A Long Ride Page 13

  Shocker looked back at me. I said, “Perfect. We may use that. We'll ditch this –”

  “One-o-nine,” the radio on the dashboard said loudly, freezing my mouth. We were in 109.

  “Um,” Shocker said, biting her lip. “Give us a minute, Ace.” She turned out of the industrial area, onto a road that led to the highway, acceleration pushing us into the seats.

  “One-o-nine?”

  “Give it here!” I leaned over through the open Plexiglas partition, taking the mic, stretching the spiral cord. I pressed the transmit button and mumbled the universal situation-is-secure, realizing that cop must have called in Blondie's distressed presence. “Code four on that last traffic.”

  We held our breath for several seconds, thinking it worked or at least wasn't so bad of an error that dispatch would follow up. Irritation cut me as the radio said, “Brian? You okay?”

  “She probably swoons over the Abercrombie prick,” I muttered.

  “Huh?” Shocker frowned.

  “Nevermind.” I looked at my girl.

  “I'm on it.” She curled up on the floorboard again, hands going under the dash to find the wire harness for the GPS.

  * * *

  The breeze flowing in the front windows was cool, but the car was hotter than a lucrative crack house. In the eight minutes it took for us to get to Highway 49, several hundred law enforcement officers were put on alert. The GPS was disabled, so they couldn't track our position, and the roads we used up until now were mostly without traffic. Listening to the officers on the radio helped, though they were aware of it and used codes none of us were familiar with. The real boon was Ace. He tracked us by his wife's iPhone, and somehow knew where all the cops were. Even Blondie, a contender in the hacking world, was baffled by the geek's computing mojo.

  Could he really have hacked into the police, sheriff, and highway patrol systems all at once? I laughed, “Probably has an app for it.” Didn't seem possible, yet he knew, and twice already gave us warning so that Shocker could steer us close to a tall truck for cover. We cruised under the Interstate 10 overpass, Blondie and I still laying low.

  “They're all over forty-nine north,” Ace said, voice smug on the tiny speaker. “Bobby called in an anonymous tip, claiming he saw people in Lyman that weren't cops ditch a cop car. You guys should be in the clear now.”

  “Oh, that's what's up,” Blondie purred. She looked at Shocker, who still paid close attention to oncoming traffic and the sides of the highway, though had slowed some and relaxed her grip on the wheel. “Bobby's a good friend, huh?”

  Shocker smiled wide. “I met him at a casino years ago. He was in a suite across from me.” She sighed with thoughts of another lifetime. I tried hard to block out their girl-talk but my damn ears betrayed me. “He was competing in a bodybuilder contest the same night I had a fight there. So of course we had VIP passes to all sorts of event crap. Kept running into each other. Eventually we quit just saying hi and had a conversation. Turned out, he was an auto paint and body specialist, and I just happened to be looking to hire one for my shop. The man knows metal and paint.” She beamed with pride.

  “Boss,” Bobby's baritone strained the phone's speaker, a smile in it. “Don't start telling all my secrets now.”

  “Yeah,” Ace concurred, laughing with his friend. “Don't tell how the man writes code. Like Razor said, I thought women were supposed to talk about men behind their back.”

  Blondie smirked. “He still calls you 'Boss' though he treats you like a sister.”

  “He better,” Shocker laughed. “We've been through so much. And he's never had a better friend than Ace. Those two…”

  Ah. Relief. The 'ol fingers-in-the-ears-while-humming was childish, sure, but effective. I hummed All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix while stretched out on the cramped backseat. As I finished and started flipping through my mental collection of music, my right finger abruptly jammed deep into my ear, car lurching forward, transmission dropping into first as Shocker punched it to run.

  “Ouch.” Grimacing, I strained to sit up. The g force from the accelerating V8 didn't help. I was tired and hungover from consuming all that adrenaline. One look out the back window perked me right back up, however.

