A Trip to Normal

by Ray Wench

  “Here's some garbage bags,” Darlene said. She handed a large black bag to each of them.

  The room had shelves lining the walls and one shelving unit down the center. Much of the space held fluids and parts for vehicles, like oil, transmission oil and brake fluids and wipers, but one row had assorted snacks.

  “Other than food items, what should we take?” Darlene said.

  Bobby replied, “Take it all. We'll sort it out when we get home.” He placed an arm behind a row of potato chips and swept them into the bag. Row-by-row they advanced clearing the items and depositing the bags in the trunk and back seat.

  “We're going to run out of room,” Elijah said. “We may have to leave some of it.”

  “If he gets the tanker running,” Bobby said, “two can ride there. But, if he can't, you're right. It's gonna be tight. We may have to rethink what we take.”

  As if on cue, the diesel engine fired, coughed and roared to life. Darlene, Elijah and Bobby stood watching as Mitch jumped from the cab. Wiping his hands on a rag, he said, “It runs and it looks like the driver never got around to emptying his load.”

  “That's great!” said Bobby. “Let's finish and get out of here before someone finds us.”

  With the four of them working, the job went fast. The trunk was jammed and the back seat full to the ceiling. Elijah moved the car to the pump, but with no power, could not get them to dispense. “Too bad,” he said. He settled for a half-full old metal gas can they found in a back room. He put it on the floor of the passenger's side. “Let's get moving. Bobby, do you know how to drive one of these?”

  “No.”

  He frowned. “One of us should go with Mitch and learn what he's doing in case we need a backup.” He looked from his daughter to Bobby. “I guess that's me. At least I've driven a stick shift before.” He tossed the car keys to Bobby. “Be careful.” Bobby understood he meant take care of his daughter. They moved to their vehicles and froze. A large red SUV stopped at the corner.

  Fifty-Three

  Mark kept a constant watch behind them, searching for Bobby's caravan. He cursed under his breath. They should've waited longer for them, but a vehicle had been spotted ahead and he didn't want to be sitting still if they returned with a larger party. He'd ordered them to head out, remembering the road block not too far in front of them.

  Damn that Elijah. They were too spread out and couldn't give the support that might be needed.

  He spied the street they had turned down before to avoid the blockade. The convoy turned and as far as he could tell, they were unobserved. They made it the two blocks before the road turned right, but as his vehicle made the turn, Lincoln slammed on the brakes. The following cars all did the same, but one didn't stop in time to avoid bumping into the one in front.

  To Mark's surprise and annoyance, a new barricade had been constructed, perhaps in response to their escape on their prior pass. Whatever the reason, trucks and cars had been placed across the street and the lawns of the houses, barring their path.

  The heads of several people could be seen above the roofs of the blocking vehicles.

  “Now what?” Lincoln said.

  Good question, thought Mark. Fight or retreat? Fighting could be costly and waste valuable time. However, if they reversed directions, they ran the risk of running headlong into any pursuit from the raiders. Ahead, the choice was obvious. Behind, was only a possibility. He lifted the radio and said, “Turn around. Let's get out of here.”

  No sooner had Mark's car rounded the corner than Ward called over the radio. “We've got company here. Looks like four assorted vehicles.”

  “Can we run through them?” Mark said.

  “They're pulling across the road the block us in.”

  “Can you shoot your way through?”

  “I can certainly entice them to move on.”

  “Get to it before we get trapped.” To Lincoln, he said, “Get us to the front.”

  “To the front, with you it's always to the front. Remind me not to drive with you anymore.” He pulled up a driveway and turned across the front lawn carving trenches through the soft wet ground. Ahead, the .50 cal tore large holes through the blockade. The cars bounced from the contact. The defenders fled the carnage, seeking shelter behind the houses.

  Lincoln braked and Mark opened the passenger door. He rested his rifle across the frame and picked off one of the shooters. Before he could sight on a second target, the attackers broke and ran. Mark had clear shots at several retreating forms, but chose not to fire. He slid inside and said, “Lead the way around the barricade.”

