They approached the next intersection and he barely let off the gas, ready to roll through it. But he had to slow down on the winding mountain roads, at least for a glance down the tree-crowded cross street. When he did, April pulled the door handle and coiled to spring.
Tires screeched. A shoulder slammed into the dash, but her legs already dangled outside. Her long blonde braid was a lasso, yanking her back in. She swiveled around and chomped on salty flesh.
“Ow! You little bitch!”
But she was free.
His slamming door barely registered as she tore through the undergrowth, straight into a holly bush. A feint to the side lost precious speed. Her sore shoulder sighed in relief as the backpack grazed down her arm, but she caught the strap just in time.
“Just gimme the bag, brat—”
“Go to hell!”
Tug-of-war escalated to barroom brawl: April spat in his face and Derrick dealt her a backhand. Sweaty fingers slipped on canvas, felt a seam rip. She gaped at him, her cheek hot under her palm. The shocked horror gave Derrick pause and she took it.
Won’t miss this time.
A warm shift of spongy flesh, and then her kneecap jarred on bone. The brute’s knees hit pavement, both hands cupping his balls. His moan ran numb as the forest swallowed her.
Perched twenty feet from the ground, she listened to Derrick’s tortured recovery, half-hearted scuffling on the edge of the wood, then finally tires rolling on gravel. She blew her bangs from her eyes and shimmied down the tree trunk. Stopped, cocked an ear.
Someone was whistling “Oh Susanna.” At the corner of Forest and Hemlock.
This flash fiction is a part of the Blogging From A to Z (April 2015) Challenge. A new installment arrives every day in April, following the alphabet; check the calendar below to see which letters post on which days. Read more about this blogfest HERE.