"Why the hell are the car doors open?"

End-of-summer howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

So, for now, here's the endpoint of Operation Crunch, my series of flash scenes around state agents attempting to intimidate Gil, the beloved mayor of Talbot's Peak.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to finish my ShapeShifter Seductions WIP, titled: Waiting For a Filly Girl. It's been hit and miss given the life obstacles going on. But I hope to have more writing time soon. Right now, I'm closing in on 40,000 words.

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"Why the hell are the car doors open?"

At the first sight of their car -- which looked as though a gang of thugs had taken metal pipes to it in a fit of mindless savagery, then a flock of seagulls had flown over and unloaded -- Pete and John swerved toward the possible refuge offered by a couple of large cottonwood trees. Immediately, they were rushed by the *had-to-be* most humongous brown bear on Earth.

'What a trophy kill,' Pete thought, even in the midst of his adrenaline-fed panic. Even as he was forced to run like a madman back to their car by the snarl-growling bears surrounding him and John. In that instant, he knew without doubt, he would never ever go to Talbot's Peak again. Shit, no matter if his career took a serious dive.

"Why the hell are the car doors open?" John shouted raggedly. Was the guy's lungs about to fail him?

"Damn. Shit. It's running, the car," Pete panting-yelled moments later.

Figuring that was an invite to get the hell outta Dodge, Pete put his head down and charged like he'd done as a running back on the highschool football team.

"I'm driving," John wheezed. "You can't drive worth a crap."

"Drive, for gawd's sake." Keeping his legs churning, Pete glanced over his shoulder.

The bears appeared to be slowing their chase.

With his heart thumping like it was about to expire, Pete dived inside the car, and slammed the door shut. At least, it shut. When John bolted inside, and tried to close his door, it took three quick desperate attempts.

Like a race car driver down the final stretch, John gripped the steering wheel hard, then stomped on the accelerator. They shot forward, the car jumping on take off.

As they sped down the highway, with John doing a helluva a job staying on the asphalt, the only sound was their harsh rapid breaths bouncing off the interior of the car. Pete had never breathed this hard, not even during good, hot monkey sex.

Miles later, their breathing gradually normalized. Yet, neither one of them spoke.

"Never," John broke the silence, "Never gawddamn never will I ever set foot anywhere near that shit weird town. I don't care if they threaten to take my pension away. I don't care if I have to fucking resign."

"I'm with ya, bro. They'll likely fire us over this car. Fuck, how do we explain this?" Pete grabbed for the seatbelt as John sped around a curve way faster than the speed limit.

"Nothin'! To explain." John clipped his speech, his gaze religiously trained on the road. "They can grill us, hook us up to a lie detector, we don't know nothin'."

Pete didn't reply. Seemingly his brain remained undamaged, given the scenarios that played in his head. "Missing time," he finally blurted out. "You know like the bullshit all those UFO abductees are always spoutin'. We can say we were abducted, probed in the butt."

"Doesn't explain the car, you class A idiot." John spoke in a dismissive growl.

"Don't call me an idiot, you three-stooges numbskull. It was you who said we'd further our careers." Pete accusingly aimed his gaze. "*You* convinced me we'd get big fat bonuses for reeling in those local yokels. Remember, a-hole?"

John lessened their speed. "Don't want to get pulled over by the cops," he grouched.

"Yeah, what cop in his ever-loving, shit mind wouldn't pull over a 'beat to hell' car with bird shit covering it. You're dreamin'."

"At least, I won't be caught fucking speeding," John mumbled gruffly. He switched on the wipers again -- another try at getting rid of the smeared poop on the windshield.

"Hey, why don't we shove this wreck over a cliff...make up a story about being chased by drugged-up wackos?" Pete brightened inside at the idea.

"Cameras in the sky. Google Earth. Remember, punk?" John glanced at him sideways.

"You gotta point, old man. But I'm trying to think us outta this shit-steamy mess." 

"Yeah," John sardonically began, "why don't we just text the NSA and ask 'em what's on those satellite cameras? That'll get us outta this shit-steamy mess," he mocked.

****

"No, it won't," Blade Runner choked out, as he rolled on the floor of his 'UFO' laughing his furry bunny ass off. He'd made double-tech certain nothing had been captured by anyone's sky surveillance.

He wasn't laughing alone either. On another screen inside his craft, Dante and Kitty were holding onto each other inside her library office. Laughter poured out of them like the towering waterfalls on his homeworld.

On a third screen, the techie crew at the Pleasure Club, howled, roared, screeched, and cackled with laughter.

Yep, thank the rabbit messenger, underground Taltube viewers were in for a howling-yowling roller coaster ride of laughs. Later.
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Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ~ 

Savanna 

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance