FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The light ahead on the matte black highway was dim, yellowed by the old headlights beaming down on the pavement with nothing but darkness beyond them. The rumble of the old Mustang's engine spoke of its age and the miles it had gone. All the long nights just like this one, on a long road to nowhere.

The worn out seat creaked as Atry shifted against it. His back was getting a little sore, his left getting a cramp. He couldn't tell how long he'd had to shift, but thinking about it reminded him how alone he was out there. He'd tossed his phone through the open, red dust covered window just before shifting. It was somewhere back there. Probably ringing like a spoiled child.

His only passenger, Colt .45. One bullet shy of a full clip.

The dark furred fox rubbed at his tired face. Tugging at his cheeks and forcing back alertness for just a little longer. Just a little longer. He wished the radio worked. Probably better it didn't.

He was escaping that life. Putting it behind himself in the only way he knew how. Running. No drugs or alcohol. He'd gone down that road already and all they did was put him into a fancy resort, cleaned him up and two months later he was their performing puppet all over again. No. Arty knew to run was the only way. Run until they give up searching for their golden goose. This fox had too much to life left in him to let it be milked away. Every man has their breaking point. He glanced over at the gun.

He'd get to the boarder. They'd never look for the car or the gun there. He'd disappear and then when the time was right, he'd fly home. Not his home, but his family's home. His sanctuary. He'd be welcome there with no expectations. No one would ask him for anything. He liked that idea.

He tried to remember the last time he enjoyed one of his own songs.

He wished the radio worked.

"Goddamnit..."

The faint light in the dash glowed against the black fur. He gave a hard sigh and then focused in on the engine for a brief moment. A quick check to make sure it was still working well enough to carry him to freedom.

His ear twitched and his eyes lit up, busting wide with uneasy surprise. Sirens.

A quick glance into the rearview comfirmed his fears. They'd found him. It didn't matter how. All that mattered was that he was screwed if they caught him. He wound't go to jail, no. At least not for long. He'd be out in no time thanks to a team of lawyers. No, he'd get a worse punishment. He'd be forced to live out his life making it up to them. Performing until the day he was either too old to stand on his own, or dead of a drug overdose. He'd end up choosing one fate over the over. He chose to push the petal down to the floor instead.

The engine erupted with a lust for the thrill of the chase. The car coming to life with adrenaline and gasoline with an almost defining roar. Arty silently thanked the guy who had put the car together. Whoever he had been.

The lights would slowly draw closer. Despite the modifications the car had undergone, it was still no match for what the highway police had under their glossy hoods. The engine of the Mustang strained and screamed. The side panels shaking with aggression. Arty's hands gripped the wheel tight and turned white beneath the fur. The police were closing in. The real action would start soon. His eyes darted over at the gun and then back to the open road, catching a short glimpse of a sign. "50 miles to border. Have ID ready."

The pedal was down as far as it would go, but Arty tried to push it down further as he rolled his foot against it. Just a little more. Just a little more.

The sirens were now screaming behind him. In his mirrors he caught at least five sets of lights staring him down. The border would be closed. They'd be waiting for him. They'd catch him. Send him back to Los Angeles and his biography would get another dark chapter. Not this time. He glanced over at the gun.

The tired shrieked in pain as they spun against the pavement. Smoke lifting in the air. Arty barely had enough time to smell the rancid stench before the car was barreling off the road and into the desert sand. Bouncing and bucking over rocks and uneven terrain. There was no stopping, no slowing down. The fox knew that any number of things could end this in a hurry.

He pushed his fear into his gut. Let out a howl and worked the sound of the engine roaring into a power he could feel burning within his chest. The lights were chasing him. Closer now, they were clearly built for this off-road driving, unlike his own ride.

"Please make it."

"Please."

His mind was taunting him with all that could go wrong. Flat tire, engine could blow, a big rock could appear from the darkness front of him and end things in a hurry. He didn't dare look at the gas gauge.

The fence was just ahead. He could see it glistening from searchlights cutting through the night behind him. Once again he rolled his foot against the petal. "Just a little more. Please!"

The fence grew closer and closer and so did the police. He could hear their engines roaring and overwhelming the sound of his own. Like wild wolves bearing down upon him they moved up all sides, bounding over the ground far greater than his dying vehicle ever could.

Arty shut his eyes. He heard the clash and bang of the fence. The metal tearing away from his car. The windshield snapping and shattering. The engine dying. Flat tire too. The wheel fighting to free itself from his hands to take over control. It won.

The next thing Arty knew he was sliding sideways, then upside down. Rolling through the air over and over. Lifting up and then coming back down hard with a powerful crash against the unforgiving ground. Then blackness.

Blackness.

Blackness.

A powerful beam of light lit up the broken interior of the smoking wreck. Arty blinked. Thankful he could still see and more importantly, was still alive. He'd ended up under half the dashboard and part of a tire...but in the back seat instead of the front yet still buckled to the front seat.

The fox scrambled to unbuckled his seat, not even realizing that he couldn't feel his left arm. He tried to use it, but it didn't seem to want to work. Instead he just focused on using the other one. Unbuckled the belt, grabbed the gun resting peacefully at his feet and squirmed through what was left of the rear window. The desert air was colder than he'd expected. He thought about digging out his duffle of clothes, but the eager searchlights quickly changed his mind. He was free, but there was a lot more running to do if he expected to stay that way. Another set of lights were approaching from the side. TO his surprise, his legs still worked just fine.

The gun flew through the night. He heard it land, but couldn't see where. Something warm was running down his side. Miles of open desert ahead and it was only getting colder. One way or another, Arthur Delgado would escape.