Repo'd Ch. 01-06

"Hell, that was easier than I thought I'd be. Now we just need to get off the street."

Looking around, Nicky saw a parking garage, half a block ahead.

"Hold on," Nicky said as she dived into a parking garage at high speed.

A car jerked out in front of us and WHAM. We ricocheted violently off the rear fender, and tumbled onto the concrete. Next thing I knew, Nicky and I were sprawled out on the ground.

"Uh." I groaned as I rolled over and managed to get to my hands and knees. Motionless, Nicky was spread out face down on the concrete.

"Nicky!" I cried out.

"Aughhh," Nicky grunted, still splayed out on the ground.

"Are you OK?"

"Peachy," Nicky said in a voice that sounded anything but peachy.

Slowly we tried to shake it off and struggled to regain our feet.

"Oh my God!" A middle aged man exclaimed as he got out of the car and rushed to us. "Are you girls alright?"

"We're fine," I said even though I was still unsteady on my feet and feeble.

"I think we should call for an ambulance," the driver said taking out his phone. "You girls don't look so good."

Woozy, Nicky steadied herself against the car, winced in pain, glanced at the large dent in the car's fender, and looked around for the little white helicopter. As I heard a faint buzzing sound, Nicky's eyes flew open, she pushed herself off the car and stumbled toward the motorcycle.

"We've got company," Nicky said and I looked back to see the drone peaking in the parking garage looking at us.

"Auhh," I grunted, still too shaken up to manage a more eloquent response.

Somewhat reinvigorated, Nicky pulled up the motorcycle and straightened it up. Although the bike looked like hell and the front wheel was a little warped, it seemed like it might be serviceable so we crawled on; Nicky restarted the motorbike and hit the throttle.

"Wait," the car driver shouted, "there's been an accident. You can't go."

I shrieked and hung on to Nicky as tightly as I could as we hurled out of the parking garage like a bat out of hell. Dense traffic in front of us forced Nicky to turn onto the sidewalk with the drone hot on our tail. Panic stricken pedestrians desperately dove for safety and fled in every direction as we cut through the middle of the throng of people.

Nicky fought to control the bike as we zig-zagged all over the sidewalk. With the front wheel bent and wobbling, the motorcycle shuddered almost uncontrollably, making the bike a bitch to steer as well as greatly reducing our speed.

"Can you drive this?" I yelled.

"Maybe," Nicky yelled back. "There's only one way to find out."

I cringed in fear as Nicky shot back on the road and throttled up. Instantly, the bike shuttered violently, Nicky lost control, we nearly wiped out, sideswiped a parked car, careened back into traffic, narrowly missed being run over by a cab, veered hard to the left, ran up onto the sidewalk, and crashed into a pile of garbage bags.

"Get up," Nicky said as she pulled me out of the heap of trash bags. We looked up at the drone just in time to see it clip a traffic light, spin out of control, and bounce on the sidewalk across the street.

"Do you think it's KO'd?" I asked.

"Probably not," Nicky said as she was frantically throwing trash bags on the motorbike. "Those drones are pretty tough. Quick, bury it and get in."

No sooner than we'd buried the bike and ourselves in trash bags, I heard the drone take back to the air, hover for a moment, and rush past us down the street. Nicky jumped up and tried the door to the apartment building beside us. It was locked. I tried a service door, but it was locked as well.

"We need to get off the street," Nicky said. "Find something, anything that's open."

As I looked for a door that might be unlocked, I saw the slaver's gray van driving speeding toward us and screamed in terror. Both of the slavers were looking right at me.

"Son of a bitch," Nicky said as she grabbed me and pulled me back toward the trash pile. "Get back to the bike."

"Seriously? The bike's fucked."

"It's all we've got?"

As I looked up, the slavers were less than a block away and accelerating. Nicky jerked the motorbike out of the trash pile and we jumped on but the slavers came to a screeching halt in front of us cutting us off. Diving out of the van, Mr. Davis pulled out a yellow and black Taser pistol while an angry and detrmined looking Mr. Rodriguez raced toward me. Nicky reversed the bike and hit the kick start. Only twenty feet away, Mr. Rodriguez was only a couple of seconds from nailing us while Mr. Davis leveled his Taser pistol and took aim right at me.

I screamed, "Now, Nicky, now!"

