Collision Course (2 page)

He took a shower. Even though the water was cold, he enjoyed it. It might be the last one he'd get for a while. He hit the sack and tried to sleep, but his mind kept racing over his escape plan. Would he make it out of the city without incident? What would happen to those who stayed in town? Would this all blow over in a few days as the government was promising? DJ was pretty sure he knew the answer to that one. He turned over and tried to make his mind slow down. Distant gunshots could be heard occasionally, which didn't help, but he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Gabe twisted the top off the bottle and poured the amber liquid into a glass. He stared at the drink blankly for a second and then threw it back. It burned going down and boiled once it hit his stomach. He absently poured again, staring at this second glass for a moment. He hated the alcohol. He hated what it did to him. He hated what it had done to them. Basically, he hated everyone and everything.

CHAPTER 2

W
hen the alarm beeped on DJ's watch, it jarred him into alertness. A few minutes later, he was up and dressed. Normally he would've made the bed, but he was in a hurry. Besides, he thought, what would be the point? He quickly fixed some breakfast and ate. He thought about leaving the dirty dishes, but he didn't want to have a vermin problem if he ever came back, so he hurriedly rinsed them off and put them in the dish strainer.

It took three trips to carry his guns and other gear down to the garage. He placed all of the carefully selected equipment next to his quad. With the aid of his flashlight, he went back up to the apartment and walked through one more time, checking to make sure everything was squared away. He opened his safe and looked lovingly at the firearms he was leaving behind. He would have liked to take them, but there was only so much room. If fortune smiled upon him, he could make a trip back for them. Hopefully, the massive gun safe would protect them until that time. DJ had done his homework, and this was the best safe that would fit through the door of his apartment. Not only did it have the best locking system, but it was also fireproof. DJ had bolted it down to the floor, even though it was against the apartment complex's rules. It would be almost impossible for someone to open it as long as it sat in the apartment, and it would take a tow truck to remove it from its position.

He closed the door and spun the dial. He finished his last inspection and, satisfied that everything was good to go, locked the kitchen door behind him. He packed most of the items he'd brought down that morning in their carefully prepicked positions and then checked his load once again to make sure he had everything and that it was properly secured. This was it, he thought. This was what he'd been planning for. He shivered slightly as he turned the key on his ATV. The machine fired immediately and purred perfectly. DJ really appreciated the electronic fuel injection on this bike. Not only did it increase the fuel economy, but it also didn't have to be choked and warmed up before it ran smoothly the way his old carbureted quads had.

There were five items left on the floor. DJ bent over and picked up the black rifle. He put a loaded magazine in it and chambered a round. After checking that the safety was on, he put it in the special homebuilt scabbard. Next he threaded the drop-leg holster that held his custom pistol onto his belt and cinched up the leg straps. Then he donned his bulletproof vest. He'd bought it used over the Internet. It was rated to stop up to a .30-caliber non-armor-piercing rifle bullet. DJ hoped he never had to find out if that was true. On top of the body armor, DJ put on a load-bearing vest containing several magazines for his rifle, a few for his pistol, and some other important survival equipment. If, God forbid, he was to lose the rest of his gear, he could scrape by for several days with just what was in the vest. The last item was the oddly shaped case he'd removed from the safe last night. He picked it up, opened it, and pulled out the night-vision goggles. Next to his four-wheeler, they were the most expensive piece of equipment he had and, in many ways, the most important. He opened the storage box on the back of his quad and put them in the case. He removed the Kevlar helmet from the box and closed the lid. The NV goggles attached to the helmet. He turned off his flashlight, hit the power on the goggles, and put the light in its place on his vest. DJ was almost giddy at the excitement. He'd planned this exodus for years, but he had obviously not been able to actually rehearse it. He had, though, run through the parts he could and had thoroughly thought out the others.

He peeled back the heavy curtain over one of the windows and looked out. No one was to be seen. He lifted up the garage door and then slowly pulled his quad and trailer out onto the driveway. A few seconds later, the garage door was shut and locked and DJ was whizzing down the street.

