On the run

 

I love a good chase dream. Keeps your heart rate up and probably gives you a little exercise as well, as your arms and legs squirm about like a puppy having a running dream.

Last night Sharon and I were somehow caught up in a robbery gone bad with an all star cast of thieves and hit men. In our little gang was me and Sharon (who went by the name Stevie in the dream) along with Kurt Russell and Jeff Bridges. We were being relentlessly pursued by Liam Neeson and some other evil supervillain types, all of whom were excellent marksmen and trackers. 

At one point they had us all tied up and captive in an old west stage coach depot in the middle of a desert. They intended to torture us to find out where we'd stashed the loot from our latest heist. Somehow we'd been involved with them in the robbery but had double crossed them, taking the loot for ourselves and hiding it. 

This much was certain: once they'd extracted its location from us, they intended to kill us. And they were not known for failing at their objective. We were doomed. It was just a matter of time.

But for whatever reason villains leave people unattended and in loose enough bonds to escape from, they did just that, and we took the opportunity to flee the confinement of the dusty ghost town.

Not knowing how far behind us they were, we were constantly looking over our shoulders. Adrenaline flowed, and I had a heightened sense of awareness as I scanned the horizon for any signs of their approach. They were on horseback, so I assumed I'd be seeing the telltale dust cloud of the four determined assassins. 

We made it out of the desert without being recaptured, and soon we were in a grassy area on the outskirts of a large city. There was a small grassy knoll which separated the populated area from the desert. All we had to do was make it to the top of the hill, and we would enter the relative safety and anonymity of the populace. Not that they still couldn't find us; they certainly could and would, but it would take them much longer.

It got very tense as we made for the top of the hill. We looked back and did indeed spot the dust cloud and could even determine that it was our pursuers. That meant that they had undoubtedly spotted us as well. They were probably training their weapons on us even as they approached at a distance.

We braced for the impact of impending bullets as we scrambled, crouching and crawling up the hill. It never came. We'd managed to stay out of range, but just barely. 

Once in the city, we decided to split up. We would meet back at my place, since I didn't believe they knew my identity and finding us there would be difficult. Sharon and I stuck together, while Kurt and Jeff went their own separate ways.

Back at my house, Sharon, or Stevie, as I kept calling her, was still worried. She convinced me that it would be a good idea to get out my shotgun, as she pulled the shades down and kept watch out the front window. I reluctantly agreed and soon found myself with a shotgun in one hand and a box of shells in the other.

"It would be a good idea for me to learn how to load it," I told her. 

She didn't seem very comforted by my revelation that I'd never even loaded the gun, much less fired it. I'd always kept the ammo and the guns stored in separate locations, as in my real life, to try to discourage their impulsive use in any emotional situation I might have. Apparently, I have suicidal tendencies and anger issues even in my dreams.

Nonetheless, there I was, loading a shotgun and staring out the front window, looking for any signs of the murderous posse. Kurt and Jeff hadn't rejoined us yet and were presumably dead. Perhaps they had given up the location of the loot, and the hit men would call off the pursuit. Not likely. They never quit until the job was done and all the loose ends were tied up. Plus, as they always say in those action-revenge movies, "this was personal."

"How long do you figure we have before they find us here, Stevie?" I asked. "Five years? A month? Twenty four hours?" 

I pondered all the things we might do with the little remaining time in our soon to be terminated lives. I know what Sharon would have said, had this been a real life situation: "Panic sex, of course." That was her answer for everything. Unfortunately, it didn't look like we were to have that luxury.

"How about five minutes?" she asked, pointing toward the gate. 

There were two unidentified figures fiddling with the lock on the front gate. I assumed them to be the assassins and raised the shotgun, resting it on the window sill. I would have to hit both of my targets before they returned fire or I'd be forced to reload. This seemed to be a very unlikely proposition, and I told Sharon this. 

I awoke soon thereafter, the identity of the two visitors still in question. It dawned on me after waking up that these two could have been Kurt and Jeff, rejoining us to take shelter in the relative obscurity of my rural residence. Perhaps they'd eluded their pursuers and had come to wait it out with us. Perhaps they thought we had the money and had come to claim their share. I'll never know. I guess I'll have to wait for the movie to come out.