  Heart pounding excitedly, eyes alert and sharp once more, I studied the Gulfport police cars right on our ass. Two of 'em. Ace shouted something and the lights of the intersection we approached turned green, multiple cars coming from east and west locking up their brakes. Metal crumpled and screeched as it tore, a bumper flew over our hood. Shocker's expert driving took us through the obstacles, lights turning red as we passed. More brakes squealed as traffic packed closer together. I turned to look out the back again in time to see a full-size pickup towing a boat crash into a police car, crushing the front-end, trailer jack-knifing, boat turning over on top of a Honda Civic. More Gulfport PD turned onto the highway, having found a path around the intersection, five cruisers speeding to catch up to us.

  Thrilled, I unzipped my suit, wiggled a hand into my jeans and pulled out my BlackBerry. Turned and recorded the scene. “That's right,” I gloated, nodding at the awesome footage. “That's what I'm talking about!”

  “What are you doing?” Shocker yelled at me.

  I put my phone away. Zipped up. “Relax and drive, woman. It's not like –”

  WHAM!

  Out of nowhere a car crashed into our right side. The tremendous impact instantly stuck us to the passenger doors, painfully, Shocker on top of Blondie, exploding glass showering our heads, seats, floor and dash. Our car skidded on blown tires, spun halfway around, steel wheels on pavement making all kinds of tortured racket. We spun back straight, still skidding at high speed then crashed into something on our left that threw everyone to that side of the car.

  We ground to a halt, engine stalling.

  My head rung, body numb in places, and I just wanted to lay there. But a part of me was activating emergency reserves, booting up Escape and Survive functions. Panic, fiery and alien, swelled in my gut. Something was badly wrong, though it wasn't with me. I saw something that wasn't registering yet. My arms and legs twitched. A voice in my head yelled, “Get your ass up NOW!”

  I scrambled up to look around. Only seconds had passed. Behind and to our right was the police car that rammed us, huge black tubular bumper deformed, officer unmoving behind his deployed airbag. I looked left. The concrete divider we smashed against had flattened the doors on that side. The glass in all four doors was missing, particles winking from all over, even the girls' hair, which would look dazzling if blood wasn't staining Blondie's disarrayed golden locks…

  In a moment of sheer terror I realized both girls were unconscious, Blondie seriously hurt. Her door had taken the full impact of the crash. It was caved in, plastic panels and metal frame bent, stretched over her leg. I had my head through the partition, teeth clenched, head swimming, poisoned by the sight of my girl's slack, bleeding mouth.

  Time froze. Thoughts raced. Is she breathing? She can't be… dead?

  My vision blurred, cheeks cool as wind touched the tears on them. I gulped a breath, struggling with a constricted throat. I shouted furiously. I didn't have time for feelings!

  Knowing the doors would be jammed and it would be awkward and time consuming to shimmy out a window, I didn't waste time in that direction. Pressing my back against the partition, I kicked out the back window, boot going right through, glass bits exploding onto the trunk lid. I was up and out of the car, stomping over the roof and, two heartbeats later, kicking in the windshield. It took several hard, bone-jarring heel strikes, caving, spider-webbed glass laying over the airbag. At that point Shocker had roused herself and managed to fight loose of the airbag and help me get the glass out of the car. I tossed it aside, dropped to my knees and reached for my girl.

  “Get off the car and lie down on the ground!” some asshole yelled. “We will shoot you!” Boots thumped and noisy weapons belts could be heard distantly.

  “She's s
tuck!” Shocker said, straining, pulling Blondie's arm. “We have to leave her!” She let go and climbed out over the steering wheel.

  “NO!” I shouted in a ragged voice, wiping my eyes. “I'm taking her home.”

  Shocker blew out a frustrated breath. Then dove headfirst back into the car, grabbing the pistol Blondie had dropped on the seat. I helped her back out. We slid off the hood, squatted in front of the car, trying not to inhale the antifreeze steaming out of the grill. She held the gun up in front of a face covered with blood, tiny cuts on her cheeks, brows and scalp leaking. She wiped her forehead, wincing as glass was pushed further into her face. With true warrior spirit she pretended the blood wasn't leaking faster now. She looked into my eyes. “I'll draw them off. You get her out.” I nodded and choked back a sob. She said to herself, “Always the hard way,” and suddenly jumped over the concrete divider, into the opposing lanes of traffic, which hadn't been stopped yet. Shouts for her to freeze were ignored. She sprinted away some distance. Stopped in the middle of the highway, turned and aimed over the roofs of passing cars, firing one shot at a police car, then turned and ran again, knowing they couldn't shoot at her because of the heavy traffic. Cars honked and accelerated or braked to avoid the lunatic woman with the gun.

