Alien Diplomacy

against my chest, in the age-old “fleeing from the evil overlords” pose so popular with pretty much every mother who’d ever had to run for it with child or children in tow. “Poofies, into Kitty’s purse. Len, take the stroller. Everyone, follow me and stick together.”
    “What are we doing?” Kyle asked as the taxi drivers all started to get out of their cars.
    “Running like hell for that bus stop.”



CHAPTER 11
    I WANTED TO GO TO HYPERSPEED, potential to slam into walls or no, but I didn’t want to lose the boys or Oliver. It was hard to run holding Jamie this way, but that also kept me from hitting the internal hyperspeed button.
    “Animal” was an exceptionally good song to run to, so that was a positive. The fact that the men in the taxis were back in their cars and chasing us, however, wasn’t.
    Oliver was a good runner. Clearly, being a paparazzo had certain fitness benefits attached to it. The boys had played football for their entire lives, so they were in great shape. And my track skills were constantly being kept up-to-date. We were good. Not able to outrun a car unless I took us all to hyperspeed, but as far as post-graduate track stars, we had a shot for at least the bronze for relay in the Extremely Amateur Olympics.
    On the plus side, no one was shooting at us. Either they didn’t have guns, weren’t supposed to kill us, or didn’t want to draw extra attention. I was just happy to have any small favor going for us.
    The other thing in our favor was that the taxi drivers had no idea where we were going. Sadly, I had no idea, either. “MJO! You need to get us to our destination.”
    He ran in front of us and took a sharp left. We ran down an alley that was too small for a car. Oliver ran us down to another turning point, this time we went right. He slowed down. “Carefully,” he said as we neared the street.
    A taxi whizzed by. I was positive it was one of the ones after us. Oliver peered out. “Go!” He took off again, going back the way we’d come. The boys and I followed him.
    We hit the intersection and the light was thankfully with us. We dashed through as the taxis came around again. They were now on the wrong side of the road, meaning they couldn’t pull up to the curb, at least not without causing a major traffic incident.
    Oliver was puffing, but we were still running at a good clip, him in the lead, then me and Jamie, with Kyle flanking us, and Len and the stroller bringing up the rear. As “Parade” by Garbage came on, the calm part of my mind mentioned that this had to look hilarious. The rest of my mind suggested we laugh about it later, when we were actually somewhere safe.
    We turned again and seemed to lose the taxis. For about half a block. “Coming toward us,” Kyle shouted, and this time the taxis were again on our side of the street.
    All three taxis were heading for us, but they were several cars away when Oliver ran into traffic. The squealing of tires was impressive, but he wasn’t hit. The rest of us followed him. I was shocked, and grateful, but just like in the movies, the cars slammed on their brakes to avoid hitting us. Amid a great deal of cursing from the various drivers and the distinct sound of slamming metal, we dashed on.
    “Two of the taxis slammed into each other,” Len shouted. “But one’s still coming.”
    “Where the hell are the cops in this city?” We were fleeing in the streets with tires squealing all around us, yet there were no cops around, implied, or suggested.
    “No idea,” Kyle shouted back. “But I don’t smell a whiff of bacon.”
    I managed a laugh but decided I’d tell Kyle how much I enjoyed that little saying once we were safe somewhere. Oliver turned right, and I could see the bus stop, and the bus, in the distance. We all sped up.
    The remaining taxi reappeared, driving on the other side of the street, but keeping pace with us. That meant he was going slowly for the street, and there was again a lot of honking and cursing. I didn’t know if all the attention we were drawing from the various drivers made us safer or not, but it certainly wasn’t bringing out D.C.’s finest to investigate. I didn’t want to be questioned by the police, but that sounded a lot better than whatever the taxis had in store for us.
    I chose to hope that the only paparazzo around was running ahead of me. The thought of this little foot race making any kind of news was enough to make me want to go into witness protection.Not