Help the Woman

Ranell’s first instinct was to help the poor woman trapped upside down in her car. That instinct evaporated into a blinding desire for self-preservation when a long-haired hoodlum with tattoos across his face slammed both fists down on his hood. “Get out of the car, old man!” He screamed. “No jobs, no justice!”

Ranell released the door handle, and he mashed down on the lock. A flying object smashed on his roof, and he flinched down, trying in vain to take cover behind his steering wheel.

“Did you hear that?” Ranell shouted into his cell. “They’re trying to smash their way into my car!”

Ranell couldn’t make out the words of his wife’s hysterical response over a growing noise that crescendoed into the distinctive thumping sounds of a helicopter’s rotor. An avalanche of wind descended on the scene, kicking up dust and bits of debris.

The mob around the car quieted a little, backing away from the rotor wash. An announcement was blared from the police aircraft, but Ranell couldn’t make out what they were saying. A few protestors in the crowd raised their hands in defiance, and others cheered their efforts.

Ranell seized the opportunity to escape and gunned his car onto the shoulder, smashing through brightly painted wooden barricades and scattering fleeing protestors as he shot forward towards the offramp.