The Dark Of Death

Kaan gunned the motorcycle, the motor’s revs turned to snarls of rage. The dark street stretched all the way down the hill, creating an illusion of everything being close but then again being very far. The one street lamp all the way at the end of the street flickered every now and again.

The frightened gasps of William reached the man in black on the motorcycle; his helmet (and head) cocked to better hear the little sounds. William ran into the light of the lamppost, looking back, seeing nothing. That was when the motorcycle roared, the brakes were eased, and the shape sped off, in darkness down the dark hill.

William had heard the revs, but this time he saw the cloud of black from the exhaust, wafting up into the night sky. He turned and began to run again, screaming. Kaan gained on the screaming figure, turning in, as if to jump onto the footpath and run right over the top of the fugitive.

A blackout had happened mid-chase between Kaan and William, except for the few street lamps that had survived the surge. All the houses’ power were out, leaving them in pretty much pitch black. This had raised both William and Kaan’s heartbeats that little bit higher; William’s was nearly going into a cardiac arrest.

William kept running up the pavement, up another hill, another gigantic semicircle in the darkness. A jet of flame would occasionally shoot from the motorcycles’ exhaust, as the rider changed gears, and it did this now, just about the only thing visible.

Kaan had been dressed completely in black, rendering him completely camouflaged. William was in a sweaty white shirt, and cargo pants. William had been hunted for the past year by the government, for a crime he didn’t commit. He had been framed for the murder of an agent of ASIO. An agent on a big case, none of this James Bond crap people think agencies like ASIO do.

No, this was the tough stuff, bugging a secret Teliban meeting somewhere in the Middle East. The agent’s last report had been that he had found the location of the meeting, and that he would transfer the co-ordinates the next day. The next day he had been found with a knife lodged in the back of the head, his body turned over, his expression it seemed, still at peace facing into the dusty pillow.

The government had been given a fake anonymous tip-off, that it was William Robertson of Brisbane, Australia. They had promptly put a huge price on this man’s head, and only one bounty hunter stepped up for the job. A man only known as ‘The Rider’.

He had tracked him to this very moment, and William had known this, as he had escaped his house through the back door and over the back fence, when suits had come to his doorstep with a warrant for arrest and secretly, death row. William didn’t see the rock that tripped him, only the pain shuddering up his leg.

He fell in the darkness, hitting the pavement, one little bleed from his lip. His screams were instantly silenced. The motorcyclist took advantage of this, sped past William, then turned back in a large oblong curve, leaving a large skid mark people would soon discover in the light of the next morning.

He dismounted the bike, and removed his helmet, even in the dark William could still just make out the edges of the long matted at the top, blonde hair. He stood over the cowering shape of William now, one arm over his helmet, the other taking the gun from his leather bike suit.

“In the name of the law, I place you, William Robertson, under arrest for murder…”

“You don’t understand - !” William tried to run, but his left leg limped. The stranger fired his gun, and William fell.

“…Or not.” Rain started to fall, and thunderclouds brewed over the two figures, one motionless, one turning back to his bike, pocketing whatever he had in his right hand and slipping the big helmet back over his messy soaking blonde hair with his left.

The price on William’s head was a grand and a half. Kaan smiled at this fact as he sped off into the night, to his loving family and three kids, never to go under the name of ‘Kaan’ again. William had been an innocent, who worked at K-mart on weekdays, and visited his mother in the retirement home every Saturday afternoon, occasionally taking her out to lunch.