Page 119 of Kill Feed

A truck bursts from between the trees where an old forestry road cuts through the woods, tires throwing mud and gravel as it fishtails onto the road behind us.

It’s painted in dark camouflage. All military-looking and built like it was designed to survive the end of the fucking world. The rear bed has been stripped down completely, replaced with metal rails and reinforced plating.

And the truck’s full of people in what appear to be gas masks. Heavy metal music blasts from mounted speakers loud enough to vibrate through my tires. The masked figures hang from the rails, cheering and laughing as one pounds a fist against the side of the truck while another throws both arms into the air.

My eyes lock onto those standing at the back. They’re holding weapons, but I can’t tell exactly what, from this distance.

I twist the throttle harder, leaping forward, engine screaming beneath me. Lucas has clearly noticed them as well. Amani is twisted around in her seat, staring through the rear window in absolute horror, and reasonably so.

I keep accelerating.

My Kawasaki Ninja is faster than both vehicles. Much fucking faster, and it will take less than a second to disappear down the road.

I could leave.

The thought flashes through my mind but disintegrates just as quickly. Leaving them to the wolves creates problems.

I’m not about to lose the only form and shape of normalcy and contentment to a shit show like this. As for Lucas, he clearly knows enough to be useful. Both of them are variables I understand and need.

The truck finally catches up to Lucas’s car, hitting the rear bumper hard enough to make him sway before he wrestles it back under control.

They speed in next to him, then keep their pace. These fuckers are playing with him, and the guy’s Sedan doesn’t stand a chance against that monster of a truck. They slam the rear quarter panel this time, and for a second, I think he’s going to roll the car before recovering.

“This one’s a fucking street racer,” a woman yells through the distorted sound of her mask. “Hit him again.”

My focus has mainly been on the situation unfolding behind me. So much so that I almost miss the fact that the road splits up ahead.

I peer down at the map mounted to my bike. We’re so fucking far behind now, and there’s no way Lucas and Amani will make it back into the safety bounds of the circle at this rate. One more bump and they’re nothing but shattered glass and body pieces on the road. They need to keep left and follow the path onto the loop that takes them on the main road to the final destination.

I trace the route. If I were to follow the path on the right, it breaks off into another road leading away from the forest before eventually connecting with a path that leads back.

The idea forms immediately and just in time as I peer back, noticing the truck ready to ram into them one last time. I kick into gear, twisting the throttle and swerving to the other side of the road, indicating to them to keep left.

I slow down, Lucas’s eyes meeting mine for half a second with confusion before understanding.

I cut sharply across the road, directly in front of the truck, and with one hand gripped tight on the handlebar, I stand slightly on the pegs and raise one hand, flipping them off. Surely this will piss them off, and if that doesn’t, this will.

I position my body back safely, hands where they should be, before accelerating and doing a wheelie. Out of character, I know, but I bet it will make them think I’m cocky.

And that’s exactly what the driver thinks as he blasts the horn, now speeding after me.

I dart right at the last possible second. The motorcycle leans so hard my knee nearly scrapes asphalt. I watch the sedan completely disappear from my view. Their odds just improved, and that’s good enough for now. And because my motorcycle was built for speed and whatever apocalypse-on-wheels the hunters are driving was not, I leave them in the dust, losing them within the first two minutes.

That’s one problem solved. My attention drops to the map, and immediately, a new problem appears.

Shit. The perimeter keeps shrinking, and it’s shrinking fast.

As I’m about to push the bike harder, headlights suddenly appear around the next bend. A blue car flies past, and I instinctively move toward the edge of the road. The thing is destroyed. Fucked to say the least. One side panel hangs loose, and the front bumper is barely attached. Its windshield looks spiderwebbed, and there are bullet holes covering the sides.

I immediately widen the distance. Whoever’s inside that car must be a participant, and I’m not about to get caught in the crossfire.

A high-pitched noise sounds from the distance before the silhouettes of two dirt bikes appear in my mirrors. One raises a gun, accelerating towards the blue car. I don’t stay long enough to see the damage they’re about to inflict. I can’t tell if it’s gunfire or reflections as I speed off, but either way, I’m long gone.

The entrance to the forest appears up ahead. Floodlights glow between the branches and fencing. I’m so close, I can almost taste the damp ground and moss.

A wall of camo explodes from a road to my right. The truck hurdles across the darkness, falling straight into my path, blocking me. There isn’t nearly enough road left to stop naturally, and the vision of impact floods my mind. I throw the bike sideways in an attempt to soften the landing. The rear tire loses grip instantly, and the motorcycle disappears from beneath me. Metal shrieks against the tar road, sending sparks bursting into the night.

The world tilts violently as we slide broadside across the road, carrying me with it for half a heartbeat before momentum tears us apart.