“More for you on Team Quincy’s cross-country challenge – here at K-BOT we’ve been told that there are a whole bunch of folks that don’t want our boys to succeed. That big old rig is being chased by the Dragon Riders, a desert counties biker gang; by the federal police, and by hired guns working for a third party that my source chose not to name. Mysterious or what?
“Seems like the truckers are facing some pretty serious opposition. But they’ve still got the pedal to the metal and just keep covering those miles. Will they make it to New Grimsby by the fourteenth? Stay tuned to find out.”
I certainly would.
*
The first couple of days of our cross-country trip hadn’t been a complete disaster. Granted there were now more people pursuing us than there had been, but on the plus side, I now had Harmony as my co-driver. At least for now. Would this be a chance to work things out between us? I didn’t know. Sometimes you just have to hope for the best.
“Do you want me to drive?” Harmony asked.
If we drove in shifts we could cover more ground, so her suggestion made sense. I could let her drive the Trekker through the night while I slept in the bunk in the truck. But to feel comfortable doing that I would need to trust her a whole lot more than I did at that moment. She’d stolen my Trekker once before and there were still things we needed to talk through.
“Later maybe,” I said.
We made slow progress as we headed towards the mountains. The road got steeper and steeper as the peaks grew to fill the sky. The rock looked purplish in the haze.
There is an almost vertical winding road through the mountains but only thrill-seekers used it now. A tunnel had been cut and the highway went straight through the rock. You had to pay a toll to use the tunnel. The booths were automated but the barriers were strong enough to stop almost any vehicle, so the police could use them as an effective roadblock. As we got near them we stopped.
“Looks clear,” Harmony said.
“Sensors aren’t showing any vehicles or people,” Floyd confirmed.
This was good news, but it didn’t mean the barriers would definitely go up and let us through. And even if they did, there might be a roadblock waiting for us on the other side of the tunnel. The tunnel provided an ideal opportunity for the authorities to trap us.
“We’ll go first, check it out,” I said. Harmony nodded.
“We should send a drone through to see what’s on the other side,” Floyd suggested.
“Do it,” I said.
Floyd released Mozzie and the little robot flew low over the ground towards the mouth of the tunnel. The feed from his camera came up on the dashboard screen.
There was some traffic coming the other way and it all looked fairly normal.
“Nothing suspicious,” Harmony said, peering at the screen. I agreed. Years of practice meant we were both pretty good at spotting unmarked police vehicles and other kinds of trouble.
Mozzie zipped out of the tunnel at the other end and the exit lanes were all clear. He would sit there and keep watch, warning us if anything changed while we were travelling through to the other side.
The tunnel was broad, smooth and brightly lit. It was a bit of a disappointment really. I’d been expecting something more cave-like. Floyd slipped into tour-guide mode, reeling off details about the tunnel’s length, how long it had taken to construct, and how many tons of rock had been removed. I tuned him out. Harmony asked a couple of questions but I think she was just being polite.
I’m not claustrophobic – a thief can’t afford to be – but I couldn’t help being aware of all that rock above us. I was relieved when we drove out into daylight on the other side of the mountain.
Floyd stopped to retrieve Mozzie and then we were off the toll lanes and back onto the open highway.
The scenery on this side of the mountain range looked almost identical to what we’d seen on the other side. Hot, dry and with not much greenery beyond rough grass and desert trees.
“Keep a lookout,” I said. “Our friend the Marshal has jurisdiction on this side too.”
And even if he didn’t put in an appearance, we had other potential pursuers to look out for.
The highway was paved for about twenty miles beyond the tunnel but after that, the hardtop faded away and we were back on packed down dirt.
“The big news in Vulture’s End this weekend is the opening of Drake’s Pig Feed and Shiatsu Parlour,” Bobby-Ray told us. “On Saturday morning proprietor Drake Dyce-Wight will be giving away vouchers for a free massage. Doesn’t say here if that’s for you or your pig. Happy endings are extra. Dyce-Wight? Sounds like someone who can’t count in French. For your listening pleasure next we have something psychedelic.”
“I’m picking up a vehicle in pursuit,” Floyd said. “Motorcycle.”
“Just the one?” I asked.
“Affirmative.”
“The Highway Patrolman,” I said.
“It didn’t take him long to get his wheels back on,” Harmony said.
“I’m not picking up any radio communications from him,” Floyd said. “I think he’s flying solo.”
“That’s weird,” I said.
