The Yellow Bomb by decodergrizzly via www.deviantart.com

 On The Run

Joy turned the key in the ignition of her 1972 Pinto. The starter groaned then went silent. She got out of the car and opened the hood. The engine was caked with decade’s worth of dirt and oil. She had no idea why she opened the hood; she had no idea how to fix a car.

She was parked on the street outside her apartment building. Joy looked around the tree lined neighborhood. Too much to hope a mechanic with a tool box would be walking by. She reached up to close the hood.

“Need a hand,” a male voice behind her asked.

Her heart jumped at the unexpected question. She turned around. “Yeah, it won’t start.”

The man, early thirties with sandy brown hair cut short, grinned. “Let me take a look. Why don’t you get in and give it a try.”

She got in and turned the key. The starter groaned.

“Try it again.”

Joy did the same, this time in the crack between the hood and the bottom of the windshield she could see him do something. It groaned again.

“One more time,” he called.

This time the engine turned over and roared to life. The man closed the hood and walked to the driver’s window.

“Thank you,” Joy said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” He wiped his hands on his handkerchief. “I could use a ride downtown though.”

She considered his open face and nice appearance. “Sure, get in.”

He hurried around to the passenger door. She noticed he scanned the neighborhood before he got in.

“I’m headed to the University,” she told him, is that OK?”

“Yeah, perfect.” He checked out the back window as he put on his seat belt.

Joy pulled into the street. “Everything all right?”

“Sure.” He glanced in the passenger side mirror. He turned and smiled, “I’m Carl, by the way.”

“Hi, Carl. I’m Joy. Nice to meet you.”

They were four blocks from the University when a black SUV raced out of a side street and blocked her path. She slammed on the brakes.

In one movement Carl unlatched his seat belt and leapt out of the car. A black SUV pulled up behind her and men from both vehicles leapt out, guns drawn. Carl rolled between two parked cars and all but one man chased after him. The last man approached gun pointed in her direction.

“Out of the car,” he yelled.

She put one hand up and opened the car door. He pushed her to the ground. Half an hour later the rest of the men returned.

“He got away,” one of them said.

Joy was allowed to stand up. “He say anything to you?”

She shook her head. “He said his name was Carl. He wanted a ride into town.”

“He’s a spy,” another man told her. “We’ve been after him for two years.”

They questioned her at their office all day. Once released, she resolved never to give a stranger a ride again.