  Lincoln was forced to nudge one car sideways to allow passage. With the convoy back on the road, he said, “Where to from here?”

  Mark pondered that question. The only unknown was back the way they came. With all these obstacles, it would be better to rejoin Bobby's group anyway. “Turn right. We'll find Bobby and figure out a way around all this insanity.”

  “Works for me.”

  For the longest time no one moved. Bobby slid his gun free, ready to shoot at the first hint of trouble.

  “Get in the car,” he said to Darlene. Not wanting to take his eyes from the potential threat, he heard the door open and close.

  The SUV shot forward, rounding the corner on screeching tires, went down the street and disappeared around the next corner.

  “We have to get out of here, now,” Bobby said. He jumped into the driver's seat grazing the top of his head on the frame in his haste. He started the car and raced from the lot. The tanker accelerated slowly, but Bobby didn't wait for it. He wanted to get to the main street and see which direction the SUV went.

  The car lurched forward; three blocks of houses flew by in a blur. He braked hard and the car shook as the tires gripped for purchase. The car stopped part way into the intersection, but the SUV had passed in front of them. He knew where they were heading. They didn't belong to the pursuers, but to the group they'd run into before, blocking the route ahead. Damn!

  Bobby paused, deciding which direction to go. Any pursuit surely would've caught up to them by now. Maybe they weren't coming. He could lead east and take an alternative path around the blockade, as they'd done before. To the west, he knew there would be opposition; however, by now, his father's convoy had already passed through. Or had they? Did they make it or were they in need of assistance? What would his dad tell Bobby to do? He'd want Bobby to get the tanker to safety.

  Bobby turned east. The tanker made a very wide turn and followed, gaining speed at a frustratingly slow pace. If he remembered right, the turnoff was not too far. He drove slower than he wanted to make sure he didn't miss the turn.

  With relief, he spotted the sign, then heard, “Uh-oh!” He looked at Darlene, who had binoculars pressed to her eyes. “There's a group of cars heading our way.”

  “When you say group, what are we talking here?”

  “I can't really tell, but my guess is at least four.”

  “Shit!” Bobby reached the road and made the turn. He sped forward thirty yards and pulled to the side of the road, precariously close to a drainage ditch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We have to give the tanker a chance to get a head start. That means we're going to have to delay our pursuers for as long as we can.” He reached out the window and motioned the tanker forward. The chase cars were less than two hundred yards away and Bobby now saw there were six vehicles in all.

  “Keep going,” Bobby shouted. “Turn west where the road ends. We'll catch up to you.” Mitch shifted into a higher gear and the tanker jumped. Once they passed, Bobby angled the car across the road. “You drive.” He jumped out.

  “Wait, what are you going to do?”

  “I'm going to create a diversion. We have to slow them down.”

  “Stop treating me like a girl and tell me the plan.”

  Bobby ran around the car and opened the passenger door. He didn't have time to explain but rattled off the basics as fast as he
could. “I'm going to pour gas across the road and light it.” He lifted the gas can from the car and ripped open one of the garbage bags. The contents poured out while he rummaged through it. “Ah!” he pulled his hand free holding a lighter. “Get ready to drive.”

  He ran toward the drainage ditch to use as cover in case they arrived before he set his plan in motion. It was deep and his feet slipped. He fell and rolled once and regained his feet. Running toward the main street, he poked his head up to see where the convoy was. He had maybe a hundred yards to do the job.

  Opening the can, he climbed from the ditch and poured the entire contents in a line across the road. He tossed the can aside, pulled his gun and climbed back into the ditch, lying near the top. He flicked the lighter several times and adjusted the flame to its highest setting.

  The first car reached the street and made the turn. Bobby flicked the lighter and reached his hand toward the gas, but nothing happened. He looked at the lighter, no flame. The first car flew past. He shook the lighter, adjusted the flame size to its highest setting and flicked it again. It fired as the second drove past. He touched the flame to the ground. The gas ignited in a whoosh and raced across the road catching the third car. The fire singed his left hand. The sedan made it through.

