*Illegal

Intro: I like to take terms from our society and apply them to science fiction.

The wheels bounced on the pavement. I breathed a sigh of relief that the worst of the trip was over. A mile or so later flashing red lights flickered in my rearview mirror. I pulled my truck over and fished for my paperwork. The contents of the glovebox spilled to the floor. My seatbelt locked as I reached for the envelope. The officer tapped on the window. I looked at him and he motioned for me to roll it down.

I sat up and cranked the handle.

“License and registration, please.”

I reached for the paper, only to be brought short by my seatbelt again. As I reached for the buckle I pushed my coat out of the way.

The officer backed up a few steps and pulled his gun. “Keep your hands on the steering wheel.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Open the door from the outside and step out of your vehicle.”

Once outside I was shoved again the truck and my legs spread. The officer took the gun strapped to my left hip. He cuffed my hands behind my back and pulled me towards the squad car. The back was too small to accommodate my long legs. By butt was perched on the end of the seat, because of my hands behind my back, and my legs were crossed, twisting my ankles between the seats. I shifted so I could see my truck. The officer was fishing around the cab. He climbed out with a bunch of papers crumpled in his hand.

He pressed them out on the roof and flipped through them. He tossed them back in the cab and moved around to the tailgate. The camper shell on the back had glass, but I had blacked out the windows with paint. He tried the handle but it didn’t open.

I breathed a sigh of relief, until he pulled out his gun. I fell over and pulled my feet up. The shots pinged off the metal.

I kicked the door but it didn’t budge. The officer moved to try the handle again. I kicked at the glass. The metal studs embedded in the heel of my boots hit the glass with a crack. A second kick shattered the glass. I hooked my legs over the edge and pulled myself out the window. A few shards of glass caught at my clothes. With a little finagling I stepped over the handcuffs. The tongue of my belt buckle released the cuffs. I ran over to the back of the truck. As the officer lifted the back hatch I grabbed his arm and yanked it behind him.

“Now, I’ve been a nice person. You had no reason to pull me over, and I came quietly when you asked. So I’m going to ask you nicely, please don’t look back there, and let me go on my way.”

“You’re a trafficker,” the officer said. He tried to pull away but I brought arm up.

“It’s not any of your business.” I snagged my gun from the officer’s belt and pushed him away. My gun remained trained on him. “Time for you to leave.”

I waited until the officer was in his car. I closed the tailgate and hatch and jumped in. I sped away. Two hours later I pulled into a park. The sun had set nearly an hour before. The park was empty and my black truck blended into the darkness. I opened the back and stepped aside. The five children crawled to the front, their blankets wrapped around their shoulders.

“Sorry for the delay.”

“Where are we?”

I smiled and helped them down. “Earth. We made it.”