It was still warm outside, but the wind from his thirty-mile-per-hour speed made it seem almost cool. Two blocks down the street, he saw three guys trying to break into a car in a driveway. DJ watched them closely. When he was half a block away, they heard his tires on the pavement. They began to look around to see what was coming, but he was past them before they could spot him. DJ smiled.

A mile down the road, he came to his first major street crossing. DJ brought the big quad to a stop where he could see both ways but still stay well back of the stop sign. He saw a police car coming down the road shining its spotlight at the front of the businesses that lined the street. He slipped the transmission into reverse and slowly backed up behind some cars parked on the street. It seemed to take forever for the police to pass, but when they finally did, they never even shined the light in his direction, and DJ's tensed gluteus muscles relaxed.

He pulled back up to the intersection. Through the night-vision goggles, he could see he wasn't the only one who hid from the cops. Two blocks up, a couple of people were working on a business's door with what looked like a crowbar. DJ gave his machine some gas and crossed the six lanes with no one the wiser. He was happy so far. Everything was going according to plan.

Five minutes later, the scenery changed. The middle-class neighborhoods he'd been driving through gave way to one of the poorer sections of town. DJ tightened his grip on the handlebars. More people were out and about in this area. Some were sitting in front of their houses with rifles or shotguns across their laps, and others were visiting on street corners. DJ wondered if they were just talking or if there was some kind of drug deal going down. A few were sneaking around houses that were dark and quiet. DJ hoped that there was no one in those houses.

Occasionally people would hear his tires and start looking for him, though dark as it was, they'd almost never spot him until he passed them. DJ increased his speed slightly. His tires would make a little more noise, but the faster he put distance between himself and them, the better.

As the area got worse and worse, a shiver went up DJ's spine. He looked hard for the eyes he could only feel. It was said that even the cops wouldn't come to this neighborhood without sufficient backup, and now DJ understood why. He'd driven through here in his truck during the daylight hours, and, other than the run-down houses and gang graffiti, it didn't seem too bad. But here in the pitch-black night without two tons of steel around him, it gave him the willies. He imagined he could hear screams coming from inside the dilapidated old buildings. Every bush or tree seemed to hold some unseen goblin. Every dark shadow was a demon wanting his soul. He found himself leaning on the throttle until his speed was almost fifty.

He knew he had only a couple of miles before he hit the railroad tracks. They would offer him a safer route out of the city, but first he had to get there. He tried to focus on the street, though he couldn't help noticing more and more people lurking about. When he'd planned his escape, it had seemed less risky to take the short route, even if it was through the shady part of town. Now he found himself questioning his logic.

Suddenly the streets appeared to be empty. DJ relaxed some, but he kept his speed up. Two more minutes, he thought, as he approached a slight curve in the street. The moment he could see around the bend, his heart jumped into his throat. There was a line of cars parked side by side blocking the street.

DJ yanked the brake lever as he cursed himself. He knew there was a possibility of running into a roadblock, and he had practiced turning around quickly, but not at the fifty miles per hour he'd been going. Hopefully they hadn't heard him, or better yet, maybe the automotive barricade was unmanned.

DJ's hopes were dashed when a set of headlights shined right on him. The night-vision goggles automatically shut down at the sudden blaze of light, and DJ pushed them onto his helmet. Two more cars turned their headlights on, and he squinted through the blinding beams. He felt the back brakes lock, and the heavy trailer pushed the bike to the right. Just then, he saw a muzzle flash and heard the report of a rifle over the top of the barricade. A fraction of a second later he heard the angry buzzing of a bullet passing him. He immediately slid off the seat to the left, holding on with just his hands and his right leg, which was hooked over the top of the bike. His left knee was on the floorboard on that side and his body hung below the top of the quad. This stance would help shield him from the gunfire and keep the bike from turning over.

