Eduardo kept the gas pedal pressed to the floor, heedless of the potholes and cracks in the road. He was intent on opening up as much distance as possible between them and the quadrant marshals while he scanned the horizon for someplace to hide. Ahead, on the opposite side of the freeway, huge, stadium-worthy banks of lights illuminated a sprawling warehouse. He’d noticed the place when they drove into the capital early that morning. After their harrowing mission, he understood that the real enemy was the OCSD, the anti-terrorism agency charged with protecting everyone, and he was ashamed of himself for being so frightened and gullible. It was time to get tough.
He kept the truck on the far left side of the roadway until the last possible second, then wrenched the steering wheel to the right and skidded across three lanes and down an exit ramp without once touching the brake. Most of their pursuers reacted too slowly and missed the exit. Eduardo made a hard left at the bottom of the ramp, cut under the overpass and onto an access road headed toward the warehouse. He glanced back and saw with satisfaction that only a few cars were still in pursuit. Maybe he could lose them once he got inside. He slowed down enough to appear inconspicuous as he merged into a line of identical trucks entering the US Post Office distribution center.
“Returning to the mother ship, Eduardo?” Tommy said as they passed the sign at the gate.
“Yeah. Now we blend in, but we still gotta ditch this truck. They probably scanned the license plate at the roadblock.” Eduardo had been fired from his job as a postal carrier but he knew that on Thursday nights the new CSD shipments were sorted, loaded, and sent out for delivery the next day. He pulled into the reserve lot, and noticed his hands were shaking as he cut the engine and lights.
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