  Squealing tires, screams and shouting policemen competed with sirens and racing engines in a dissonance bout, chaos I tried to tune out so I could focus on getting my girl free. Antifreeze caused me to slip on the hood. I grabbed the windshield frame and cut my palm on shards of glass. Didn't feel it. A sob burst from my lips as I crawled in to inspect the door crushed over her. I stroked her cheek. “I got you,” I whispered fervently.

  Another gunshot sounded, this one from far beyond the cops, and it dawned on me Shocker was circling them, keeping traffic between them.

  They'll never catch her on foot, my subconscious reassured me.

  I knew the risk she was taking for us and didn't want it to be for nothing. I had no time. I needed a solution.

  I looked through the partition, out the busted back window. A squad of officers in tactical gear were forming up next to an armored truck seventy yards away, M-16s in hand. Never had Special Weapons And Tactics after me before… They will rush this car and kill us both in just a minute.

  I looked at the car that rammed us. It sat in the far right lane, a few dozen feet away. Several uniformed policemen were pointing pistols at me from behind the open doors, their unconscious comrade being carried away by others.

  I looked down into the backseat, heart soaring. The shotgun! Quickly I reached for it, pulled it through the partition. Jacked a round into the chamber, shick-click! Cops yelled for me to drop it. I looked at the wrecked door. At the helmets on the floor. Laying the weapon aside, I grabbed Blondie's helmet and pulled it over her head, carefully, hoping I wasn't damaging anything in her neck. Secured the chin strap. Then I tugged on Shocker's helmet. I pulled Blondie towards me and aimed the shotgun at the door pillar where I knew the latch was. Pulled the trigger.

  BOOM!

  Flame belched brightly, ears deafened instantly from the concussion. I unloaded the weapon into the door and pillar, pumping the action as fast as I could. Bits of metal, plastic and lead shot ricocheted into her still form, thwacking off our helmets, leather and Kevlar preventing penetration. The door was on fire now, smoldering toxic fumes, and a new fear gripped me.

  She's going to be burned!

  The gun clicked empty and I dropped it on the floor. Raised my right leg over her and began hammering at the door with my heel, over and over, raging with bestial energy. The frantic, inhuman power pulsing through my core was terrifying to experience. In a moment of insane clarity I knew a fear more pure and bodied than I could have imagined. It drove me. It was a revelation. Love or fear alone wouldn't be enough emotional juice to accomplish this Herculean task. But love and fear together, fear of losing my love…

  Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! I snarled viciously, jackhammering my leg. Suddenly, my boot was in sunlight, door sagging open, off her. Flames shot up as air hit the door panel. Hope soared through me. “I got you,” I whispered, grabbing under her arms.

  “Get out of the car, now! Get on the ground or we will shoot you!”

  I sneered at them.

  I climbed out the front and pulled Blondie's limp form over the dashboard, onto the hood. A SWAT officer fired at me, rifle bullet nailing my shoulder pad, knocking me off the car. My head swam, low on energy after the feat of getting her free. I grabbed her, stumbling to cradle her, looking up as a pistol fired.

  The SWAT members ducked and were forced to reposition their shields as the Shocker fired at them, her ponytail streaming out behind her black suit as she sprinted away, just outside their perimeter, a ghostly fast streak with a scarlet face.

  Seeing that she was the imminent threat, the majority of the officers hurriedly reformed and began methodically moving in her direction, expanding the net. Multiple black and whites peeled out and raced toward the businesses she had disappeared behind. I watched for an apprehensive moment, hoping her crazy ass could shake them. I hefted my girl over one shoulder, arm wrapped around the backs of her knees. Stepped over the concrete divider.

  As I got a leg over several pistols fired and bullets struck us. Blondie's helmet resounded with a cracking pop!, the supersonic force knocking her head to the side. My sight tinted red, flushing with hot rage. A second round followed, thudding into my lower back, just missing the vertebrae, which surely would have fractured and ended this. Red changed to black, eyes blinking swiftly, core muscles contracting in odd contortions.

