Chapter 3: Hot Pursuit

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Winning Choice: Every option received some votes, which I take to mean people have a lot of different perspectives on what is going on, which I love. Unfortunately there was a tie between option one (Brandon keeps chasing them) and option two (Brandon steals the car). KrisBaxterGing suggested he asked the skinny Prius owner for help, so I took that and combined the ideas that tied. 

Oh man, the cops are going to be here in a second. I have no ID, no real idea where the heck I am, and the police tend to frown on naked men causing car accidents. I’ve a hunch I’d be spending some seriously unpleasant time behind bars while they sort it out, and once they find my record I bet I'll have a tough time getting out anytime soon.

A spasm shoots down my spine. Whatever they had done to me wasn't done. I’m still changing, and I really need to catch those guys.

I grab the skinny guy by his shirt and he makes eye contact again. He also yelps. "Look," I tell him, "I need your car. I'm sorry!" I start to throw him out of the way then for some stupid reason change my mind and chuck him into the car. I can just leave him with his car when I’m done.

He flies across the driver's seat and lands, mostly, in the passenger seat. I hop in after him, pushing his stray leg out of my way. I hit the gas and pull the door closed at the same time and the car takes off. It has more power than I expected, and since I’m not exactly chasing a Ferrari I hope it’s enough.

The kid curses at me, straightening himself up in his seat. "Ow," he says, rubbing his head. Must have struck it when I tossed him in. "What the hell, man! You can't steal my car!"

"You're still in the car so I'm not stealing it. I'm just borrowing it," I tell him. I don't buy that even as it comes out of my mouth.

The streets are pretty clear ahead of us, probably because of the traffic backup I just caused. I blow past the few cars I come across, weaving back and forth across the two-lane street. 

"Pull over! Geeze, why are you naked? Why are you doing this to me?"

"Kid," I said, "If you want to have a contest of who is having a weirder day right now you're gonna lose. There's a van up ahead. Those guys kidnapped me and took my clothes. I'm trying to catch them."

He squints at me. “What the hell were you wearing they wanted to kidnap you for?” he asks.

"What? No, they did something to me and took my clothes in the process. Experiments of some kind. I don't know what yet, but if they get away I'll never know what it was."

"So let me out! Go chase them! Take the car!" He keeps yelling but out of the corner of my eye I see him sizing me up like he’s trying to figure out of he can take me. He’s pissed, and I can’t blame him for that, but he isn’t freaking out as much as I think I’d be if I were in his situation.

"Is it a disease?” he asks. “Did they infect you with something?" 

Red light! I was busy arguing with the kid and looking for the van and missed it entirely. It’s way too late to stop so we’re going through. This might end both of our bad days right here. 

Apparently my new body has other plans. My stomach drops and the world slows down. Not just like how you feel things are slower when you get a burst of adrenaline. I mean the world is really going slower. A lot slower. And I’m still running at normal speed. Maybe faster.

A blue Honda comes in from my left. I see it as if it were a mile away and I have a leisurely hour to react. Its driver, a middle-aged blonde woman, happily chats on her cell phone completely oblivious to the broadside she is about to receive. Or would have. I tap the brake and pull left just enough to let her scoot by. We miss by inches but I feel like I have room to spare. Coming the other way a U-Haul truck lumbers along. It must be going 40 but looks to me like it’s coasting to a stop. I push the accelerator and goose the Prius in front of it. I veer to the right to get back into my lane and continue through the intersection unscathed. Now there’s this muffled noise sort of echoing in the car. Ah, it’s the kid. He’s screaming. The world returns to normal speed.

"AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIGGGGGH! Let me out let me out let me out!"

"Kid, shut up! I can't hear the van with you talking!” I say.

"Hear the van?" he asks. I ignore him, starting to panic. It was there a second ago, that rumble of their engine, and it seemed so close.

"No, no, no," I mutter. I can't lose it now! I glance down alleys as we pass, thinking maybe they knew I was following them so pulled over and turned off the engine.

"Is that it?" asks the kid, pointing ahead. We’re in a business area surrounded by lots of shops and little restaurants. And the van. It had hopped the sidewalk and crashed into a light pole that was now tilting precariously overhead. None of the van doors are open and only two people stand gawking nearby. It must have just happened.

I yank the wheel over and slam on the brakes, sliding the Prius in right behind the van. I leap out. They better not be dead in there, because then I won’t be able to kill them. After they tell me what was going on, I mean. Heart pounding, I run up to the van.

Behind me the kid scrambles out his dented passenger door. “Wait!”, he yells.

Winning vote: Brandon yanks open the van door.

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