The men howled and ran toward me. I beat on the gas tank of the motorcycle.
"Start you fucking piece of shit."
To my surprise, I flipped the key and it came to life, purring between my legs. With a twist of the wrist, I hammered the throttle. The back wheel slid sideways, trying to gain traction.
The men opened fire. Bullets peppered the trees and bushes around me as I tore up the grass, before finding pavement. The bike howled as I shifted the gears, my body wrapped tightly around it. I looked back as the men and their guns grew smaller, the sound of gunfire fading. I stared straight ahead at two black cars blocking the street. Men in uniform pointed weapons at me.
They opened fire. Bullets ricocheted off the plexiglass shield that curved in front of my face.
Thank god Grandpa installed this shit.
I looked around for any means of escape. Hammering the brakes and flipping the handle bars, I spun to my right as the back end of the motorcycle slid and my foot planted on the ground. My forearm flexed, hammering the throttle as I rocketed toward a side street. A steep, man-made irrigation ditch appeared between me and the road.
I leaned into the bike and cocked my wrist on the throttle, pegging it to red. I ramped a small hill in front of the creek, soaring through the air. Bullets sliced past me. I floated over the creek bed and braced myself as the tires slammed into the asphalt.
The bike corrected and I sped down the road with a smile on my face, thinking about Kiril's bandaged face and his reaction when he learned of my escape. I laughed to myself.