This is one of my stories from Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

A beta version of this piece won the Indies Unlimited Flash Fiction Challenge of November 23, 2013.

A cop in the woods is tracking someone. He has just heard the unmistakable cocking of a pistol behind him. What does he do? Can he escape the inevitable? Or is his fate already sealed?

—

I dove into the underbrush as a bullet whizzed past my ear. This dude’s good. Crap, my Glock is jammed. I slid out my SIG, and I waited.

Get your breathing under control. C’mon. You can do this.

Boots crackled on dry leaves. A branch broke. The silhouette of my pursuer passed by my hiding place. I heard noisy panting, along with footfalls and splashes in the water. The baying of the hounds diminished as they disappeared into the distance.

Just you and me, bub.

I rolled onto the path. Then I paused. I don’t think he heard me.

I inched forward, every nerve and muscle twitching with excitement. No way. You’re turned on, aren’t you? Get a grip. I could see the guy’s back about twenty feet away from me. He crouched down with his weapon aimed forward, scanning from side to side as he stalked like a panther on the prowl.

It’s Billy! I moved as only a well-trained cop can, alert for danger, senses in hyper drive, ready to react. And I didn’t notice the sinkhole until I was up to my chin in it. A pistol cocked behind me.

I suppose this is it. Billy wins. With a rueful grin, I raised my hands above my head and tossed my SIG onto the creek bank. I could feel the mud and dirt dripping from my hair onto my face. “You got me, dirty duds and all.”

Billy’s toothy sneer reflected the little bit of sunlight squeezing through the branches. “You’re under arrest. There’s no room on the force for dirty cops.”

—

You’ll find more short fiction like this in  Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

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