I opted for the Dodge Omni, not because I knew anything about that particular model, but rather because I hadn’t yet run over anyone with it. It would be the least conspicuous vehicle in the eyes of law enforcement.

  I checked to make sure the Rusty Bumper Reinforcement was activated, only to realize it had been all along. The Duct Tape Patches and the Extra Loud Horn were also activated. I was still wearing my uniform, but had a change of clothes with me, so I pulled over to the side of the road, stripped down, and changed the best I could from inside the car.

  The interior of the Omni was a terrible shade of red, and the seats were covered in red velvet that felt weird against my skin as I slid out of my uniform pants. All in all, the interior was one of the major travesties of the early 1980s. I got into my jeans as quickly as possible.

  Maine was a huge state, and one I wasn’t terribly familiar with, outside of the occasional trips to the beach in York or Wells.Those towns were just over the New Hampshire border, though, and I was aiming much farther north. I had always intended to visit Acadia National Park in the summer, having heard for years about how beautiful it was for hiking. I was assuming that at this time of year, it would be about as remote as it could get. In fact, I was counting on it.

  The vast national park sat on a jut of land called Mt. Desert Island, though thanks to a nearly water-level bridge, the island was more of a peninsula. The only town I knew about on the island was Bar Harbor, nestled on the extreme eastern part of the ballsack-shaped landform. I wasn’t intending to go anywhere near that town, however. My limited knowledge of the park suggested that a more secluded area might be mid-island. According to my cursory online research, the scenic freshwater Echo Lake looked like it might meet my needs…and I expected it to be mostly deserted at the ass-crack of dawn on a late November morning.

  With stops, it would be after midnight by the time I made the five-hour drive and parked at the lake, leaving me plenty of time to think. Thankfully, it wasn’t snowing. In fact, there wasn’t any snow on the ground that I could see. As I cruised through Portland, I forced myself to do the one task I’d been putting off.

  I pulled out my personal cell and dialed the Boston barracks number. Yep, I was the asshole who was calling off my second day on the job, something I had a feeling wouldn’t win me any points with Trooper Hanlon. But what else could I do? Given I was already off Saturday and Sunday, this would give me three full days to “lay low.”

  I read through the texts from my uncle and Cam wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving. Cam had included pictures of himself with his family, complete with a massive display of food that made my mouth water. His follow-up text noted that his mother was not happy with me for standing up the family on such an “important holiday,” and that I’d better find a way to make it up to her. I asked Cam to relay my apologies again and reminded him to stay at his parents’ place for the long weekend. He didn’t ask for details, and I didn’t offer them. I also didn’t mention anything about where I was heading. For all Cam knew, I was still in the Greater Boston area.

  I hopped off the highway and onto Rt. 1 in Belfast. From there, a coastal road took me over a very cool suspension bridge into Bucksport. I spotted a gas station across the Penobscot River from an old fortification literally called Fort Knox. Despite the name, I didn’t think there would be any gold in this particular closed-down historic site. After heading in to hit the head, I paused to walk slowly around the Omni. I’d parked it off to the side of the parking lot, given that I didn’t need to fill up. The last few hours of driving had given me nothing but time to think, and my curiosity was just about killing me about what wonders I might find in the trunk. It was time to find out.

  I looked at the trunk for a latch of some sort and even ran my fingers over it, finding nothing. For a moment, I thought the rust might be covering up a hidden button, but no matter where I looked, I was no closer to opening the damn thing. My mind flashed to the glove box, where the handy Bowie knife rested. Was I supposed to use the knife to pry the trunk open? That didn’t make any sense. Surely Dispatch wouldn’t have made it so challenging to access whatever was inside.

  An alert flashed in the corner of my mind, and I was drawn to the virtual interface inside my skull. A message from fourth_wall reminded me that the know-it-all Dispatcher could–and apparently did–monitor all of my activities.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  fourth_wall: It’s a good thing you’re handsome. Stop dicking around and use the app, Somerville.

