Chapter 7 - The Race to the Harbor
We emerged into the freezing morning rain beside the muddy banks of the Fort Point Channel. The city of Boston was beginning to wake up; the distant hum of morning commuter traffic hummed across the bridges.
It was 7:40 AM. Twenty minutes remaining.
My suit was completely ruined, soaked in mud, blood, and soot. Clara’s hair was matted with ash, but her posture was straight, her hands steady as she helped me up the wet stone embankment to where her car was parked two blocks away.
“Can you drive?” she asked, handing me the keys.
“My right eye is swollen shut,” I rasped, coughing up gray smoke. “You drive. I’ll navigate.”
We threw ourselves into the station wagon. Clara slammed her foot onto the accelerator, sending the vehicle roaring down Congress Street toward the Financial District.
In the backseat, Lily held her whale umbrella tightly against her chest, looking out the rear window. “Mommy, the dark cars are behind us again.”
I looked into the side mirror. Two black SUVs were weaving recklessly through the morning traffic, pushing commuters off the road as they closed the distance rapidly.
“Keep your head down, Lily!” Clara yelled, running a yellow light at high speed.
“Turn right on Devonshire!” I commanded, looking at the street signs blurring past. “It’s a one-way street, they can’t flank us there!”
Clara jerked the steering wheel, the tires screeching loudly against the wet asphalt. One of the pursuing SUVs tried to follow, clipping a delivery truck and spinning out of control, blocking the narrow alleyway behind us.
But the second SUV didn't stop. It rammed into our rear bumper with a violent crunch, sending our station wagon sliding sideways toward the granite steps of the Boston Harbor Trust building.
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Clara wrestled with the wheel, straightening the car just as we slammed over the curb, stopping mere feet from the bank’s massive bronze entrance doors.
The clock on the bank tower chimed: 7:55 AM.
