I had just turned 18. There were three of us. I was in the passenger seat. One friend in the back seat, one friend driving. The needle was buried. The country road was a blur. The cop was gaining on us.
At the rate we were going, we'd soon be dead. That was a certainty. I told the driver to forget it. Pull over. Stop.
The idea was to slow down, pull off to the shoulder and stop. The lights from the cruiser behind us were filling the car with that sick red and blue. We were beat. We knew it. Slow down. Stop.
It didn't quite work that way, though.
The brakes were tapped. Maybe. Maybe they were slammed on. It didn't matter. They locked. We skidded back and forth on the road, the tires screaming as they tore across the asphalt. I don't know at what point we went onto the roof. All I knew was that I heard the crunch of metal and heard glass shatter and then there was a boulder the front of the car slammed into and for some reason weeds were growing down from where the sky used to be.
That's when I realized we were like a turtle on its back in the desert.
When all was said and done, we stood outside the car, waiting to be loaded into the police car. A fire crew was busy spraying water onto the car. You could smell burning rubber and gasoline, though there was no fire.
And under the sound of that fire hose? The Exploited's Live at the Whitehouse. It had been playing throughout the chase, and it keep playing when we were sliding (later we found out it was 96 feet), on the roof. And now, with the car being saturated lest it catch on fire, it was still going strong.
If you ever have heard The Exploited, it makes perfect sense for it to be a soundtrack to a police chase. Don't forget the chaos, indeed.
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