The Hacker On The Run

Chapter 5: The Narrow Gap

Millie’s eyes darted desperately across the roadblock ahead. Three matte-black SUVs stretched from one side of the industrial road to the other, their heavy frames forming an impenetrable wall of steel. She searched for the opening Austin had mentioned, but all she saw was a dead end.

“Austin, there isn't any gap,” she whispered into the mic, her voice trembling.

“There doesn't have to be a big one.”

Austin’s gaze remained fixed on the right-hand SUV—not on the bumper itself, but on the terrain directly beneath its front tire.

The three vehicles had spread out to block the asphalt, but they hadn't stopped at the exact same moment. The center SUV had rolled half a car length farther forward than the other two, masking the view of the far curb. Concrete barriers lined both shoulders, too high to jump and too close together to squeeze through. Behind them, the police siren echoed faintly off the brick warehouses, closing fast.

Gabriel's men were counting on one thing: that he would see the wall of steel and hit the brakes.

“I'm not stopping,” Austin said quietly.

Millie’s head snapped toward his shoulder. “What?”

“They expect us to freeze.”

“Austin, there are three three-ton trucks in front of us!”

“They’ve had at least four clean opportunities to shoot,” he said, keeping his eyes on the line of dark windshields. “They didn't take them. They’re under orders to capture us alive.”

Millie followed his line of sight, the realization hitting her like ice water. If they wanted him dead, they could have opened fire long ago. Instead, they had spent the entire morning herding him toward this exact road.

Outside, Austin gently squeezed the front brake lever. The motorcycle slowed until it was barely rolling, its engine idling with a deep, mechanical growl. Millie could feel his heartbeat pressing against her back, and to her complete astonishment, it was steady and rhythmic.

“Austin...” she whispered softly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek inside her helmet. “For dragging you into this... for not asking more questions when you came home looking like a ghost all week.”

Austin's expression softened beneath his dark visor. “If anyone should apologize, Mil... it’s me.”

His gaze shifted once more, not toward the SUVs, but beyond them. Between the second and third vehicle sat a narrow drainage channel covered by a heavy steel maintenance grate. It ran parallel to the road before vanishing behind the warehouse fence. The grate was designed for runoff water, not motor vehicles, but Austin wasn't looking at the grate itself—he was looking at the flat, four-inch strip of concrete running between the grate’s lip and the base of the concrete barrier.

It was barely wide enough for a motorcycle tire, completely unpaved, and totally hidden from the angle of the SUVs. One mistake would throw them into the concrete barrier at eighty kilometers an hour, but it was the only path that didn't end in handcuffs or a cage.

Austin took a slow, deep breath, expanding his chest against Millie’s arms. “There it is.”

Millie followed his line of sight to the tiny strip of grey concrete. “That’s... that’s the seam?”

“Hold on to me,” Austin said, his fingers locking tightly around the throttle grip. “And don't let go, no matter how hard the bike shakes.”

The motorcycle's engine exploded into a deafening roar as he dumped the clutch. The rear tire shrieked against the sun-baked asphalt before finding traction, and the bike launched straight toward the right-hand corner of the blockade.

In front of them, the right-hand SUV lurched sideways in a panic, its heavy V8 screaming as the driver tried to close the opening, but momentum was against three tons of heavy steel.

“Lean with me!” Austin shouted over the engine noise.

Without hesitation, Millie shifted her weight in perfect sync with him. The motorcycle dipped hard to the left, its footpeg scraping the edge of the asphalt and throwing a brilliant shower of orange sparks across the road.

The front tire struck the concrete lip of the drainage channel with a violent, bone-rattling jolt. The handlebars shuddered fiercely in Austin’s hands, threatening to snap his wrists, but he relaxed his arms just enough to let the front suspension absorb the violence of the blow.

The SUV’s heavy front bumper swerved into their space, moving to crush them against the concrete divider. Austin didn't brake; he twisted the throttle to the stop.

Metal scraped against metal with a harsh, screeching grind as the bike's steel crash bar shaved past the SUV's front grill. The impact shoved the motorcycle sideways, sending the rear tire fishtailing violently across the gravel shoulder, but Austin fought the handlebars with cold, practiced precision. The tire caught asphalt again, the engine hit its powerband, and they shot clear of the roadblock like a round fired from a barrel.

Behind them, the screech of locking brakes and the rising wail of police sirens dissolved into the rushing wind.

Austin guided the bike smoothly through a long, sweeping exit curve as the industrial district began to give way to the quieter outskirts of the city. Industrial warehouses were replaced by open fields, weathered fences, and roadside trees.

For the first time since leaving the garage, his side mirrors held nothing but empty road.

Millie slowly lifted her head against the wind, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Did we... did we make it?”

Austin checked every mirror once more, his pulse finally beginning to settle. “For now.”

“We’re alive,” she whispered, burying her face into the back of his jacket.

Austin’s jaw remained tight beneath his helmet. “Don't mistake silence for safety, Mil. This was just the opening move.”