DJ looked to his left and saw an empty driveway. He released the brake, and the bike began to change directions as the wheels started to roll. He turned the handlebars toward the driveway and pushed the throttle a little. The big bike dashed into the drive. He thought he could hear another bullet scream by as he continued turning around in the front yard of the old house. DJ mashed the throttle more and sped across three or four yards until one filled with junk forced him back onto the road. He pulled himself back up on the seat and looked over his shoulder as he rounded the bend in the street. He prayed they wouldn't follow him. He was quick, and off road, no full-sized vehicle would be able to keep up with him, but on the pavement he'd be no match for a car.

He flipped on his headlights and continued to accelerate away from the roadblock. Three blocks down, he turned right, went a block, and then turned right again. He slowed and turned off his headlight. A second later, he heard a car scream past. He placed his night-vision goggles back over his face and looked around. He couldn't see anyone. At the next corner, he turned left and resumed his practiced speed of thirty miles per hour. He noticed that his heart was pounding hard, and his whole body seemed to be shaking. He tried to force himself to calm down by taking some slow, deep breaths. It didn't work.

A minute later, he turned back to the right. This put him back on his original heading, even if he was eight or nine blocks to the south of his original course. DJ began to pay attention to where he was, and this seemed to have a small calming influence. He checked the GPS and saw that he only had a few more blocks until he turned onto Davidson Drive. This was part of his primary escape route. Davidson went through an older, industrialized section of town and crossed the railroad tracks that would take him out of town. He would be on it for an extra half mile now, but it should be fairly deserted. He made the right turn and was thankful that nothing appeared amiss.

Three minutes later, DJ turned onto the dirt road that ran along the tracks. This was railroad company property, but he didn't expect they'd mind, given the circumstances, even if they did see him. In fact, DJ was sure that there wouldn't be anyone along this route. He'd used the Internet and a site with satellite pictures of the earth to examine every foot of this course. It only passed through industrial areas and became more and more rural each mile he went.

DJ looked at his watch. It had been fifty minutes since he left his apartment. He'd made better time than he had allowed, even with his unexpected detour. DJ thought about the mistake he'd made by traveling faster than the speed at which he could easily control the bike. He vowed not to vary from his carefully crafted plan again. After about a mile, he stopped his bike and inspected it for damage. Thankfully, there was none, so he continued on.

The next hour passed quickly and quietly. DJ had to climb onto the tracks to cross a few creeks on the bridges, but he'd expected that. He was always careful to look for trains before he put the quad between the rails. Once, on a longer bridge, he even turned off the bike and put his ear to the rail to make sure no trains were coming. He suspected the trains weren't running, but he didn't want to find out differently at a precarious point.

DJ finally reached his first waypoint. It was an area along a creek where the trees grew thick and he could camp for the day with little danger of being seen or bothered. When the bike was in the middle of the small wooded area, he turned the four-wheeler off. He pitched his tent, ate a quick snack, and covered the quad and trailer with some surplus camouflage netting. He climbed into the tent just as the horizon was turning pink. With the adrenaline worn off and his rifle by his side, he fell almost immediately to sleep.

* * *

Gabe heard the car door slam. He was almost asleep in the chair, but not quite. He jumped at the noise, even in his drunken state. He struggled out of the chair and staggered to the window. That damn boy! What the hell did he want? Gabe stumbled to the door of the trailer and opened it, almost falling out onto the small landing.

“This ain't your day,” he slurred. “What the hell do you want?”

“Mr. Horne, my mom and I came by to make sure you knew what was happening.”

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?”

“Things are getting really bad, Mr. Horne. It's like the world is ending or something. The government has de—”

“Do I look like I give a shit?”

The boy's eyes got big at the interruption.

“Well, do I?” Gabe shouted.

The young teenager said nothing.

“Now, you get the fuck out of here and leave me alone. It's not your day.” Gabe took a wobbly step back into his house, forgetting to close the door. He wasn't able to see the boy climb back over the gate and into the old pickup, but he heard the engine start as they drove away.

Why would I give a shit anymore if the world ended?

He poured himself another shot of whiskey.