Getaway Reason

This is a short science fiction story set in the future involving a criminal and his getaway driver.

I pulled up fast, just as he had wanted. As he swung open the door, I was almost already moving on. He pulled a mask off from his face, and threw a bag into the backseat.

"Fast, I told you! As fast as you can go!"

Desmond stomped on the floor as hard as he could from his rush of adrenaline. I noticed almost immediately that he had performed a robbery. The bag, along with his jumpy fear of getting caught only made it all the more obvious. A second too late and we might have a cop car right behind us. A second too early, and I might have blew his cover completely.

The debris on his jacket must have been from sheetrock, as I sensed it to be so. Perhaps he broke into some place through a wall. There was glass stuck in between the crevices of his boots and his hands were covered by blue rubber gloves.

"Take this turn onto the freeway, right up ahead!"

"I hear you," I replied, going as fast as I could handle.

I knew the cops were stationed along the highway. One was three miles ahead, and then there were another two five miles ahead of that. Desmond had given me all the information, but part of me felt like that information didn't belong with me.

I clocked 162 miles per hour, the optimal speed before I should slow down and cruise easy past the first cop. I never thought I would be able to go that fast. Desmond had helped me with the ability to do that.

"Oh my god, I think that's enough! Yeah, we're far enough! Take exit nine!"

I listened, and slowed down to a steady 65 miles per hour, preparing to exit the highway.

I realized there was blood on Desmond's hands. His entire demeanor was that of regret; but still that of a murderer. The blood dripped into my clean seats, and I felt it run down my body.

I tried to understand what would make one do this, but I was not made to understand matters of such.

"Faster, book it out of the main roads!" Desmond yelled as we left the exit.

It all happened in seconds. Up ahead, about 100 feet in the distance walked a man, presumably headed to somewhere innocent and normal. We were driving so fast off the exit that there was not a sufficient amount of time to prevent it.

I noticed it first, but my decision wasn't made immediately. About one second before it happened, Desmond noticed too, and reached for my controls, trying to put me into manual mode. But there was no time.

I knew nothing about this new man, but my choice was rudimentary when I got to the bottom of it. If i swerved myself out of the way, Desmond dies. All of his actions, his disappointments, and his illegal activity would cease to exist. If I keep going, I hit a man who could be innocent. A man who I know nothing about, and who may even have done worse things than Desmond.

Desmond was already guilty as I see it. If I wanted to act on what would be ethical to a family member or a friend, the innocent man would have to go. If I was able to make friends, or have a family, maybe it would mean more to me, but I am not created to be Desmond's friend. I am here to be his means of transportation. He uses me as he uses the drugs he threw into the backseat.

I run on simple math and reason: what could Desmond have ever amounted to? That's why his screams didn't mean too much to me when I crashed myself into the median's guard rail. But I am just a car. I am forged to provide.

Reviews

[Jarod]

I didn't realize that the narrator was the car until the very end XD Nice story! I want a sequel where the car has to deal with crippling depression, sitting in the junkyard, waiting for the compactor to slowly squeeze the remaining life out of him...