The Chase

By: Jack Heneghan
Straining, my legs drive like pistons from the pavement. After a mile of sprinting, the only thing propelling me now is raw instinct. I don’t know the name or face of my chaser. Even though my movement blurs his image when I glance back, the sight of him chills my bones with fear. My heart rushes as I wheel around a corner and take another left. The empty suburban streets serve as a poor camouflage, leaving me as vulnerable as a wounded animal.
Looking ahead, I see the bridge. The long archway easily stretches over the wide river. I focus my eyes and charge ahead toward the other side, to the hectic city. I feel no pain now because I know that once there, I will be able to lose my chaser among the bustling activity of the streets.
The end is in sight, only thirty yards from the end of the bridge, my excitement is that of a ship’s captain who can see the harbor ahead. As I cross from bridge to land I can see that my captor is a ways, perhaps 50 yards behind me. My joy soon turns to panic as I hear the horrific sound of searing metal behind me. I am one of the lucky ones, as I had made it off the bridge and into a nearby observation deck, but as I stop, the only thing that holds the floodgates of exhaustion shut any longer is the horror before my eyes. Plunging to the water is a mass of iron and steel. Cars and people free fall towards the river. In this tangled mess, I can clearly make out the body of my chaser. In this moment of clarity, I see for the first time, that his face is that of my fathers.