Collision Course (16 page)

It was the worst thing the men could have done to him. If they had stolen it, at least someone would have gotten use of it. Now it was nothing but scrap metal. Gabe knelt down beside the lifeless appliance on the side of the road. He felt a tear on his cheek. It was stupid to cry over a machine, but he couldn't stop, and he didn't understand why.

CHAPTER 17

I
t was sophomoric, he knew, getting a thrill out of holding Crystal while she cried, but it was the closest thing to a date he'd had since before the Smash. Finally her body stopped heaving against his, and a minute later, she pulled away.

“Thank you, DJ,” she said as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

DJ thought it was unattractive and a little immature, but he could get past it. After all, his goal had nothing to do with perfect personal hygiene, and his plan was working better than he had hoped. She was thanking him.

“It's no problem. I'm glad to help,” he said.

They returned to the dishes and finished them in silence.

“What do you want to do now?” she asked.

DJ almost slipped up and said the first thing that came to his mind. “Why don't we go and see if the neighbors have any gas?” he said.

“Okay.”

They put their jackets on, and bundled Nancy up since it was a little chilly. DJ decided that he wouldn't take his rifle since it might make the neighbors nervous. Instead, he slipped his compact pistol inside his waistband and put two extra magazines in his pocket. They left the house, each holding one of Nancy's hands, and walked down the driveway like a happy young family.

Crystal turned them to the right once they reached the road. They bypassed the first house since it had been where she'd gone for gas that morning, and the man had said he had no more to spare. The second house was small, similar to Crystal's. They walked up to the door and knocked. After a minute, a man looked through the window beside the door. DJ heard the dead bolt unlock, and the door opened just an inch or so.

“What do you want?” the man asked.

“Hi, I'm Crystal Jones from up the road.”

“I know who you are. What do you want, and who is he?”

“He's my cousin, Bob,” Crystal said. “Someone stole all the gas out of my car, and I was wondering if you had any I could borrow or trade for.”

“Is that what all the shooting was about yesterday?”

“Yes,” she said. “Bob got to my place just as they were sneaking off with my gas. He scared them so bad that they shot at him, and he shot back. Nobody got hurt, thank God. The guys took off like a bat out of hell.”

“Hmm,” the man said. He looked at DJ. “So, don't you have gas in your car?”

“No, sir. I walked here,” he answered respectfully.

“So, do you have some gas? I can pay you back later,” Crystal said.

“No.” The door snapped closed.

Crystal turned toward DJ and shrugged.

He was amazed. She had lied so easily and convincingly that he almost believed his name was Bob. She seemed like such a goody-goody, but DJ knew that lying skills like hers had to be developed. She was an enigma, but as far as he was concerned, it only made her more attractive.

They walked farther down the road and stopped at each house along the way, but they had no luck. Some people were friendlier, but they either didn't have any gas or wouldn't part with it. Crystal told the same story to everyone. DJ thought that Nancy might spill the beans, but she just stood and smiled brightly, not batting an eye as her mom told the fib.

They did find one man who wanted to trade some gas for a rifle, but that would have been out of the question even if DJ did have one to spare. He tried to bargain away one of the gangbanger weapons, but the man said he already had a pistol and wanted a long gun.

Some people wouldn't even open their doors. DJ thought one family wasn't home, and he considered looking around the place for some gas, but upon further consideration he realized it wasn't worth getting shot.

It was getting close to lunchtime, so they opted to head back. When they were almost home, DJ decided that he'd like to talk to the man Crystal had gotten the gas and eggs from. He obviously had more since he'd said it was all he could spare. Perhaps DJ could convince him to part with some, though Crystal thought it was a waste of time.

“He already told me it was all he could give me,” she said.

“Yeah, but maybe he'll sell me some or trade with me,” DJ said.

They turned down his driveway and walked up to the house. Crystal knocked, and an older man answered the door with a shotgun in his hand.

“Hi, Crystal.”

“Hi, Mr. Scott. This is my cousin, Bob, I was telling you about.”

