The Last Fare

It was nearly midnight when Amir pulled his taxi up to the curb on the outskirts of the city.

The streets were empty, the kind of quiet that made the hair on your neck stand. He was five minutes from calling it a night when a woman stepped from the shadows, arm raised, eyes hollow.

“Central Station,” she said, her voice brittle but firm.

Amir nodded and

the doors. She slid into the back seat, clutching a small duffel bag to her chest. Her eyes scanned the rearview mirror once—twice—then settled into silence.

The meter ticked.

Ten minutes into the drive, Amir caught her watching the side mirror, her fingers drumming rapidly on the bag.

“You alright back there?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she whispered, “If anyone follows us, don’t stop.”

That sentence landed like ice down his spine. He glanced at the mirror. Empty road.

Amir’s heart picked up pace. “Is someone after you?”

She finally met his gaze in the

. “Just keep driving. Don’t take the highway.”

He hesitated, but turned off at the next exit. Narrow streets. No traffic. Just the hum of tires and the woman’s uneven breathing.

Three blocks later, headlights appeared behind them. High beams flicked on.

“They found me,” she muttered.

“Who?” Amir’s voice was tight.

“I don’t know. I think they killed my friend. She said something about a flash drive—proof of something big. She made me take it and run.”

Amir’s gut twisted. “Do you have it?”

She nodded. “In the bag.”

Behind them, the car sped up.

Amir floored it.

They weaved through side streets, sharp turns and screeching tires echoing through the quiet night. The pursuer stayed close. Too close.

Suddenly, a thud—something hit the back of the taxi.

“They’re trying to force us off the road!” Amir shouted.

“Take a left!” the woman barked.

They skidded into a dark alley barely wide enough for a car. The other vehicle couldn’t follow. Tires screamed as it passed the alley’s mouth and disappeared.

They sat in stunned silence, the only sound the ticking of the cooling engine.

Amir finally spoke. “You need to go to the police.”

She shook her head. “They’re in on it. My friend worked for a data security firm. She uncovered something—government contracts, illegal surveillance, assassinations.”

Amir stared at her, then the bag. “Why are you going to the station?”

“There’s a journalist. He’ll be there until the 1:00 AM train. He’s the only one we can trust.”

Amir took a deep breath and pulled out of the alley. “Alright. Let’s finish this.”

They reached the station at 12:57 AM. The woman jumped out, gave Amir a quick, grateful nod, and vanished into the crowd inside.

Amir sat there, heart still racing.

Three days later, the news broke: *Whistleblower leaks massive government surveillance conspiracy.*

Amir stared at the screen, knowing the woman in the grainy footage, and whispered, “I just gave the last fare of my life.”

And maybe—just maybe—it saved the world.