They DID receive it!

So I wasn't allowed to enter a story that had previously been published, even on a blog. But it doesn't say I can't later publish it to my blog. :) I got an email on Monday saying they'd received my story. That's a day-and-a-half later, not the one hour later they'd said they would send confirmation emails, but whatever.
So here is my wonderful, earth-shattering story. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I was happy to actually finish it.

Weekly Escape

The fugitive was on the run. Recently escaped from a prison in the middle of the Arizona desert, Joe had subsisted so far by eating the watery insides of cactus plants. Now, nearing midnight by his nearest estimation, he was on the run again. Just over the hill, according to prison legend, was a road with a lone service station.
Sure enough, as he neared the top of the hill, he could see a faint glow of light, and then a dinosaur Sinclair sign. Those had always been his favorite gas stations, ever since he was a boy. Parked next to the closest gas pump was a black Corvette Stingray, and the owner was inside chatting with the swing shift attendant over a cup of coffee.
The stupid man had left his keys in the car, so Joe jumped in, threw it into gear, and pealed out into the night.
He swerved between late-night semi trucks and the occasional car. A few miles from the service station, he glanced in the mirror to see flashing red lights behind him. In his well-practiced prison vocabulary, he cursed the cops now on his trail and smashed down the gas pedal, putting several more big rigs between them and himself. Any minute now he’d be seeing the Mexican border, and he would be free.
Just as that thought ran through his head, though, he crested a hill, showing him an entire blockade of police cars covering the road in front of him. Cursing again, he took the Stingray for a crash course in off-roading. Several cruisers left their posts and followed him across the sandy desert.
“Oh yeah?” Joe sneered as he watched the speedometer steadily rising, “I bet you weren’t expecting this!” He cranked the e-brake, turning more than a full circle and coming to a complete stop. A ring of cop cars formed around him, illuminating the falling dust. A loudspeaker told him to step out of the car, but Joe had something else in mind.
Now facing the direction he came from, he gunned the engine, clipping the corners of two police cars, ramming one into the car beside it, but avoiding any substantial damage to his Corvette. Joe raced back towards the highway, police in hot pursuit, and felt himself catch air when he sped up the road’s shoulder. But instead of coming down with a bump, the momentum of the car kept it moving upwards.
He opened the window, stuck his head out, and shouted, “Ha ha, suckers! You’ll never catch me now!” The police below fired their guns at him, knocking off a side mirror but then missing him completely as he flew out of range. Gaining altitude, the cars below him faded into the night. But now two helicopters came flying towards him. Their searchlights waved through the night, occasionally flooding his car with blinding light.
One of the choppers cut him off, and he had to swerve desperately to avoid flying right into the circling blades. This turned him to directly face the helicopter behind him, a Vietnam-era army machine, complete with firing capabilities, each gun focused on him. The blades were so close that he could hear nothing but the “Thb thb thb thb thb” of the whirling blades, which was occasionally interrupted by the fluttering “Tck tck tck tck” of the machine guns firing at him.
Joe did everything he could to maneuver away from those helicopters, trying first to outrun them, then to fool them by diving to the ground and then pulling up at the last minute. Nothing fazed these guys. No matter what he did, they were right there on his tail, seeming to anticipate his every move.
On one of those dives, he saw a road leading through some overhanging trees, leaving just enough space for a car, but no possible way for two helicopters with their swiping blades to make it through all those thick branches. If he angled it just right, he could squeeze through the trees and land softly in the shady glen. He lined up his car and started his descent.
But suddenly, Joe felt as if he was no longer in control of the car, but that an enormous, invisible hand had grabbed it and hurriedly dropped it. He and the Stingray fell unceremoniously into a giant pit, followed immediately by the two helicopters, each bouncing slightly as it hit the bottom.

“Okay, Timmy, it’s time to go home.”
Timmy’s mom threw the rest of the toys into the toy bin, and before he knew it, Timmy was being dragged out the door into the parking lot.
“Mom, just a second. I have to do something.” And before the bell had stopped tinkling from their exit, Timmy yanked the door open and ran back into the waiting room. The receptionist winked at him and then turned back to her computer. Timmy dug through the toys to find the black Corvette Stingray, which he then tucked behind an old copy of National Geographic in the magazine stand.
He turned to the receptionist. “Make sure no one buys this one, okay?”
The receptionist smiled. “Of course not, hon.” And then to Timmy’s mom in the doorway she said, “And we’ll see you next week, then. Be sure to let us know if there is any unusual swelling or discomfort from the allergy shots.”