On the street, the car stopped, grew louder, and reversed toward the barking dog. Quickly, I jumped over the fence, braved myself, and ran like hell through the front yard toward the street. Before I reached the pavement, the oncoming taillights grew larger at an alarming rate. I dashed across the street. Fishtailing in reverse, the car swam toward me. The tail end of the auto barely missed me, the ensuing rush flapping the back of my shirt up. I tore into the yard. Car brakes slammed on. Gears shifted as the car lurched forward slowly and then stopped. I felt eyes peering into my back as I continued my survival run. The driver once again raced down the block and turned onto the next street, attempting to cut me off.

This time I went up the street through the back yards. I couldn’t keep this up much longer, not with my aching leg.

About four houses from the top of the street, I peeked around the corner of a large bush. The silver car slowly rumbled by. It crawled another two hundred feet or so before the headlights shut off, the motor idling, the car at a standstill. If I could make it another two houses up the street, it would put about four or five houses between us.