  I sighed and pulled up the screen where I had previously selected the type of ride I wanted. Inside the Omni screen were the car's various stats, and yep, there it was. An option to open the trunk. Upon selecting it, I heard a satisfying click as the car's back hatch opened wide. I hadn’t even realized this was a hatchback, similar to Lanie’s modern Subaru.

  I leaned forward, eager to see what lay inside. I found nothing. Literally nothing. Upon closer inspection, I realized there had to be a secret compartment. I ran my hands slowly and carefully over the fabric until they caught on the nearly invisible seam. After that, I found the latch to release the cover of the hidden compartment.

  What I found inside filled me with mixed emotions. On the positive side, multiple guns were secured to the base of the trunk area. On the other hand, the guns were literally the tiniest versions of handguns that I had ever seen. I had never seen these particular weapons before, but I was shocked to realize that I knew almost everything about them. The first was a Bond Arms Derringer, a tiny, two-shot pistol that I was nearly sure I could easily palm to keep hidden. This particular model lacked the shotgun shells found in specific variants. It was a point-blank range handgun.

  The next was the polymer-based Ruger LCP, made from a nearly weightless plastic-like material. It carried six small-caliber rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. The recoil would be almost nonexistent.

  The last weapon, likely gained at D3 level, was a Colt Mustang Pocket. This one was metal, thankfully, and was the heaviest-duty handgun that I currently had access to. I knew it to be a quiet little pistol with a more traditional feel when pulling the trigger.

  I sighed. This was it? No Jesse Ventura Gatling guns, and no Iron Man-style laser blasters? I was a little disappointed, and more than a little concerned. I was half tempted to break out my trooper-issued Smith & Wesson M&P, but knew that would be the surest way to get caught. Bullets fired from a gun issued to a trooper could be too easily traced.

  On the upside, the guns were small enough to fit in my pockets. I wondered idly whether I’d need to reload them manually if and when the time came. My magical death car didn’t need gas, so it wasn’t a stretch to assume my magical death guns wouldn’t need ammo.

  I dropped the back hatch with a slam, catching a glimpse of something that made the hair on the back of my neck rise. A person-sized shape had temporarily blacked out the light white cables of the suspension bridge. The shape appeared to be coming from the far side of the river toward Bucksport. I didn’t need binoculars to know precisely what I was looking at, so much for getting out of town. The Fines had found me already, and it was quickly closing in.

  There were four other cars beneath the gas station canopy, too many potential witnesses for this to be the right place for a confrontation. Hopping into the Omni, I peeled out of the parking lot, my foot pressing the gas as I sped southeast toward Mount Desert Island. There was still an hour to drive before I’d reach what I hoped would be a deserted parking lot.

  I scanned the darkness behind me in the rearview mirror between the flicker of passing headlights. I drove just over the speed limit, but not fast enough to get pulled over. Getting pulled over now could be a death sentence for everyone involved.

  I made it through the sleepy town of Ellsworth and finally to Trenton before I spotted the shadowy figure again. The Trenton Elementary School sign was clearly illuminated in my rearview mirror, save for when someone or something passed in front of it. The creature was barrelling straight toward my Omni, having finally confirmed that my car was the one it was looking for. I gunned it.

  My GPS indicated another ten miles to my destination. I was mentally prepared to make my stand before Echo Lake if I had to, but I would be damned if I’d make it easy for the flying terror. My foot pressed harder into the gas, and the Omni shot over the landbridge, the sign for the Harborside KOA campground a blur as I zoomed by. Yes! I was on the island!

  I flew through Somesville, ignoring the slower speed limit at the picturesque Somes Sound. Ahead of me, the road opened up, and through the blur of trees, I spotted what had to be Echo Lake on my right. I whipped past the sign, swerving into the parking lot where I would make my stand.

  - - -

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