Miscommunication (boyxboy)

Chapter Nine

~ Cole ~

Cole raced down the back roads of Spring Creek, headlights whipping through the forest that towered over each side of the deserted highway.

The west outskirts of town were all farmland that hardly anyone used anymore. The endless stretch of vacant roads made it the perfect hang out for the lowest rungs of society to commit unsanctioned deeds in the dead of night.

Autumn in Spring Creek was a chill that bit at your skin during the day. At night, it was the cold wind pouring in through Cole's open window as he sped down the old highway between acres of farmland.

Cole pushed the pedal harder to the floor, the V8 engine of his Commodore roaring beneath him. Her body rumbled as she thundered down the empty stretch of road, at one with her driver. She gave a low growl with every gear change before kicking up dust and tearing into oblivion.

This was a hunt and Cole was the predator, but his prey wasn't in front of him.

Headlights flashed in his rearview mirror before a green Mistubishi Lancer emerged beside the Commodore. Its windows were tinted but Cole knew who was inside. It was always the same.

The window of the Mitsubishi slid down and a roguish voice yelled out over the wind, "Ready to give up yet, Decker?"

Cole barely spared a glance out the window, calling over the engine, "Not until I'm dead."

"With the way you drive, you might just get there."

Cole scoffed. He knew which driver was the worst between the two of them and it wasn't him. "Mind your lane, Raminski!"

Niklaus Raminski, crown delinquent of Spring Creek. He'd been arrested on more charges than Cole could count and was notorious for his propensity toward crew-organised street racing late at night through the back fields of town. He was someone everyone knew. The trouble he stirred up in high school (before he dropped out) still echoed in his legacy beyond the borders of Spring Creek.

The two vehicles roared down the highway, pushing the one-twenty mark. A new set of resonators rumbled like thunder as the cars streamed down the roads of abandoned suburbia.

The green Mitsubishi revved emphatically three times as each car screamed through the night. Cole knew Raminski was challenging him. He wasn't stupid. Out here, you couldn't afford to be.

A handbrake turn had Cole facing the way he came. Then he was off again. The Mitsubishi tore after his Commodore and raced him into an endless stretch of darkness.

The circuit was only a quarter-mile. A small crowd had amassed at the finish line, which was really an open field of dirt where twenty cars or so gathered to watch the race off.

Cole felt adrenaline pumping through his veins as he floored it. The Mitsubishi appeared on his left. The two cars were nose to nose.

This wasn't the first time they'd raced and it wouldn't be their last. Raminski wasn't built for anything else and Cole lived on the high he got from dreamed invincibility.

High beams blasted the dark road as the cars turned onto their last stretch of mile. Cole was a great driver but Raminski had put everything on the line for this; a kingdom built off hopeless dreams.

It was over too soon. Cole cursed as the Mitsubishi pulled ahead in the last few feet. It tore down the end of the road, smoke in the wake of victorious burnouts.

Burnt rubber and cigarette smoke filled the air as Cole climbed out of the car. The Commodore sighed as he slammed the door and leaned against it, scowling.