  With the last three cars trapped behind the wall of flame, Bobby ran at the burning car and as the men jumped out, he shot them. First the two on the driver's side, then around the trunk for the opposite two.

  Without stopping, Bobby ran on. The occupants of the second car had already exited and either hid behind it, firing at Darlene, or scattered to the drainage ditch to outflank her. A gunfight had broken out near the first car. Bobby assumed Darlene had engaged them.

  Knowing the firewall would not last long, Bobby ignored the cars on the opposite side and ran toward the two cars that got through. Both cars stopped as Darlene shot at them. He came up behind the two men at the trunk of the second car and fired one round into the back of each head, then picked up their guns. The two men on the flanking maneuver were too far ahead to get a shot at. He hopped inside the car and put it in drive. Leaving the door open, he revved the engine and rolled out as the car moved. Pain shot through his shoulder as he made contact with the black top. The car collided with the lead vehicle. The impact caused a man to run like a startled rabbit. Coming to one knee, Bobby aimed his gun and shot him, his body rolling down the side of the drainage ditch.

  He scrambled to his feet and ran toward Darlene's car. A quick glance inside the first car showed two slumped bodies in the front seat. Darlene was evidently a good shot. He ran to the car and found it empty. So much for her staying with the car. She followed directions about as well as Becca. Darlene popped up from the opposite side and aimed her gun at him. He froze, shocked by how close he came to being shot. Bobby's mouth went dry.

  He reached the driver's door and yanked it open. Tossing the extra guns on the passenger seat, he slid in striking his head again. He swore and reached to close the door. Bullets smacked into the car all around him. He left the door open and shoved the stick into drive as Darlene emptied her gun. She dove through the open passenger door, her head landing across his lap. He pressed the pedal to the floor and the car leaped forward.

  Bobby worked the wheel hard to prevent the car from rolling down the ditch. Bullets continued to strike them. As he swung the car back up to the road, the rear window exploded. “Keep your head down.” He grabbed her head and pulled her down into his lap.

  “Yeah, you wish.”

  Involved in escaping, the comment flew by him. He checked the mirror. So far no pursuit. If they chose to continue, it might take a few minutes to clear the road. He had to take advantage of the time they had.

  Darlene's head poked up. She looked over Bobby's shoulder. Her face was inches from his. “Well, that was fun.”

  He snorted. Her comment sounded like something Becca would say. She kissed his cheek. Startled, he blinked and pulled his head back to look at her. “Sorry. Seemed like the thing to do. Especially if you're going to insist on me keeping my head down.”

  With sudden clarity, Bobby caught the previous reference and blushed. His awkwardness made her laugh. She gave him another quick peck and sat up. “Last one, I promise. Oh!” She reached beneath her and extracted one of the guns Bobby had tossed there. “Goose. Goose.”

  The car reached the end of the road and Bobby swung right. He wondered how far the tanker had gone.

  “How many did you get?”

  He glanced at her. She had dropped the magazine and counted rounds. “Back there. How many did you shoot?”

  “Ah, I don't know. I just shot whoever was in front of me.”

  “Can't you guess? I killed three in that first car.”

  “Is it important? I mean, it's not like we're keeping score.”

  “Is that what you think? Silly man. I asked because it would give me an idea of how many were left, if there were enough to feel confident about pursuing us.”

  Bobby pondered that for a moment. He'd misjudged her. “Six or seven, I think.”

  “So, that's two and a half cars, if we figure four to a car and six cars. They might have fourteen or fifteen shooters left.”

  “Would you keep up the chase with that number?”

  “Not against us, I wouldn't. We're a pretty good team, don't you think?” She gave him a playful punch in the arm and he felt the flush to his cheeks again.” Well, aren't we?”

  “Ah, yeah, I guess we are.”

