Vandalism

It's short story Friday again! Yaaaaaaay!

Tessa shakes the can of spray paint furiously before spraying one long vertical line down the side of the train. It’s almost one in the morning and our only light is the steady glow of the moon.

“Tessa, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” I say, watching as she finishes off the last letter to the phrase “TAKE BACK OUR RIGHTS” in dripping red letters. The writing is slightly crooked but the message is clear. “They could kill you for this. Seriously, anti-governmental statements is enough to get you thrown into jail for a lifetime not to mention the vandalism-“

“Oh shut up,” says Tessa, cutting me off, “If they don’t catch us, they can’t kill us.” She moves on to the next car of the train and begins writing a capital Y. “Here,” she says, tossing me the second can of spray paint. I barely manage to catch it with the tips of my fingers.

“I don’t think I should…”

“God, Sean, just write something, will yah?”

I sigh and begin shaking the can. I walk up next to Tessa just as she finishes writing the phrase “YOU CAN’T CONTROL US”. Under it I write in blue letters “BE FREE”. “There,” I say, “Happy?” Tessa opens her mouth as if she is about to say something but then shuts it.

“Did you hear that?” she hisses, glancing around the train yard.

“No…” I say, but then I hear it too, the distant sound of footsteps and the faded howling of a dog. “Wait, I hear people,” I whisper. Tessa drops her can of spray paint. The footsteps sound louder, and closer.

“Run!” she yells, and for the first time that night I see fear in her eyes. I grab her hand and our boots make crunch on the gravel as we race between the still, silent trains, but the dogs are faster. We can see them behind us now. My breath comes out in pants and I can feel my heart beating against my chest. Tessa’s hand clenches tightly around mine. The dogs, which we can see now are police dogs because of their massive size, are gaining on us, their handlers not far behind. We finally reach the end of the train station but Tessa’s foot catches on something, she falls, hitting the gravel hard and her hand is wrenched from mine. She cries out in pain and clutches her ankle, which is twisted unnaturally. I suddenly feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Go.” She says, determination set in her eyes. I know this look. It means nothing is going to change her mind.

“No! I won’t leave you-“

“I said go. Now.” I look behind us. The policemen are barely 20 feet away.

I run.