“Nice to meet you, Bob. It's lucky for Crystal that you showed up when you did. I'm sorry we weren't home when it happened, or I would have come over and helped you with those creeps,” the man said, patting the bird gun in his arms.

“I told him not to worry about it,” Crystal said, turning to DJ before he could speak. “I told him you ran the guys off before he could have gotten there anyway.”

“That's true,” DJ said with a big smile. “It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Scott. I told Crystal that the eggs you gave her were the best I'd ever eaten. Thank you so much for them.”

“You're more than welcome. What brings you folks by?” Mr. Scott said.

“I was wondering if you had any more gas that I could buy or trade you for,” DJ said.

“All I have left is what's in the pickup. What I gave you should get you to town, though,” the older man said.

DJ was a little confused. What would going to town accomplish? Could he get more gas there? And what had Crystal told the man? He didn't want to blow her cover story.

“Uh, Bob just wasn't sure it was enough to get us to town,” Crystal said, looking at DJ through the corner of her eyes.

“I figured that little car of yours would get at least twenty-five miles to the gallon, Crystal,” Mr. Scott said, “and it's only about twenty miles to the gas station. If you get your five gallons, that should get you back home easily.”

DJ shot a glance back at Crystal. It seemed the neighbors weren't the only ones she was lying to.

“Did the J-B Weld work on the gas tank?” Mr. Scott asked DJ.

“Oh, uh, I haven't gotten to try it yet,” DJ answered. He and Crystal needed to have a talk. “Thanks for all your help, Mr. Scott. Anything we can get you in town?”

“We got our gas and groceries yesterday, but if you find any D batteries, I could use a couple of packs.”

“We'll keep an eye out for them,” DJ said as he took Crystal by the arm and turned to leave.

“Thanks,” Mr. Scott said. “And remember, I need that J-B Weld back when you're done with it.”

* * *

Gabe felt something touch his shoulder. He jumped, snapping his head around. The tears stopped immediately, and his eyes grew wide as he tightened his grip on the lever gun. A neighbor was standing there holding a scoped bolt-action rifle.

“Gabe, are you all right?” It was Harold Wilkes, Gabe's next-door neighbor. They had visited often before the accident and the funerals, but since then it had mostly been short waves or perhaps a few awkward words when they saw each other.

“Uh, yeah,” Gabe said as the back of his hand wiped his cheeks.

“Are you sure you're not hurt?” Harold asked, his voice full of concern.

“Yeah, I'm okay. I just got a bunch of dirt in my eyes.” It wasn't a total lie.

“It was those guys in the tan truck, wasn't it?”

“Yes, it was,” Gabe answered. “How did you know?”

“They came and knocked on the door at our house. Said they were looking for work. I had a strange feeling about them, but I didn't think they were really dangerous. Did they shoot at you?”

“No. That was me.”

“Did you hit the truck?” Harold's eyes were wide.

“No. I know I missed.”

“Well, I'm sorry I didn't do anything, Gabe. I should have known they'd cause trouble.”

“What could you have done, Harold? You can't shoot someone for asking for work, and it's not like you can pick up the phone and call the law to report a suspicious person, is it?” Gabe said.

“I guess not,” the other man replied slowly. “Did they get anything? Besides the tiller, I mean,” Harold said, nodding toward what remained of the machine.

“I don't know. One was in the house when I walked up, but he came out empty-handed. The other was sitting in the truck and keeping a lookout, I guess. I reckon I better go check.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“That would be nice, Harold. Thanks,” Gabe said. He pulled the mutilated tiller completely off the road. “I'll come back for this later.”

The two men walked in silence to Gabe's house. Beside the door was a medium-sized crowbar that had been used to jimmy the frame. The door and jamb had been severely damaged. Gabe and Harold observed it for a few seconds, then entered the house. Gabe felt the hot blood rush back to his head. The home had been torn apart. There were cans of food strung across the living room like fallen soldiers. All of the cabinets in the kitchen were opened. Gabe stepped over the cans and into the kitchen. He saw that almost all of his food, along with the alcohol he kept in the kitchen, had been stolen. He was a little surprised that he wasn't that upset about the whiskey, probably because he knew he had his emergency stash in the bedroom.

