Collision Course (9 page)

CHAPTER 10

T
he loss of the trailer and gear left DJ defeated. He hadn't been able to get any sleep worrying about how he was going to make it to his hideout. He gave up at noon and climbed out from under the poncho he'd strung up for a shelter. The rain had cooled things off some, but the air was still humid and thick. The sky was cloudy, and it looked as if it might start raining again at any moment. DJ thought about eating, but he really wasn't hungry.

He decided to try to do something useful to keep his mind occupied. He pulled out his map and started looking for a shorter route or a likely place to find some gas. DJ was staring at the map so hard an onlooker might have thought he was trying to burn a hole in it with his eyes, but his mind wouldn't focus on anything except how unfair it was that he was in this predicament. Now, with only half of his gear and not nearly enough gas, he had to come up with a new plan. One stalled train and two damn rednecks had ruined all his careful plotting and preparations. He felt the back of his neck warm up as he thought about what had happened last night. He wondered if he'd hit the rednecks with his gunfire. He hoped so. They deserved it.

He focused his attention back on the atlas, looking for any possible means to shave a few miles off his journey. There really wasn't any way and he knew it. He'd already scoured the map to the point that it was almost committed to memory. There were a few towns on the map that could have gas, though. Who knew what dangers they might hold? But they were probably his best bet. He had almost three gallons of gas in the quad, and he had one five-gallon can. If he was fortunate, that would take him two-thirds of the way to his bug-out location.

He should have reached his destination already, he thought. He considered what he could have done differently. If he hadn't stopped to help Jacob, it probably would have saved him a day, and he might have missed the rednecks on the bridge. “Like they say,” he said to himself, “no good deed goes unpunished.”

It started drizzling. He climbed back under the poncho and lay down on his sleeping bag.
What else can go wrong?
he wondered, as he put his hands on his head. The drizzle slowly increased to a steady rain, and he brooded over his predicament. His despair seemed to deepen as the rain fell harder and harder, until finally he dozed off.

He wasn't sure how, but even in his sleep, he could sense that something was wrong. As he slowly came back to full consciousness, he lay still and kept his eyes closed. There it was again. He heard the slightest sound of leaves crunching. A few seconds later, he heard another crunch. This time, he was able to tell that it was coming from his left, on the other side of his quad. It sounded close, but he wasn't sure. It could be a deer, a coyote or another stealthy animal, but DJ doubted it. It was probably a two-legged predator.

He cracked an eyelid the tiniest amount and moved his eyes toward the sound. He couldn't see anything, even though he heard another footstep. It was definitely approaching his quad. He opened his eyes a little more. It was still raining some, but not enough to mask the sound of footsteps. DJ slowly turned his head and looked under the quad.

Two feet in dirty, ragged athletic shoes were pointed in his direction. The quad was still hiding DJ from the intruder, but in a couple more steps, he'd be able to see over it. DJ watched the feet, and in the rustle of the intruder's next step, he unsnapped the holster on his leg. The following step allowed him to draw the big Glock pistol. When the next step came, DJ sprang to his feet as quietly as possible and pointed the pistol at the trespasser. The man, who was very thin and unshaven, was staring down at his own feet. When he looked back up and saw DJ, his eyes widened and his hands shot up over his head.

“I wasn't gonna do nothing,” he said quickly. “I was just lookin' for something to eat.”

“Is that so?” DJ asked. The man nodded vigorously. DJ couldn't see any weapons. He stepped around the back of the quad to get a better look at the prowler. The man appeared to be in his midthirties, but it was hard to be sure with all the grime that covered him. He had on a pair of ratty blue jeans and an old holey waist-length overcoat. He was soaked to the bone and obviously shivering. DJ figured he was probably telling the truth, but he couldn't be sure. Vagabonds were good liars. DJ was a little surprised to see one this far from the city. However, in a few weeks or months, there would be a lot of people who looked like this scarecrow.

“Do you have a weapon?” DJ demanded.

The man shook his head.