The engine roared to life. Mr. Davis fired his Taser just as Nicky hit the gas and the Taser prongs whizzed past only inches behind me. Mr. Rodriguez dove for the motorcycle, and grabbed my shoulder with his right hand but struggled to get a grip. I held on to Nicky as hard as I could and tried to shake him loose. The front wheel of the bike left the ground but Nicky and I shifted as far forward as we could and the motorcycle kept moving.

Stumbling, Mr. Rodriguez lost his grip on me, fell, and rolled on the concrete as Nicky and I tore down the sidewalk as fast as we could go and still control the bike. Mr. Davis chased us on foot while he tried to get another shot off with the Taser. Despite our rather slow speed, we were still much too fast for the middle aged slaver to run us down from behind and the distance between us and Mr. Davis quickly widened.

"God dammit," Mr. Davis exclaimed as he gave up the footrace.

As I looked back, the slavers were scrambling back toward the van.

Weaving through the heavy traffic, we quickly left the slaver's van behind. It seemed at relatively slow speeds, a little more than a fast jog, we had enough control over the motorcycle to drive it. Because we could drive between the cars, in heavy or stopped traffic, we could outrun the van but we'd never be able to outrun the drone at this speed. After a couple of blocks and a right turn, Nicky glanced back at me.

"Where's the slavers?" Nicky asked.

I looked back but in the heavy rush hour traffic, the streets were filled with delivery vans, a bus, and several trucks. With all the obstructions, the slavers were nowhere in sight.

"I don't see them."

"Do you see the drone?"

I looked around, "I don't see it either."

We took a left turn only to run into the back of the drone but its camera was pointing in the wrong direction and it didn't appear to see us. Noticing an open door, Nicky drove into a restaurant for cover. The patrons looked astonished but the manager was enraged.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing? Get that damned thing the hell out of here," the manager yelled.

"I'm sorry," Nicky said. "I'm really, really sorry sir but it's an emergency."

"It's going to be an emergency if you don't get that bike out of here," the manager said as he pointed to the door.

"I'll just be a minute, please; it's really important."

"A minute my ass. If you don't get that motorcycle out of my restaurant right now, I'm calling the cops." The manager took out his cell phone.

Having no other choice, Nicky turned the motorcycle, left the restaurant and fell into traffic. Neither the drone nor the slavers were in sight and we took a quick left. But, just as soon as we got a couple of blocks up the road, we hit a red light and became ensnarled in stopped traffic.

"Cops!" I yelled as I saw a police cruiser stop in front of us at the light. Immediately, Nicky hid us behind a beer truck.

"Stay down," Nicky warned.

Although the police didn't go out of their way to look for renegades, they considered looking for fugitive collateral distasteful and the work of slavers, if the cops happened to stop or run into a renegade, they'd make the arrest. Attempted theft of collateral was a crime even if the collateral was yourself. Once collateral was collared, the police were notified and when collateral went renegade, the police were alerted to detain immediately.

For us, even a routine traffic stop would be a disaster. As we weren't wearing our collars, and as the slavers had probably notified the police of our fugitive status, if the constabularies stopped us, they'd know in an instant that we were renegades; we'd be arrested and turned over to the slavers for sure. Worse yet, we were driving recklessly, the bike was obviously not roadworthy, and we weren't wearing helmets. If the cops got so much as a fleeting glance at us, they'd pull us over.

Running from the law would be a far more daunting task than running from the slavers – probably impossible. The police had vastly greater resources, hundreds of cops, numerous hover-cars, helicopters, better drones, and a lot more of them. They also had access to hundreds of street cameras with vehicle recognition and facial/body recognition software. If we ran from the police, all that we would probably achieve is to add another six months onto our commitment for attempting to elude police. They'd probably catch us within a matter of blocks. We needed to get off the road as soon as we could.

Fecklessly, I looked around for a way out. All of the buildings nearby were swank condos with passcode entry locks and nowhere to stash the bike. And, with the cops right there, driving on the sidewalk or darting between the traffic would get us busted. We had nowhere to go.

"Did we get far enough?" I asked.

"I don't know," Nicky said. "If the drone gets some altitude and looks around, probably not."

Looking back, I saw the drone, high in the air a couple of blocks behind, looking for us, the camera mounted on its bottom scanned the back and forth. As the camera swept in our direction and we ducked down in front of a car as far as we could but when I peeked back up, the drone's camera was locked onto us and it was moving in our direction.