  Fifty-Four

  “Yep!” Lincoln said. “Bobby's been through here all right. Although usually I'd be saying that about Becca.”

  Mark didn't respond. Worried, he looked at the burning hulks and assorted wrecks along the road. Backtracking, they'd joined with Elijah's people and learned of Bobby's side trip. To his relief, Bobby's car was not among them. “Go around them.”

  “Well, sure, boss. Let me do that for you?”

  “What are you pissed about?”

  “Oh, nothing, other than driving Mr. Crazy. Not only do I get sent into dangerous situations, I get ordered to do so as if I didn't have any choice in the matter.”

  Mark gazed at his friend, anger getting the better of him. “I'm sorry if I've offended you, but I hope you know me well enough by now to understand there's nothing personal in what I say. If you'd rather give the directions and let me drive, I've got no problem with that.”

  Lincoln met his gaze with his own growing resentment. “I'm just tired of being shot at and chased. Every time I'm with you, we get into trouble. You had to go fishing, even after Lynn tried to tell you, you were just asking for trouble. And now, here were are, in trouble. Again. Sorry if I sound pissed, man, but I'm a little concerned about getting shot. If we get out of this one, I'm going to have to rethink being a part of your community. It's too dangerous living near you.”

  Mark let his rage bleed away. Lincoln's words hit home. This was his fault. First Lynn moved away, now Lincoln. It didn't take a genius to see that he was the common denominator in the equation. “You're right, Lincoln. I'm sorry. We'll talk about it when we get back.”

  “Yeah, whatever, man. Let's just make sure we get back.” He maneuvered around the disabled cars and the convoy drove down the street. Twenty minutes and a several wrong turns later, they heard gunfire. Lincoln looked at Mark and frowned. He didn't speak, but his expression said, “See what I'm talking about?”

  Mark ignored the look. Lincoln had a right to feel the way he did, but at the moment, Bobby's safety was more important than dealing with Lincoln's grievances. “Stop here.” Before the car came to a stop, Mark was out of the car, running toward the battle sounds. He rounded a corner and hid behind a tree.

  Up ahead a firefight was in full swing. He sighted through the scope. One set of vehicles lined up across the road, fired at a second set twenty yards beyond them. A tanker was parked behind Bobby's group. He recognized the car Bobby had been in, but could not find his son. He prayed he was s
till alive.

  Mark swept his gaze from left to right along the attackers’ defense. He counted twelve combatants. The road on the far side of Bobby's group appeared to be a dead end. They had no way out other than on foot. To the right were four houses. On the left was a hill that ran the entire length of the street. At the top of the hill was a partially flattened fence. Mark guessed beyond the fence was the expressway. He ran back to the car and motioned for the others to join him.

  “Bobby's group is pinned down. The attackers have their backs to us. We can get to them through the backyards of the houses and from above,” he pointed at the hill, “along the expressway. We should be able to end this fight fast. Corporal Ward, will you take a group through the yards?” Ward nodded, pointed to three people and they ran off behind the corner house. “I'll go up the hill and snipe from there. The rest of you take up positions behind your cars in case they escape this way.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Lincoln said.

  Mark eyed the man for a moment. “Just stay here.”

  “Oh, fuck you!”

  The vehemence of the statement struck Mark like a punch. “Then do what you want.” Mark turned and jogged toward the hill. He was halfway up when he became aware of another presence. He glanced left to see Lincoln running past him. At the top, the two men ran far enough not to be seen from below, and swung toward the gunfight.

  Judging the distance, Mark veered toward the downward slope and dropped to his knees. From there they crawled to the edge of the slope. He'd cut the approach too short and backed away. He moved another ten yards. Satisfied with this new position, he lay prone, his elbows on the ground and lined up his first shot. Lincoln took up a shooting stance two yards away.

  As soon as he had a target, Mark squeezed the trigger. A man on the end of the barrier pitched forward and slumped to the ground. Lincoln's first shot followed with the same success. Ward's team started shooting and the crossfire was complete.