The Last Checkout by Peter Besson

Author:Peter Besson [Besson, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Heartbreaking joy, Feel good, Dystopian love story, Suicidal Lovers, Meaning of life, Last Resort, Exhilarating Love
Publisher: Peter Besson
Published: 2017-11-18T23:00:00+00:00

“Jesus, Nikki.”

She turned the steering wheel frantically, weaving between the cars crawling along the street in front of them, missing each by a fraction of an inch. One hit, and they’d spin out. “You’d rather check out?”

“Right now it’s a toss-up.” Ansel looked pale.

“Shut up.” She punched the car horn. Somehow, she managed to tear around the other vehicles. Ansel was thrown from left to right and back again, as if he were on a roller-coaster that had gone off its rails.

“You better close your eyes,” she said.

“What—” Then he saw: The traffic light three cars ahead turned to red. There was no way they’d make it.

Nikki didn’t seem to agree with that assessment. She slammed her hand on the horn and left it there. Her foot punched the gas pedal all the way down and didn’t let up. Honking, smoking, the old car lurched forward.

“Oh dear god.” Ansel closed his eyes and kept them closed as they belted across the intersection, horn blaring, somehow, miraculously, missing every single car rushing through the crossway ahead of them. He didn’t see Nikki’s face, the exhilaration, the euphoria, her wide-eyed amazement at the feat. He only heard the car honking and Nikki yelling.

“Whoohooo!” Exhilaration and euphoria didn’t last long. The next intersection was right ahead. Lights red. “Crap.”

“Which one is it?” Ansel opened his eyes again. “Oh fuck.”

They shot through the next crossway. Startled horns and screeching tires. They almost made it, but in the last lane they had to cross, an SUV the size of a cruise ship barreled toward them.

Collision course.

Nikki stomped on the brake and ripped the steering wheel around. The car lurched, then the back end spun around to say hello. The large SUV, honking more angrily than everyone else, zoomed by, swerving madly. Nikki steered into the spin and punched the accelerator, trying to prevent the trunk from overtaking them. The tires caught again with a startled wail. The car bucked and whipped around the other way, beginning an uncontrolled crazy whirl, once, twice around, tires smoking. Ansel changed his mind. He wasn’t on a roller-coaster; he was trapped with Nikki inside a large washing machine on a high-speed spin cycle, the world sloshing by outside.

“Whoohooooooo!” Nikki threw her arms up. Ansel tried to hold on to his breakfast.

The car screeched to a stop. Behind them, all the other cars, seeking to avoid the maelstrom of metal and smoking rubber, slammed to a halt at crazy angles, clogging up the street for several blocks, as if a horde of drunk valets had dropped the keys and walked away.

Nikki jumped out of the car. Ansel crawled out the other side.

“Let’s go, old man.” She held out her hand, smiling. Ansel took it.

They took off.

A chorus of angry yells and furious honking followed them. People climbed out of their cars, gesturing passionately, shaking fists, pulling hair. It was a hopeless gridlock.

Nikki, grinning, pulled Ansel behind her. Faster and faster. Her feet were a blur. Her body sang. She was all legs and arms and lungs and pumping heart and air.

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