"It's found us," I said.

"Shit," Nicky looked for an escape.

I glanced around as well but couldn't see anywhere to hide. Then, I caught sight of the gray van only a block behind us and speeding in our direction.

"Slavers!" I yelled.

Nicky looked back, "Shit!"

Looking up, I could see that the light had changed and the police cruiser had driven past the intersection and was driving down the block.

"We're clear. The cops are gone."

"Hang on."

Nicky hunkered down, hit the accelerator, maneuvered between the stopped cars, and perilously dashed into the four lanes of traffic in front of us. Sensing my imminent death or dismemberment, I closed my eyes and screamed. I could feel the bike shutter and wobble to the point that Nicky nearly lost it. Still alive a moment later, I opened my eyes again only to find us safely on the other side of the intersection and moving fast as we frantically threaded our way through snarled rush hour traffic.

Although there was a lot of squealing of brakes, and honking horns, mercifully, this time I didn't hear any collisions. Nevertheless, we were tempting fate. Sooner or later we'd end up road pizza if we kept this up. Even slavery would be preferable to being crushed under the wheels of a bus. Although Nicky's bravado had saved us this time, the next time she tried something like that she could kill us.

"We can't keep this up," I yelled over the din of the motorcycle engine and wind noise. "We're going to die."

"I know; brace yourself," Nicky said as she took a quick left, crossed oncoming traffic, bounced over the curb onto the sidewalk, and drove down a flight of stairs into the City Park, the vibration all but bumping me off the bike. Nicky wove through a stand of trees in an effort to lose the drone to no avail. Despite the trees, the drone dived down below the branches and continued its pursuit.

"It's still there," I yelled. "The drone's right behind us."

Nicky cut through a soccer field and drove into a walking path leading into the forest. On the uneven ground and loose dirt, the wobbly front wheel caused the bike to be even harder to steer. Momentarily losing control, we nicked a jogger, knocking him to the ground. The collision almost took us out as well.

"Sorry," I yelled back at the flattened young man.

The drone, now only head high off the ground, followed about twenty feet behind us. At our reduced speed, there was no way we could outrun it. Nevertheless, the heavy tree cover slowed the little helicopter as well and prevented it from gaining any altitude.

"Duck and hold on tight," Nicky yelled as she veered off the foot path, plunged the motorcycle into the dense woods, and crashed through the thick foliage.

Battered by the tree limbs, our progress slowed to little more than a fast walk. As I looked back, the drone was now at knee height and was losing ground as it struggled to follow us through the heavy brush. After thrashing through tree limbs and underbrush in the forest for about 50 feet, Nicky slid the motorcycle to a stop, jumped off, grabbed a rock, and sprang after the drone.

Suddenly realizing that it'd been lured into a trap in the heavy growth, the drone operator tried to save the vehicle from certain destruction by fleeing as Nicky chased after it but the drone quickly hit a tree branch, tumbled to the ground, landed upside down, and frantically flopped about like a fish out of water. Savagely, Nicky pounded the drone to pieces.

"We're on foot now," Nicky said as she stood up, dropped the rock, and brushed the dirt from the knees of her jeans. As she took off through the underbrush, I struggled to follow her but, with my heels sinking in the soft ground, I quickly fell behind.

"Carry the damn shoes," Nicky grumbled. Barefoot, I made better time but, in the dense vegetation, it was still slow going.

It started as a low distant hum and then it sounded as if a small tornado was approaching. The tops of the trees started swaying violently and it seemed as if the whole forest was vibrating. Nicky looked upward, grabbed me, and drug me underneath a nearby pine tree with lots of cover.

"Quick, get down and cover yourself," Nicky said.

As I sat down against the tree trunk, Nicky began frantically shoveling handfuls of leaves and dead pine needles on the two of us as fast as she could.

"What are you doing? What's happening?" I asked.

"Hover-car."

"The hover-car was the police's newest toy and they loved to use it. Made of lightweight polymers and fitted with retractable wings and four small rotating aircraft engines, it could operate both a small car and as an aircraft. Since it could fly overtop the traffic jams, hover, take off vertically, or land on a dime, it was ideal for a rush hour chase. Camouflaged as best we could with the pine needles, we laid low behind the tree trunk as the hover-car passed nearby.

