This one’s based on a prompt from Jon himself:
They returned to the car park just in time to see their car, laden with Christmas presents, speeding away down the street.
“Oh, no!” said Mom. She ran a few steps after the car in her high heels, as if expecting to catch it up through some sort of Christmas miracle, and when that didn’t happen she made a rude gesture at the disappearing car and kicked an empty soda can so hard it crumpled when it hit a nearby streetlight.
“Shit,” Dad swore, clenching his fist in impotent rage.
Jeremy just blew a snot bubble and chortled, his pudgy little fingers grasping at the plastic toys hanging almost out of reach in the top of his stroller.
“Don’t worry Mom, Dad, I got this!” exclaimed Zach. He threw down his ‘board and jumped on, pumping one grubby sneaker against the asphalt to build up speed and crouching low to reduce drag. Ahead of him he could see the rear lights of Mom’s car still receding, and he cursed under his breath.
He’d never catch up unless he could grab some serious speed. The downward slope of the parking lot’s exit ramp helped, but the thieves had too big a head start.
Just then another car came roaring down the exit ramp, a red speedster with green underlights and a set of wicked spinners. Zach shifted his weight and steered his ‘board close to the new car, feeling the throaty rumble of its engine vibrating through the air and his gangly body. He grabbed hold of the car’s side mirror and ducked low out of sight, skitching a ride as the driver downshifted and roared out of the exit ramp. His skateboard trucks shot sparks as their bearings overloaded, but his trusty ‘board held on for now.
A few seconds later and Zach was in front of Mom’s car as the driver of the red car accelerated to pass. He let go of the side mirror and freewheeled for a couple of seconds, shifting his weight to steer over to her car as he started to decelerate.
Bam! He folded over the hood, his ‘board disappearing under Mom’s wheels with a crunch, the wind knocked out of him for a second. Looking in through the windshield he could see that the driver was a freaking terrorist, a sinister looking guy wearing a bomb vest and an AK47 stashed in Dad’s jumbo cup holder.
“Shitbeans!” groaned Zach, lifting his knee up on to the hood and grabbing hold of the windshield wipers to get a better grip. The terrorist grabbed his AK47 and cocked the slide, steering with his knees. Then he pointed the gun at Zach and let rip.
“BRAAAAKKKKK!” roared the AK47, shattering Mom’s windshield into hundreds of shards of sticky safety glass and sending a deadly torrent of bullets in Zach’s direction. He rolled on the hood in the nick of time, flattening himself on his back so the hot lead flew harmlessly overhead.
The terrorist stopped shooting for a second to hammer out the remains of Mom’s windshield with the butt of his gun, and Zach seized the opportunity.
He flipped up on to his feet, crouching low and adjusting his balance with the movements of the car, then jumped into the air, folding himself double and twisting in the air to face forwards so that he fit through the gaping windshield and landed in the passenger seat.
“Game over, dickwad!” he sneered as he grabbed hold of the steering wheel in one hand and started punching the terrorist repeatedly with the other. The guy rocked back with every punch, blood spraying from his nose. He tried to fumble the gun up to shoot Zach but dropped it, and with the erratic changes in speed caused by the struggle it slid under his seat and vanished in the back.
The guy leaned down to try and find the gun and Zach seized his chance. Quick as a flash he yanked his seatbelt down and clicked it into place, then gave a hard tug on the steering wheel to send Mom’s car careening into the median crash barrier.
The car hit hard and Zach felt the bite of his seatbelt across his chest and shoulder as his face planted into the soft, protective cushion of the airbag. The terrorist screamed and flew headlong out through the broken windshield, landing hard and tumbling like a rag doll on the asphalt.
As he came to the end of his tumble, he exploded. Pieces of dead terrorist rained down on Mom’s car and the road all around, the sound remind Zach of a sudden thunderstorm in the middle of summer.
“This Christmas sure started off with a bang,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his sore shoulder as he got out of the car.
The road shook.
Something big was coming this way.
“Fucknuggets, why’d it have to be dinosaurs?”
“I told you we’d find it eventually,” Dad said smugly, unlocking the car with the remote fob.
“Thank goodness for that,” Mom replied. “I thought someone’d stolen it, with all our gifts inside!”
“Penguins and kiwis are both flightless birds, so I’m not surprised we got the parking areas mixed up. Stupid mall.”
Zach sighed and got into the car, resigning himself to an hour-long trip in the company of his snotty baby brother.
He liked his version of events better.