  “Gah-rrr!” I gritted my teeth so hard I thought my molars would burst. Fell to my knees, struggling with a suddenly weakened left leg.

  Not like that leg was worth much, anyway, my subconscious offered cheerfully.

  “Gah-rrr!” I responded, getting back up. Blondie's buck twenty-five now felt twice as heavy. I staggered out into the lanes without awareness, no peripheral in the helmet, and almost saved the police from any further effort. A line of cars braked hard, several swerving at the last instant. I was pretty sure everyone else had stopped or wrecked so I gave a drunken thumbs up to the pissed off, screaming, gesticulating motorists and staggered off to the other side. As I looked at them I wondered how come traffic was still flowing, though was glad for the protection it provided. Then it dawned on me the police hadn't had time to stop it yet, only a few minutes had passed since the wreck. It seemed like hours ago.

  I knew cops would be on the other side of the highway momentarily, though not near as many; the brunt of the force was concentrated at the scene or chasing Shocker. I limped as quickly as I could across the emergency lane, into the grassy ditch lining the east side of the highway, helmet swinging left, right, searching for patrol cars. Spotted several speeding our way through traffic in the distant intersection, lights and sirens pushing the other drivers aside.

  Limp-limp-limp! I lurched toward a road, gasping in pain, pissed because it was a chore to even focus my eyes. I had to really dig deep here, get some control of my leg. It was starting to loosen up, though this wasn't a minor contusion I could just walk off. That bullet hurt, Kevlar be damned. My shoulder pads had taken rounds from a rifle and pistol. My entire upper back was stiff, aching, from SKS rounds that drove the padding between my shoulder blades. And my side took one that likely cracked a rib. But none of those mattered any longer. Nuclear plasma was melting through my lower back, arresting command of the sciatic nerves that somehow still functioned enough to allow me to use the leg as a crutch.

  I'm all for a challenge, folks, but this was getting ridiculous.

  Only seconds until the patrol cars reached us. I needed to circle some buildings to buy us time. Panic began to well up my throat again. I just didn't have it in me. Usually I'm chuckling like a stoned Goofy in situations like this. But usually my bitch is by my side, stoned-Goofy-chuckling with me. I felt incapable of tapping into that fighting fuel I knew was just outside my exhau
sted mental reach. I felt like a lame.

  Then I heard a sound that changed everything: Blondie moaned. I stumbled, rebalanced, straining my hearing, and one of her dangling arms reached up and grabbed my waist.

  She's okay!

  Her touch was all I needed. Relief was an energy all its own, overwhelming me. I began to run. I leaned forward and lengthened my stride, trying not to jolt her too much, looking for a ride I could take without too much fuss. I ran behind a tire and wheel shop, cop cruisers turning in behind us, and continued around the building, circling it, running back out front before crossing the street to zig-zag between two fast-food joints. Turned down a narrow lane and spotted a small parking lot in front of a custom car stereo business. Ran to it, optimism expanding my veins at the sight of our ride.

  Next to a tricked out Dodge Dart was a Can-Am Spyder, a reverse-trike that looked like a jetski with two wheels in the front, one in the back. Like anyone with a love for custom 'cycles, I've wanted to ride one since they came out. Supposedly, they performed like road course race cars.

  “We're about to find out,” I told Blondie, taking her off my shoulder. I strained to turn her, straddle her over the seat, lay her over the fuel tank. I squatted down next to the fairing, hands digging under the plastic in search of the ignition wires. Through her face shield I could see her eyes fluttering, our helmets nearly touching. “Babe? You okay?” No response. “Shit.”

  “Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?”

  My head jerked up, dread enveloping me like a thick nasty fog. A mountain of a man came out of the stereo shop. His pink-white bald head looked small on his wide neck. Eyes small because of flaring cheeks. He walked quickly towards me, slabs of chest and shoulder muscles shifting under an Audiobahn tee shirt, pointing a meaty, threatening finger.

  We don't have time for this!

  I opened my face shield. “We're from Can-Am. Gotta take it in. Sorry. Call the office if you have any complaints.”