“Unzip your jacket and open it up. No sudden movements, though.”

The man did as he was told.

“Now turn around, slowly.”

The man hesitated. DJ saw the reluctance in his eyes.

“Do it now!” DJ yelled as he motioned with his pistol.

The man slowly spun in place, and DJ saw the knife wedged between the jeans and the belt. His nose scrunched at the sight of the weapon, and he felt his breath go hot. He closed on the man and removed the weapon from its roost. It was only a cheap kitchen knife, but it was still deadly, just as deadly as a pickup truck.

DJ threw the knife behind him. He grabbed the man by his jacket just below the neck, and the barrel of his pistol crashed down on the back of the man's head. The man crumpled, and DJ came down onto the vagabond's back with his knee. Then he dug the muzzle of his pistol into the back of the man's neck.

“No weapon, huh? Only looking for food, huh? You would have killed me in my sleep, given half a chance, wouldn't you, asshole?” DJ hissed.

“No, no, I was just looking for food! I only use the knife for defense! I wouldn't have hurt you!”

“Yeah, right.” DJ grabbed the man by one of his sleeves and yanked up to turn him over. It surprised him that it was so easy. He wasn't sure if it was because the man was so thin and frail, or if he was just so angry. He stuck the big .45 in the man's face. “You would have slid your knife right between my ribs and stolen all of my stuff if you thought you'd get away with it. I ought to kill you right now.”

“No, please, please. I just needed some food. I saw your tire tracks cut off of the road and followed them hoping to ask for something to eat.”

“Eat this, then!” DJ shouted as he punched the man in the mouth with the pistol. He could feel the teeth break through the metal and polymer handgun. The man must have believed DJ was going to shoot, or the pain of having his teeth knocked out was too much to bear. He passed out.

DJ stood up over the man and laughed. The only thing that would have made this better was if this hobo had been one of the rednecks who had wrecked his trailer. He got a roll of duct tape and bound the man's hands together.

After quickly loading the few items he'd used for a shelter back on to the bike, he climbed on and took off. He didn't want to leave in the daylight, but if one person had found him, others could, too. As he headed back to the road, he looked over his shoulder and saw the man starting to stir. DJ expected that he might feel a little bad for what he'd done, but the feeling was more akin to elation than regret. He pressed the throttle on the big bike and roared down the road, barely noticing the rain.

* * *

Gabe was boiling water to drink and wondering what he'd do for water during the dry season. His brow furrowed as the question of how long the Smash might last occurred to him. Many items that people took for granted might be difficult to come by. The good news was that the folks out here in the country seemed able to provide more of what they had to have and get by with fewer luxuries than their city counterpoints. Even if this lasted several years, which he doubted, he could probably grow enough food to feed himself and trade for other things he needed. Of course, no one could grow water, so that was his biggest concern. If he had a generator, he could hook it up to the well and pump water whenever he needed it. He and Hannah had talked about getting one several times. It was on their list, but they'd been saving every penny they could to build the house.

They'd always dreamed of living on land like this. Fifty acres located far enough out of the city so they could really see the stars at night. A place they could grow their own food and have room for their son to roam without having to worry about gang wars and drive-by shootings.

It was when Michael had started school that they realized they had to get out of the city. Even the elementary schools weren't safe. Drug dealers hung around and would sell to any kid with the money. Gabe had been shocked that some of the fifth graders were almost as big as he was. It was no place to raise a child. They found this fifty-acre tract, but it took all the money they had saved plus the proceeds from their house in the city to buy it. They found a used mobile home that only needed minor repairs and moved it onto the property until they could save the money to build a house. Gabe, a computer programmer, had worked out a deal with his boss to work from home all but one day a week. Hannah had started a garden to help defray food costs. They'd often talked late into the night about living self-sufficiently on their own little farm. That dream had died, and, since then, Gabe had been trying to cope with being single again. He'd admit that he wasn't coping well.

