Stalked

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The prisoner squinted at the threatening ebony sky through the steel mesh that made up the cage in the rear of the patrol car. He knew he should be afraid, but he was dead inside. His heart was black. All he could do was watch the big wind come and hope it would scoop him up into its twisting, churning middle.

Five seconds later, the storm howled down upon them.

"Oh, mother of God," the cop who was driving squealed. She was a rookie and heavyset, with squat fingers clutching the wheel. Sweat dripped down her cheeks from under her butch dark hair. The ferocity of the wind lifted the front wheels of the speeding vehicle off the highway, and rain like a deluge sheeted across the glass. The driver did the only thing she could do; she stopped, because she was blind. The car danced, doing a shimmy on its tires.

"Keep going," her partner told her.

"Are you fucking crazy? The storm shifted, you stupid son of a bitch, it's coming right at us."

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