NYC Midnight - Flash Fiction Challenge #2

Round II - One Ride Away

Synopsis:

What do a cyclist, a runner a gangster and a government official have in common? Everything!

A cities social, political, and economic environment hangs in the balance. One night can change everything.

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A man screams, hurtling out the first-floor window. He isn’t dead but he isn’t very alive. Covered in shards of glass, an indistinguishable wound leaks crimson life fluid. He scrambles to his feet. A door slams open, releasing blood thirsty dogs. The runner flees along a cycle path, white-hot lead hums past his ears.

‘Might just bleed out. Can’t die yet, this ain’t my time!’

Panic, dread, and a surge of adrenaline fuels him. Despite each sinew of his body crying out to surrender to the sweet serenity of an impromptu slumber; peacefully.

‘I need to get this USB to the courier. The family depends on it.’

He clambers over a wall, the dogs bark viciously on the other side. He hears the aggressive shooters foreign language. They’re unable to scale the wall. Following the bicycle path, his escape continues, navigating the unknown, perilous streets of his rival’s territory. His blood-soaked hand rustles around his pockets, fumbling to retrieve his phone. It’s drenched and sticky. Struggling to clear the screen, he glances at the map to orientate himself. His destination is 10 minutes away. He peeks at his wounds, “If I make it there, I’ll survive this!”

Sounds are amplified by the nocturnal silence. Voices of the shooters are heard rapidly approaching. His lacerated, leaking body is giving his pursuers a guided tour to his location. He must slow the bleeding and fast. He sprints into a park, removes his outer layer to tie it firmly around his mid-section.

This slight detour has almost certainly sealed his fate. The runner knows if he dies before reaching the rendezvous, then tonight’s ordeal would bear consequence for one mortal soul only.

North side of the borough

“Yes boss… Yes boss… Understood!”

“I mean it. Da runner’s exhausted my patience. Wevva he gets me what I ask for or not, I wann ‘im cancelled. Permanently!” A husky voice commands over the phone.

“Do you want me to do it there ‘n’ then?”

“I DON’T CARE WHEN IT’S DONE! Tomorrow when I’m watching da news, I wantta shed a lonely tear. Ya know? A tragedy deserves dat.” He chuckles maniacally.

Unphased by her orders, the courier fixes her bike helmet, clips on her pouch. Her destination, a bicycle path that borders their rival’s territory. This excites her.

‘I LOVE late night violence. Something about it makes me feel warm and cosy inside.’

Five minutes into her ride, she joins a sizeable hoard of cyclists on a monthly midnight ride. The energy is vibrant and joyous, it disguises the sinister undertone of her presence.

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A conversation between two notoriously violent individuals takes place. This ruthless pair, a brother (the courier’s boss) and sister (a government official) execute their plan to take over the city.

“Yeah, I av my best ‘man’ on da job. She’s my secret weapon.”

“Well little bro, you’ve made mistakes before when assigning tasks…”

“…Trust me… my mistakes are being rectified. Tonight!”

“DON’T interrupt me! …and our dominance hinges on the info contained on that drive. All their dirty secrets in one place. We’ll have politicians, police, and government officials in our pocket. We’ll be untouchable.”

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Somewhere near borough central

Under hot pursuit, the runner dashes through the kitchen of a bar, the shocked staff evade him as he crashes and stumbles around. He grabs a meat cleaver. He is taking no chances. His hunters aren’t far behind.

‘I’m goin’ out swinging. Can’t believe I dropped my gun. Amateur!’

He reaches the bar, searches for the exit. Barging through the intoxicated crowd, he agitates them. The disturbance is noticed by a trio. One of them recognises him, points, and gestures to the scar on his face. They jump up aggressively. The woman brandishes a bottle… It’s on!

‘Ironic. Man’s dancing with death tonight.’ The runner nears the exit, right behind him, the crowd is being parted violently and before he reaches the door he’s smashed over the head with a bottle.

The crowd screams and separates, leaving the carnage to ensue. Without hesitation he swings the unseen blade, it lodges deeply into something solid, yet squishy. A scream is heard. With force he pulls back and goes for another swing. He sees a man sprawled on the floor; stomach clasped.

The runner scans his surroundings, confronted by a big man and a woman with a broken bottle. Vision in one eye goes blurry. He knows the cause of his obscured sight. But he must survive.

He lashes at them with purpose, a man with nothing to lose… he’s dangerous… he’s a beast.

Tentatively the pair try to rush him, but only one of them is armed and neither want a taste of what he’s dishing out.

Lunging forward, the woman manages to cut him deep as he hacks into the shoulder of her accomplice. All three retreat. A viscous concoction of alcohol, sweat and blood, create a slippery surface.

The man scuttles out of the bar, reaches the foyer, he’s in a bad way. Struggling for breath, he bursts out into the streets.

With consciousness slipping away, one last look at the phone reveals how close the destination is.

He opens one unread text. It reads – Courier - Purple Glow Stick

Locally

The cyclists route brings them close to the venue, the courier checks her maps. She’s near the meeting point. She cracks her glow stick as they head towards the runner’s marker.

Blood gushing, he notices the purple glow stick amongst the sea of riders and hobbles down the bicycle path.

She stares towards the runner; his original chasers erupt from the venue. They sprint towards him. Visibly armed, cold steel glints ominously.

Weak, semi-conscious and shaking, he hands over the USB.

“Thanks…”

The courier pulls a beretta, points it at the runner’s head. Betrayal sweeps over him. They gaze into each other’s eyes.

She knows he’s a dead man, but he deserves a fighting chance. With a vengeful promise, she drops the gun “…Take care, baby brother… Disappear!”