DIRE STRAITS, Chapter 8C
September 26, 2011
For one disorienting moment, Derek wasn’t sure of where the motorcycle was. Racing through the woods, branches lashing at his face, weeds and bushes tangling his legs, he didn’t have time to stop and search. He plunged on. The soldiers were a dozen yards behind him. Once they all entered the woods they had stopped firing, probably in fear of shooting each other.
He nearly ran past the motorcycle. Skidding to a halt, he leapt onto the saddle and kicked the engine to life. He zigzagged in and out of the trees, leaning low over the handlebars, barely able to make out tree trunks. He hit a rock, nearly catapulting off the bike, but clung.
Something tugged at his shoulder. He heard the gunshot a moment later. Heart racing, adrenaline surging, he jammed the throttle down and roared through the woods, breaking out into open road.
He took the bike up to its top speed, flying down the serpentine road at over one hundred miles per hour.
It wasn’t a solution, and he knew it. He had to get the hell off the main road.
Once he was out of the town, he skidded onto a gravel road that led into the hills. Kicking up gravel, he gunned it, taking every turn he could. The hills soon flattened out and he was running on roads sandwiched between fields of sugar cane and tobacco. He felt vaguely protected by the sugar cane, with its tall stalks. The tobacco was no good, though, he couldn’t hide there.
He had lost his pursuers. Derek pulled to the side of the road alongside a sugarcane field and touched his shoulder. The bullet had nipped at his coat, but he hadn’t been hit. He’d been extremely lucky tonight, he supposed. He still wasn’t in prison and he wasn’t dead or wounded.
But his exfil plans had gone completely to shit. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.
He decided to return to Havana and attempt to hide out for another day. At the safe house or back at Pleasure?
He opted for Pleasure.