The Uncovering™

The
Uncovering™
A short story by
Heyoka Productions©…
Created by Daniel Alspach.



“The trap is in the box. I repeat; The trap is in the box!” said a voice over the scanner of the detective car. It appeared to be a black 1994 dodge shadow with silver, shiny rims and red leather seats covering the interior. Driving the vehicle was a middle-aged guy who appeared to be around 30 years old with a thick black mustache over his upper lip and some light stubble on his chin. He had on a brown bowler cap and a long black trench coat. A badge was fastened tightly to the left side of his chest with the word ‘Detective’ at the top and ‘Los Angeles Police’ at the bottom. A number sat at the very bottom with only a ‘14’ being able to be read; The other numbers worn by age.
“McWilliams, are you closing on the location yet?!” the voice then shouted over the scanner. “I'm working on it!” McWilliams said, nearly crashing into a blue Taurus that was driving in front of him. From behind him a red Camaro seemed to be trying to converge on his vehicle. A guy with black sunglasses, a suit, and a tie on peeked out of the back window with an AK47 in hand. He began shooting at McWilliams’ vehicle.
“Fuck.” McWilliams said angrily, moving from the left to the right as he avoided the vehicles driving down the same path as him. “The trap is directly on your right in a quarter mile! Don't let us down, McWilliams!” the police chief said over the scanner. Jon then took his right hand and reached up towards the ceiling of his vehicle, grabbing ahold of the handle that opened his sunroof and pulled it open, a strong gust of wind rushing into it immediately. He then reached over into the passenger seat of the vehicle and grabbed a yellow umbrella. Taking his foot off of the gas pedal, he took the umbrella and wedged it in between the seat and the gas pedal. The car was now in movement on it’s own.
“You're going to miss the convergence point!” Yelled a voice over the scanner once again. “No. I’m not.” Said Jon as he took both hands and pulled himself up through the sunroof and on to the top of his vehicle. Wind rushing through his hair and shots continuing to be fired from the Camaro that was chasing him down, he used all of the force in him to jump from his vehicle onto a bus driving speedily to the right of him. Pulling himself up onto the bus, he stood trying to balance himself out and keep from falling off, while also avoiding gunfire in the process. The red Camaro pulled up to the right of him. An African-American man who seemed to have the same suit on as the other man that was shooting at him pulled open the left-back door to it and jumped over to the bus, climbing on top of it to join Jon. He charged at Jon in the hopes of throwing him off and into the sea of oncoming traffic below. Jon moved slightly to the side to avoid the attacker. The attacker turned to face the opposite direction and charged at Jon again; Only this time fists first. Jon ducked, narrowly avoiding a punch to the face. Grabbing the attacker from behind, he ran and jumped over the right side of the bus, getting enough air to leap over the Camaro and off the rocky slope that lined the road. Him and the African-American man both fell; Jon still keeping ahold of him in the process. Then, very suddenly, they both hit a bed of water that rested at the bottom of the cliffside.
Letting go of the man, Jon waded up to the tide shifting above him. He then paddled himself over to a small, sandy bank. He had reached his destination. Pulling himself onto the shore and weighed down by the weight of the water that drenched his clothes, he said to himself with a tone of relief: “Finally…I’m here”. With a slight smile across his face he then began walking forward toward a small indentation in the rocks. Suddenly two hands had come from behind him, grabbing Jon by the neck. Turning around, there stood the African-American man choking him with a large grimace across his face. Taking his right hand, Jon slowly reached into his right coat pocket and pulled out a silver magnum with engravings etched across it. Pulling it up, he put it to the side of the man’s head, lining up with the man’s temple. The smile only seemed to grow. He then pulled the trigger to the gun and the man dropped to the ground immediately, blood splattering on the sand below.
“Bastard.” Jon said, turning back toward his final goal. He then moved closer to the indentation in the rock. Finally reaching it, he got down on his knees and put his hand into the small opening that was formed in it. Slowly putting his hand into it, a cock of a gun could be heard behind him. “You've reached the trap. Good job.” said a deep, manly voice. A loud shot could then be heard, echoing for miles. The trap was for him.