Elliott couldn’t take his eyes off the road behind him; he couldn’t believe it had been that easy. Slam on the brakes and evade a whole slew of cops? It was never that easy in the movies… it was a little disappointing actually.
Shavian was also looking out the back, her face a white mask of disbelief. To no one in particular she muttered, “How could that have been so easy? It’s like I’m in an episode of Scooby Doo. We even have the Mystery Mobile.”
Elliot decided to test the waters. “You’d make a great Daphne,” he said.
The look she turned on him told him that the waters were full of sharks and piranhas and maybe a megaladon. An angry megaladon. “I’m gonna tell you one more time to shut your snack-hole, Scoob,” she growled through clenched teeth. Apparently watching her rescuers outmaneuvered by a standard driving practice was getting to her a bit; or maybe she just didn’t think being compared to a somewhat dim-witted cartoon character in a sweater-dress was a compliment.
“Why can’t I be Fred?” he asked quietly, hoping she didn’t hear him.
In the front seat, Roger heaved a sigh and said, “I think we lost them.” His hands were shaking on the wheel though from fear or adrenaline, Elliott couldn’t say. Roger kept looking in the rearview as though he too couldn’t believe they’d gotten so lucky. Roger took an off-ramp into downtown Portland.
“Everyone okay?” he asked.
“I’m not okay,” Shavian snapped.
“Aside from the victimized hellcat, everyone okay?” Roger amended grumpily.
“Roger that!” Junie said.
“Roger what?” Elliott asked.
“What do you mean, ‘roger what?’” Junie asked.
“What are you rogering? When you say, ‘roger that’, it means that you’re confirming something.”
“Roger that,” she said slowly, pointing at Roger as though it explained everything. “That’s Roger. Confirmed.” Elliott gave up.
It was moving towards evening now, but summer kept the sun well above the horizon. Portland was a city that wore its heart on its sleeve, and just one trip down a street might show an observer every possible sub-culture the city had to offer. Elliott had always liked it here. Portland almost felt like a little town that wasn’t aware it had grown up. Roger seemed to rethink where he was going and he turned onto the bridge that took them over the Willamette River, towards an area that was less crowded. Everywhere they wanted to be was behind them but, at the moment Elliott was just happy they appeared, for the time being, to be in the clear. The good news about the zombie apocalypse was that pretty soon no one was going to care about a few stolen weapons. In fact people would probably be grateful-
The van rocked and jerked violently, the passenger door bending in with a sound of screeching metal. Elliott surprised himself with his reaction time, jerking away in time to avoid contact with the repositioned door, but found himself almost in the lap of a very angry, victimized hellcat who immediately resumed her game of Slug Bug on his head. Roger bellowed in surprised anger and fear. A glance out the window and Elliott saw the cop car that had rammed them pull away, prepping for another hit. There was a loud, metallic pop that made everyone jump, and the hood snapped upward, gushing steam.
“Are they shooting at us?” Elliott asked.
“No, I think we blew a rod,” Roger growled. He was violently cursing the van, its creator, designer and build team, and eventually “the chassis it road in on” towards the end. He cranked the key over and over, trying to get it to restart.
“Hey, he’s leaving!” Shavian exclaimed, pointing out the window; indeed, the cop car that rammed them was backing up much further than was needed to hit them again. Elliott looked up in time to see another cruiser on the other side barreling towards them.
“Look out!” Elliott cried. Without really thinking, he unfastened Shavian’s seatbelt and pulled her over to the other side of the seat just before the cruiser hit towards the back wheel, spinning the scuttled van around. The back driver’s side tire hit a curb and Elliott’s heart flip flopped as the vehicle went up on two tires, teetering precariously. It hit the ground and the tires bounced once before finally settling. Elliott was just about to ask Shavian if she was alright, especially since she was no longer fighting him or hitting him, when the cruiser rammed again, harder.
The van went over on its side with a crash and the crunch of breaking windows; Elliott held Shavian’s head against his chest, trying to protect her, and she didn’t protest. The van was filled with shrieks and grunts as it rolled once, twice and came to a rest on its roof. Roger groaned and Shavian was whimpering lightly. Only Junie appeared unfazed, like getting hit by cop cars and winding up on your head was an everyday occurrence.
There was a clattering of footsteps blending with the sound of several large rifles and handguns being cocked.
“Roger Gillespie, you’re under arrest for the-“
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he mumbled.
Junie gave the cops on her side of the car an upside down thumbs up. “Roger that!” she chirped.