4338.211 · July 30, 2018 AD
Sirens in the Rain
Karl executes a brilliant tactical reversal—stops pursuit mid-chase, spins the car, races back to intercept at a closer junction. Should work perfectly. Then Sarah's computer pings: Gladys Cramer. The woman from Luke's house, already tangled in their investigation, driving one of the fleeing vehicles. They wait at the intersection. The suspects never arrive. Radio screeches. Dispatch reports vehicles turned into Myrtle Forest—chopper lost visual. They arrive at a flooded car park. Bitumen ends. Vehicles gone. Just rain, wilderness, and an impossible disappearance.
The pursuit tears through rain-slicked curves. Karl's tactical mind calculates trajectories, recognizes the loop-back pattern. He slams brakes without warning, spins the car 180 degrees in controlled aggression, accelerates back toward closer intersection. Sarah shouts surprise but understands—brilliant interception strategy. Chopper confirms position. Other units preparing spike strips. Perfect coordination.
Computer pings. Registration result.
Gladys Cramer.
The woman who'd offered wine and lies at Luke's house. Person of interest in their missing persons case. Now fleeing police at dangerous speeds through storm. The pattern crystallizes—this isn't coincidence, this is connection.
They wait at the intersection. Engines idling. Emergency lights pulsing against rain. The suspects should arrive any second.
They don't arrive.
Radio shrieks—ear-splitting feedback that bypasses hearing, stabs directly into brain. Then dispatch: vehicles turned Myrtle Forest Road, chopper lost visual.
Karl's fist slams steering wheel. They race toward wilderness. Bitumen transitions to gravel without warning, car sliding on mud-slicked stones. Half-flooded car park. Weather-stained toilet block. Trail disappearing into bush.
Dispatch confirms: no visual on either vehicle.
They've vanished. Two cars, seconds ahead, single access road. Physics says impossible. Evidence says it happened anyway.
Karl sits in flooded silence, rain drumming metal. Close enough to read plates. Not close enough to catch truth.
