What Taylor needed was a way to lose pursuit, preferably before a police helicopter showed up and made that a lot harder. Taylor turned hard onto one of the main artery streets that lead to the heart of the city. Even an hour after rush hour had ended, the street was still packed with cars, buses, and trucks delivering the people and goods that made a major metropolitan center work.
Taylor hoped that the denser packed streets would give the smaller, more maneuverable motorcycle an edge over the police cruisers since there were enough vehicles on the road that even if citizens wanted to give way to the police, they couldn’t.
For that to work, though, they had to survive the trip. Whitaker gripped Taylor hard around the middle as the bike dipped dangerously to one side so they could dodge in between a taxi and a large box van. Roaring down the lane line in between rows, a helpful citizen decided to pull into the space between lanes to help the police, blocking it off.
Taylor managed to whip around the rear of the blocking car and slid onto the next lane divider at the last second, nearly missing scraping along the side of the car, which would have been bad for both the bike and Whitaker and Taylor.
The move had cost them speed, which Taylor had been building up as he saw the light ahead turn yellow. By the time he got to the line, it had already circled through to red, and cross-traffic had started. Taylor didn’t have time to wait for the way to clear, however.
Although the traffic had slowed the chasing police, which had now become three cruisers instead of one, it hadn’t stopped them. They were making progress towards them. There was a chance they’d reach Taylor and Whitaker before the light turned, or that one of the citizens around them would again try to take a hand at helping the authorities. Either way, the decision was already made for Taylor.
He didn’t even slow down as he plowed into traffic, barely missing a BMW. Behind him, Whitaker screamed, and horns blared, but dumb luck saw them through. The bike exploded through a gap in the traffic, soaring down a now much less dense roadway.
Their luck didn’t hold. A police car jumped the thin concrete medium and turned to block the lane. Taylor applied the brake and turned hard before opening the throttle back up, tires smoking as he fishtailed, the rear of the bike throwing a bloom of white smoke onto the police car, temporarily blinding the officers.
The tires bit into the road, and the bike took off once more, now heading down a car lined side street. Taylor wasn’t a hundred percent sure where they were, but he thought he remembered something from a map he’d been looking at the night before. Looking at the improving quality of the street as they drove down, it suggested that Taylor was correct about where they were driving, which was fortunate as the cruiser they’d avoided was now in close pursuit.
Rounding a slight curve, Taylor saw what he was looking for, a dignified grey stone wall covered in vines with an opening from the road they were on for the bike to pass through. Taylor blew through to the street that ran parallel to the brick wall, a small bus with a bright blue and gold paint scheme on it blaring its horn as Taylor forced it to swerve to avoid hitting him.
The surroundings opened up as they passed the walls curved archway. The narrow streets and tall buildings were replaced by lush green open spaces scattered with the odd gothic architecture. Students walking with backpacks and books stopped to gawk as Taylor ignored the t-intersection and hopped the curb, tearing chunks of grass out as he accelerated across the open lawn.
In his mind, Taylor could see the circular loop that ran around the outside of the campus. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the police cruiser slow before turning left, attempting to trace their cross-campus journey by going around the loop and catching up to them.
“This place doesn’t have a lot of street exists. They’re going to radio ahead and have them blocked off,” Whitaker warned, leaning closer and yelling to be heard.
Taylor nodded in response so she would know he heard her but didn’t slow down or turn towards the area where one of the exits would be. In fact, Taylor did the opposite and turned slightly in the opposite direction, back into more of the campus, circling around one of the school buildings while dodging a group of kids spread out on the lawn, sending them scattering. Around the building, Taylor saw what he wanted, a large parking garage in between three of the buildings.
Pulling into it, Taylor drove into an open spot and hopped off.
“What are we doing?”
“Just follow me,” Taylor said, pulling off his helmet and the jacket.
Whitaker followed suit, confused, her head on a swivel looking for the police. As they passed a large trash bin, Taylor took her helmet and jacket and threw them and his into it.
“What …?”
Taylor grabbed her hand and pulled her through one of the garage's exits into a small area in between one of the buildings and the side of the garage. Whitaker looked alarmed as he pulled out his weapon, fired twice into the air, and holstered it.
“Run,” he said, grabbing her hand and yanking her after him.
They rounded the side of the building back into an open area of lawn, where a dozen or so students had stopped and looked in the direction of the garage at the sound of gunshots.
“Run. They’re shooting people. Run,” Taylor shouted, as they ran away from the garage.
This was the one flaw in his plan, he didn’t speak enough German to pull this off
