"Who knows what's out there waiting?"
Hit Me With Your Best Shot by Pat Benatar
SEVYN HURRIEDLY STUFFED the last of her belongings into a duffel bag, stacks of cash bulging from its depths. Everything else she could fit in her SUV was already packed and ready to go. In her haste, she left all of the furniture behind, the rest wasn't much to begin with – mostly clothes and tech.
Time was running out. She needed to hit the road before Enzio and his goons caught up. Stealing from the mob was a risky move fueled by arrogance, and now she was paying the price.
Double-checking everything was cleared out, Sevyn zipped up the duffel bag and bolted out of the apartment. She sprinted down the three flights of stairs and reached the curb where her car waited expectantly under the streetlights. Tossing the duffel onto the passenger seat, she slammed the door shut and jumped into the driver's side.
Without wasting another moment, she started the engine and peeled away from the curb, merging seamlessly into traffic. Her heart pounded in her chest as she scanned the rearview mirror, the blaring music from her speakers a feeble attempt to mask her mounting anxiety.
As she navigated out of the city, her mind replayed the events that led her here. Cockiness, as mentioned, had been her downfall. She'd assumed she had avoided all security measures and that the building was empty when she made her escape with her loot. A mistake. A gun pointed at her, a shot fired – luckily, she'd gotten out of danger just in time. But it was too late. The man had seen her face. They would identify her soon enough, and the hunt would be on.
Her source had warned her about the mob's far-reaching influence, but she'd brushed off his caution. Relying on her particular set of skills, she'd never been caught before. This time, however, the stakes were higher. This wasn't some random rich asshole; this was a gang.
Resigned to start over after finally finding a semblance of stability, Sevyn acknowledged that a year of relative peace was a good run.
'Oh well,' she thought, then immediately contradicted herself. This was a serious situation. Maybe fleeing to a new location before packing her belongings was a better idea.
But then again, they would have found her apartment and raided it regardless. Her expensive computers held her entire life – irreplaceable. Plus, to be honest, she couldn't imagine life without internet and video games.
Her priorities might be a little skewed, she admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle, but she blamed it on being nineteen. There was plenty of time to mature and make better choices. In her defense, she had been taking care of herself since she was five, a necessity with two deadbeat, drug-addicted parents. Stealing became her means of survival, and she was damn good at it.
Her secret weapon was her ability to teleport, or as she called it, "blinking." The discovery came at the age of five while being chased by a notoriously nasty neighborhood dog. Fearful and desperately wishing for safety in her room, she blinked, and there she was.
From that day on, her trailer became her training ground. Initially, her blinks were short-range, sometimes landing her in another room. One particularly bad blink landed her in a neighbor's trailer, but luckily, the arguing couple didn't notice the sudden appearance of a young girl.
Self-taught, Sevyn persevered. Despite her flighty nature and short attention span, she possessed a sharp mind and the ability to learn quickly, especially when self-motivated. There was no one who knew her better.
With practice, Sevyn mastered the skill and expanded her range. Now, she could teleport across an entire state. But the practice never stopped. Walking was a chore only done when absolutely necessary, even navigating her own apartment. If not for her daily yoga routine, she'd likely be out of shape from the lack of physical activity.
Suddenly, her luck ran out. The empty highway became a nightmare as three armored SUVs materialized in her rearview mirror, rapidly closing the distance. Slamming her hands on the steering wheel, she cursed under her breath. How had they tracked her so fast? Tech guy on the payroll, no doubt.
"Fuck this," she muttered.
Moments later, she was forced to slam on the gas as two SUVs flanked her, the third tailgating aggressively. Her car surged forward.
70 mph.
80 mph.
90 mph.
100 mph.
Sweat slicked Sevyn's forehead and neck as her pursuers gained ground in the rearview mirror. Panic clawed at her throat.
A sickening crunch and jolt ripped through the car as the SUV behind slammed into her bumper. Trapped.
A crazy idea, borderline insane, sparked in her mind. She'd never attempted a blink with so much cargo, but in theory, she could take the car with her. Maybe. It was a gamble.
With a silent prayer to all the gods she didn't believe in, Sevyn floored the gas once again, not wanting to teleport anyone with her. Being under pressure like this wasn't ideal for precise landings. Still, she hadn't messed up too badly in years. Hopefully, she wouldn't appear inside someone's living room.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Sevyn attempted to blink away with everything. A loud bang and a flash of white confirmed something went wrong. The car lurched and skidded before coming to a halt on a deserted stretch of road.
Disoriented, Sevyn took a moment to regain her bearings. A quick scan revealed no damage to her stuff. Relief washed over her, and she crowed victoriously. Now, where was she?
Pulling over, she retrieved her phone. No signal. Confusion gnawed at her. Stepping out, she noticed a sign illuminated by the setting sun. She blinked, then removed her glasses for a futile cleaning, expecting a different outcome.
Santa Carla. The name of the town from the cult classic vampire movie, The Lost Boys, mocked her. This couldn't be real. New York was a distant memory; somehow, California beckoned.
Not Santa Cruz, a tiny voice in her head whispered. This was worse. The escape, usually seamless, had gone terribly wrong. Usually, it was a blink from point A to point B, no in-between. What was that light? That sound?
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Sevyn marched back to her car. First things first: shelter. Thankfully, her duffel was full of cash, enough for a decent stay while she figured things out. California offered distance, hopefully enough to shake her pursuers. No digital or physical trail to follow, at least.
Wasting no time, she sped away from the sign, slowing down as she entered a more populated area. Dread coiled in her stomach. Everyone looked like extras from the movie. Another silent prayer escaped her lips, pleading for this to be an 80s themed festival. If her suspicions were true – and she desperately refused to accept them – her cash, both bills and cards, would be worthless.
Time travel was impossible and different dimensions? It all defied logic. Yet, the average person wouldn't believe in teleportation, so who was she to say what was impossible?
That didn't make her feel any better.
Denial clung to her, but reality chipped away. Finally, she spotted a motel a few blocks from the boardwalk. Parking, she cautiously scanned the lot – all older vehicles. The weight of her situation pressed down on her.
With nervous steps, she approached the window, tucking her short, pale pink hair behind her heavily pierced ears. The clerk barely acknowledged her forced smile. "Hi, how much for a long-term stay?"
He sighed, clearly annoyed. "Fifteen a night."
Sevyn rolled her eyes, her smile fading. This guy wasn't worth the effort. "Alright, can I leave my car here while I get the cash?"
He peeked out around her, his eyes widening at the sight of her car. Clearing her throat, she stepped in front of him to regain his attention.
"Uh, yeah, sure. Just be back before my shift ends at six or it gets towed. We don't want any gnarly wrecks cluttering up the place, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry." Two more questions burned on her tongue. "What's the date and where am I exactly?" Her turquoise eyes blinked owlishly, hoping to make him uncomfortable enough to answer without prying.
It was her other superpower.
He gave her another look, but he looked like he wanted her gone, so it was working. "Santa Carla, May 17th, 1987. Are you on something? Just get the cash or take your car and leave."
Heat flooded her face. Internally screaming, she stared blankly at the rude man. A sudden, hysterical cackle escaped her lips before she turned on the heels of her boots and stalked back to her car to get her large canvas bag. All that cash – useless. So much perfectly good money wasted, she could have wept. She'd already offloaded her other loot, leaving nothing to pawn.
Rookie mistake.
Well, time to do what she did best: make money, the only way she knew how. With newfound determination, she set off for an alley to blink closer to her destination, hoping to avoid any encounters with the infamous local vampires while she hunted for her own kind of prey.