The Alpha
By Adam Morgan

Road Rage
The wheels skidded erratically under the car; Angel's odd movements on the wheel sent the car flying as he scrambled amid the letters and parcels that were littered on his seat and face. The pedal was against the floor mat, the car moving forward at an astonishing speed, the long road allowing the engine to go at full throttle, but no matter how fast he went, they would catch him. He had cleared the best part of the letters and had adjusted himself on the seat, wriggling a bit, taking glances in his mirrors, puzzled looks flashing on his face, watching the lone biker weave in and out of invisible traffic. He spun back and peered down the road, he knew the area well, eight more blocks then a left and he would have only three more miles to the phone. He was beginning to get worried, the Agents should be here by now, he looked down to the shotgun. It's tiny grip poking out at him near the handbrake, he looked down for a second, bringing up to his lap. When he looked up his eyes were met by two dark shapes, sunglasses, three metres away.
The cars collided, Angel's bonnet crumpling on the impact, Roberts being thrown back across the seat, his shades erupting in front of his eyes. Angel flew out the front window, his knee catching hard on the wheel before he rolled, letters sticking to his arms, over the two bonnets, the shotgun clipping on the crumpled metal, he landed on his front the shotgun raised at the window, a huge bunch of rounds shattering the window and flying through the back of seat, rupturing the leather and the programming of King. Roberts was still fumbling out of the side window as a second shell hit their bonnet, their original cases hitting his side. Angel groaned, rolling the shotgun to his left, onto the road in between the two cars. He followed it, reluctantly, landing roughly on his side as the high buzzing of the bike approached.
The small flood of light, a circle hovering on the ground in front of the bike, approached quickly, weighing his odds, Angel stood up, gripping his shotgun. The bike began a turn away from the wreckage when Angel burst forward. The biker gasped inside his helmet as a huge foot pressed into his side, followed by the force of an entire body as he rode directly opposite the wreckage. Angel had kicked him right off his bike but had timed it badly, launching himself onto the other side of the road, narrowly missing the biker, as he lay sprawled on the floor. The bike rolled on for a second before wobbling and toppling to the floor, the blue paint leaving a large scratch on the floor. Angel took one last look at the biker, he knew what was coming. He grabbed his shotgun off the floor and limped forward, clutching his side as he came closer to the bike.
Balancing his weight over the body of the bike, he swung it up and threw himself onto it, kicking down on the pedal, a huge rattling buzz coming from the tank underneath him. He leant forward, his second foot coming up off the ground and at an angle from his body, the perfect riding position, as the bike lurched into life. He sped off down the road, the man a few metres behind him groaning, his helmet hurting his neck, as a burning sensation over came him, his body twisting inside him, his mind exploding with pain, his eyes and face, contracting and lurching forward as he reached for his Desert Eagle and fired three rounds at the bike ahead.