles on the trains he had played with as a kid. Woo…woooo…he almost smiled, let things grow fuzzier around the edges. All he needed to do now was hold on for…hold on…for something. He couldn't quite remember what.