Gabe pulled himself out of his memories and returned to the here and now. He wondered what the Walkers were doing for water. Jane hadn't said. He wondered if they had a generator. She seemed calmer about the whole situation than he would have expected a single mother to be. If she had a generator, how was she fixed for gas? How long would it last? Could they get more? Every question made him think of two more.

Gabe noticed that his mind was clearer than it had been in the last few years. This “Smash” situation was obviously not good, and it had the potential to get nasty. His brain raced back to what had happened at the store. The lawlessness he'd left behind in the city was suddenly rearing its ugly head out here in the country, too. One of the deputies had told him they were having problems with the city folk. If things continued to slide, there would be more and more people leaving the cities. Those folks would be desperate and might do anything for food, water, and shelter. Many of them would fall prey to the vile scoundrels society kept at bay most of the time. Others would join the ranks of the wicked just to survive. One thing was sure, with the veneer of civilization gone, these predators would take whatever they wanted, however they wanted. The possibility sent shivers down Gabe's back. He couldn't bear the thought of something happening to Jane or Robby. A mother and son would need protection and he'd do whatever he could to make sure nothing bad befell them.

He walked to his bedroom and opened the closet door. Digging through the dress clothes he no longer wore, he found what he wanted. The lever-action rifle had been a gift from Hannah. He hadn't touched it since she'd left, and it was covered in dust. He opened the bottom drawer of his dresser and fished out a cleaning kit and two and a half boxes of ammunition for the rifle. Gabe contemplated where he could find more ammo.

His revolver was also in the dresser, along with a full box of cartridges. He took both firearms and the cleaning kit to the kitchen. Spreading some old newspaper on the table, he began the process of restoring the weapons to serviceable condition. After he finished with them, he found his dad's old shotgun and both of the .22 rifles. Gabe's father had bought one of the rifles for him when he was ten years old. The other he'd bought for Michael. It was still new in the box. He cleaned his .22 and the shotgun. Michael's gun was still spotless, although it needed a little oil. Then Gabe did a quick ammo check. He had lots of .22 shells, but only a couple of boxes of bird shot for the shotgun. He also found half a box of .357 Magnum ammo for his wheel gun with the shotgun shells.

Gabe found the holster for his revolver and threaded it onto his belt. He stuck the stainless steel gun into the leather holster and looked at himself in the mirror. It struck him how thin he was. The revolver stuck out conspicuously on his narrow frame. He'd previously thought of himself as a Marshal Dillon type, but he had to admit that he looked more like another one of television's legendary lawmen. “Where's your bullet, Barney?” he asked himself in the mirror with a smile. It quickly disappeared as he realized how long it had been since he'd used those facial muscles.

Deciding that the holster looked a little silly, Gabe removed it. There might come a time when he'd need to wear a gun when he left the house, but not yet. He put the gun into a soft, zippered pouch. He could keep that close without looking ridiculous.

He walked back into the kitchen, picked up the lever-action, and loaded the tube magazine. He left the chamber empty for safety's sake and walked out to his truck. He stuck the rifle into the scabbard built into the front of the saddlecloth seat cover. It kept the rifle out of sight, but it was easy to draw the weapon as long as the door was open.

Gabe drove down to the Walker place. As he pulled into the drive, he saw Jane step out through the front door. She had on an apron and was drying her hands on a dish towel. For a split second, she reminded him of Hannah, but he pushed that thought quickly out of his mind.

“Mr. Horne, what a surprise,” she said. “I was just starting to cook dinner. Would you care to join us?”

Gabe was a little shocked. He hadn't noticed that it was dinnertime. Or had he? He reached out the window to open the truck door. The inside handle had been broken for some time. “No, thanks,” he said, “I wouldn't want to be any trouble. I just came over to check on you and ask a few questions.”

The look of pity on her face—that familiar look Gabe couldn't stand—changed almost imperceptibly at his answer. Gabe couldn't tell for sure what this new look meant. Perhaps it was gratitude that he'd thought about them.

“It's no trouble,” she said. “Why don't you come in and help me while you ask your questions?”