The thought that the thieves might have made it in there flashed through his mind. He quickly walked to his bedroom and pulled open the bottom drawer of his dresser. There, sitting in a neat row, were the three bottles. Gabe breathed a sigh of relief. Happy that the whiskey was safe, he examined the rest of the room. He saw that Hannah's jewelry box was right where it should be. He opened the drawer that held his pistol and found it was still in its place. Opening the closet door revealed that his long guns were also safe. It looked as if he had interrupted the thieves before they could get past the kitchen. He was at least a little thankful for that as he walked back into the living room where his neighbor was waiting.

“What all did they get?” Harold asked.

Gabe decided not to say anything about the stolen liquor. “Looks like they just got my food, almost all of it. The son of a bitch must have been on his last trip from the kitchen when his buddy honked the horn,” Gabe said, his face twisted tight.

“That's horrible,” Harold said.

“Yes,” Gabe said, realizing that he couldn't just run to the store and replace everything. He thought he should be angrier, but he wasn't. The hurt of losing the tiller was most on his mind.

“I guess it could have been worse, though.”

“I reckon so,” Gabe said, trying to convince himself that it was the truth. The food was probably worth about a hundred dollars before the Smash. Now, on the black market, who knew? You could get groceries, but some things were hard to come by, and you could only buy so much even if you did find what you wanted.

The alcohol, on the other hand, might be priceless. Gabe had noticed that the liquor store had been closed when he'd gone to town last. He kept a stockpile of the expensive bourbon. It was really the only luxury he afforded himself. There had been nine and a half bottles of it in the cabinet. Gabe always stocked up over the months that he was able to sell his produce at the farmers' market. The small life insurance policy he'd had on Hannah and Michael through his work had paid off the land, with just enough left that the interest from the small nest egg would usually pay his basic bills. If he didn't stockpile like this, he'd end up drinking rotgut over the winter. The three bottles in his bedroom would hold him for a while, but he didn't like to get into them since they were for an emergency.
Well, I guess this is an emergency,
he thought.

Perhaps it would be okay and the three bottles would hold him until he could get some more. After all, he hadn't been drinking as much lately. Before the Smash, if something like this had happened, he would have run straight to the liquor cabinet. He couldn't do that with Harold here, though. He noticed with a little surprise that he didn't really want a drink right now. All he wanted to do was to clean up his home.

He set about the task and soon had everything back in its place. Harold tried to help, but he didn't know where anything went and just ended up slowing Gabe down. Gabe appreciated the gesture, though.

“I don't know what we can do about the door,” Harold said as Gabe closed the last cabinet door.

“I'll just have to nail it shut for now and go in and out the back.”

“You need some help?”

“Sure,” Gabe said. “I've got some plywood out back. We can cut a strip of it and cover the damaged part of the door and the frame.”

The two men walked out to the shed, and Gabe retrieved a hammer, some nails, and a saw. Then he pulled out a large piece of three-quarter-inch plywood from the stack of scrap lumber. They carried it around to the front, and Gabe used his hands to measure how big the piece of plywood needed to be. He began sawing as Harold held the wood.

Either the teeth were dull or the wood had hardened—possibly both—because the sawing was painfully slow.

“Don't you have a circular saw?” Harold asked.

“Sure, but without electricity it's worthless.”

“I have a portable generator.”

“Really?” Gabe said.

“Yeah, let's go get it. We can pick up your tiller on the way back, too.”

“Let's go,” Gabe said, dropping the old saw as if it had suddenly grown warts.

* * *

“So, what the hell's the deal, Crystal?” DJ said just as soon as Nancy had been sent to her room to play.

“I'm sorry, DJ,” she said, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “I was afraid if I told you that you could get gas in town, you'd leave. I'm so stupid. Now you're probably pissed off at me and will leave for sure.”

Good guess, sister
.

DJ wondered if the tears were real, or if she was just using them to continue lying to him. It was most likely the latter, he thought. He had to admit, the bitch was good at it. Well, one good turn deserves another. He put on his sweetest voice.