"I didn't think the police got into chasing down renegades," I said.

"They don't. But the cops sure as hell will be trying to find the couple of assholes on a motorbike that have been driving recklessly all over the place, caused a few accidents, chased people off the sidewalks, and hit some guy in the park. We need to get out of here fast before they've got a dozen officers combing these woods, more drones, and maybe even another hover-car."

The hover-car stopped and hovered over where we'd abandoned our motorcycle.

"Crap, they've found the bike," Nicky said. "We need to hurry. Now they know we're on foot."

We picked up the pace and head to the nearest street. As we came to the edge of the park, Nicky hid behind a large tree as she looked around for a moment to get her bearings, pulled out a cheap cell phone that I'd never seen her with before, and hit a number on speed dial.

"We're in the park just south of the intersection of Fourth and Roosevelt," Nicky said into the phone. I couldn't hear the response but Nicky appeared pleased. "Thanks, I don't know how I'll every repay you but I promise," Nicky's voice changed from her usual self, to her most seductive tone, "If you get us out of this, I'll come over to your place on Thursday, I'll take off all my clothes, and I promise that I won't dressed again until Tuesday. If you keep me from being Ultra's slave, I'll be your slave all weekend long."

Nicky playfully giggled upon hearing the response, said goodbye, put her phone back into the pocket of her blue jeans, and then, suddenly serious again, stared at me in disbelief.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Nicky shook her head, "I just can't believe that you wore a skirt suit and heels to a jail break."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what you meant by dress for action."

As Nicky looked down the road for Kurt, she looked startled.

"Slavers!"

Glancing back at the road, I could see the gray van approaching with Mr. Davis and Mr. Rodriguez in it. Mr. Davis was driving slowly while Mr. Rodriguez was hanging his head out of the open passenger window scanning the tree line. Instantly, we both dropped to the ground and scrambled behind a thick stand of underbrush. As I started to stick my head up to check on the Van, Nicky grabbed me and jerked me back down.

"Don't look," Nicky whispered, "If you can see them, they can see you. Just stay down."

A moment later, I could hear the van pull up and stop only 30 yards away. I cringed in fear, grabbed Nicky, and let out a guttural squeal.

"Shhhhh," Nicky said, putting her index finger to my lips.

They were so close that I could hear the slavers talking.

"They've got to be right here somewhere," Mr. Davis said.

"There's an amphitheater just up a head," Mr. Rodriguez said, "maybe they went there."

"Dammit, those are some seriously valuable bitches. We're about to lose out on one hell of a payday."

Slavers made their money by bounties, a percentage of whatever Ultra made off our sale. Young and beautiful women such as ourselves brought the highest prices. It was the type of collar slavers dreamed of. Better still, we were two high-dollar renegades. We'd be a huge score for the slavers if they could bag us. But, if Mr. Davis and Mr. Rodriguez failed to deliver us, they wouldn't be paid a dime for all their efforts.

"I can't hear their motorcycle anymore; they must be on foot," Mr. Rodriguez said.

"Launch another drone and get some altitude. We'll see them when they try to cross the road. And call Bill and tell him to bring the dog."

Nicky held me down for 20 seconds after we heard the van drive on before we dared look at the road. The van was gone. Nicky took out her phone and made a call.

"Where are you?"

"Sixty seconds," Kurt replied.

"Make it fast. The slavers are about to launch another drone and the police are looking around the park in a hover-car."

Nicky stood and then grabbed me and pulled me to my feet.

"We're going to fall in with those joggers," Nicky said. "Just follow my lead and act like you're one of them."

I looked and saw group of joggers approaching. There were seven of them, four men and three women. Luckily, the guy we hit wasn't one of them. I started to protest that it'll never work but it was too late. Nicky made for the sidewalk and I followed as best I could in my bare feet carrying my shoes. As the runners passed, we plunged into the middle of the group and started jogging in their midst.

"Hi," I smiled and tried to act natural while jogging barefoot in a tropical wool skirt suit and blazer but the joggers stared at us incredulously and started looking around. A couple of the women observed at my suit and appeared concerned. It was obvious that they knew we were up to something but didn't know what. I looked down. To my horror, my favorite navy blue suit was covered with dirt and debris.

"What the hell are you doing?" One of the joggers asked.