Someone's In My Head (WATTYS AWARD WINNER 2015)

Chapter Eighteen (Pt. 2)

Phil noticed it too. "You're shot!" He gasped. The horror in his voice betrayed the unfriendly façade he was trying so hard to maintain earlier; I could hear the genuine concern he had for his friend.

"What?" Lenny frowned and glanced down briefly at his abdomen. He blanched, but swiftly managed a straight face. "Nah, it's nothing." He muttered dismissively. "Must be a stray glass splinter when the sniper bullet got through. I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're bleeding out fast." Phil hissed. The Mustang hissed back in response, accompanied by the cacophony of bullets assaulting the back of the car.

Phil swivelled his head back to assess the damage sustained by the back window. There were crack lines everywhere, and the glass, bulletproof or not, looked like it was going to shatter any moment now.

Phil swung his head back. "We need a Plan B!" He hollered at Lenny above the din. "Those are 20mm bullets. And trust me, your Mustang might be built for a casual gunfight, but a full-blown machine gun assault? Sooner or later, they're gonna tear us apart like a knife to paper."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Lenny muttered, wincing in pain. I did not miss the rivulets of sweat that slid down the side of his head. Lenny's wound was definitely weakening him.

Rat-a-tat-tat. The Cadillac was closing in fast.

We gotta do something.

"You got a gun in here?" Phil cried out, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Lenny shouted his reply. "A shotgun, but it's stuck in the boot!" Which, judging by the incessant assault of bullets, certainly didn't seem like a nice place to visit right now.

But that didn't stop Phil. Ordering Lenny to "Drive faster!" he climbed to the back seat. Dammit. This crazy bastard thought he was James Bond.

When he locked eyes with Tanya, she stared back at him with large, bewildered eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Buying us some time," Phil replied. Gritting his teeth, he whipped out the knife from his back pocket. Murmuring, "it ain't sharp enough, but it ought to do the job", Phil stabbed the knife into the back seat.

Lenny did another killer left turn and Phil was flung violently into Tanya's lap. She squealed, he groaned, and this entire thing would've sounded really awkward if―okay, wrong topic.

"Dammit, Lenny." Phil cursed, wiping out the cushion feathers (which was flying everywhere) out of his eyes. "Next time when you make a turn like that, a little bit of warning beforehand is greatly appreciated."

"I'm tryin'!" Lenny retorted. He made another swerve that would've been considered dangerous even by Formula One racing standards. Thanks to the swerve, Phil's knife sank deep into the cushion.

CLANG! In a fervent flurry of cushion feathers, Phil retracted his blade. He knew he'd struck the cast aluminium framing of the seat, and he also knew that beyond that, separated by only a thin layer of cardboard, was the car boot.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

Knowing that time was running out and he had to hurry, Phil exerted the muscles in his shoulders as he pried the torn cushion apart, all the while trying very hard not to sneeze as the cushion feathers attacked his nose. "Tanny!" he called out. "I need you to keep this hole open for me, do you understand?"

When she nodded, Phil passed one side of the torn cushion into Tanya's trembling hands. "Grab this, and do not let go until I say so." He commanded. "Lenny? Try to keep this beast steady for just a sec!"

"I'll do what I can!"

Once he had ensured the hole was large enough, Phil crawled inside, with the knife in the lead. Finding a dark flat surface blocking him, he knocked on it. It sounded hollow. "That's it!"