“He’s coming up fast,” Floyd warned. “I’m clocking his speed at a hundred and ten miles an hour. He’s only ten minutes away.”
“On this road?” I said. “That can’t be right. The sensor must be off.”
We were on the sort of downhill slope where our brakes were on permanently and we were generating electricity rather than burning it. Even seventy miles an hour would have been insanely dangerous.
“He’s averaged one hundred and eight miles per hour over the last twenty miles,” Floyd said confirming the data.
“That’s crazy,” Harmony said.
“He must want to catch us pretty badly to take those kinds of risks,” I said. “We’ll never outrun him.”
“What do we do?” she asked.
I thought about suggesting she go on ahead with Floyd while I tackled the cop, but I knew what her reaction to that would be.
“Floyd, you keep going. Get as far ahead of us as you can. Keep monitoring the police channels. If you hear they’re setting up a roadblock, turn off somewhere and lay low.”
“Ten-Four.”
Harmony cast me a quizzical look. “Why does he say that?”
“Don’t ask.”
“What’s the plan?” she said.
“We’re going to try and distract that motorcycle cop for a while,” I said. “We’re coming up on a turnoff to an old mining town. We’ll lead him there and buy Floyd some time.”
“What sort of distraction did you have in mind?”
“I thought I’d just blow squit up and hope for the best,” I said.
“Explosions?” Harmony grinned. “Can I play?”
I reduced speed a little to let Floyd increase the distance between us. I wanted him out of sight around a bend before the Highway Patrolman caught up with us.
When the motorcycle came into view, I turned off the Trekker’s traction system so I could spin the rear wheels and kick up a thick cloud of dust. The cop couldn’t fail to spot it and come after us.
“I think you missed the turning,” Harmony said. “This is not a road.”
“It used to be,” I said.
The Trekker was being bounced around like a ping-pong ball on a trampoline. We had to shout over the complaints from the suspension. Mining trucks had used this track for decades, ploughing great ruts in the yellowish dirt. Pebbles rattled on the underside of the car and occasionally there was a grinding noise as it came into contact with a larger deposit of dried mud.
“At least it will slow down the motorbike,” she said.
Maybe, I thought. The Patrolman wasn’t riding a dirt bike. But even on a road cruiser, he’d have the advantage of being able to follow just one of the wheel ruts. He wouldn’t be that far behind us when we reached the town.
“Your guidebook may be out of date,” Harmony sai
d.
Compton’s Forge had been a vibrant mining community. But not recently. Many of the buildings were just skeletons, their siding having been stolen or stripped away by dust storms. Those structures that were still standing looked grey and brittle, little more than shacks. There were unidentifiable bits of rusty machinery and scrap metal lying around. Sand was banked up around everything like drifts of snow. These ghost towns were scattered all over Saphira.
“You should hide behind one of the bigger chunks of machinery,” I said. “The ones out in the sun will mask your signature if he has infrared in his helmet,” I said. “When I draw him away, you come out and destroy the motorcycle.”
“You said I could blow it up.”
“Do whatever works best,” I said. “There are grenades under the floor in the trunk.”
“I remember,” she said.
“What will you do to the Patrolman?” she asked.
“Hopefully nothing. We’ll just wreck his bike and then take off, stranding him here.”
We got out of the Trekker and stood facing each other for a moment. I wanted to kiss her, but it wasn’t the right time. We still had some talking to do first. I smiled instead.
“If I’m not back here in half-an-hour...” I said.
“I’ll come and rescue you, don’t worry about it.” Harmony patted me on the cheek. “I know you don’t like hurting people, but if it comes down to a choice between him or you...”
“I’ll choose me,” I said.
“See you back here soon.” She hurried away to find a hiding place.
I waited until I saw the patrol bike round the bend before I moved away from the Trekker. I wanted him to see me – and see where I went. I had to get him to leave the motorcycle unattended and follow me on foot.
I jogged down the middle of what had been the main street, making sure I was leaving clear footprints in the loose dirt. On the corner at the end of the street was a two-storey building that was more or less intact. I headed towards it – it looked like the right sort of place to lead the Patrolman.
I went in through the broken door at front of the building and straight across the dusty floor towards the back. I looked down to make – I was leaving tracks in the dust. There was no back door, just an empty frame. Behind the building was a wasteland where clumps of desert grass made the ground uneven but didn’t offer much in the way of hiding places. There was an old outhouse and a couple more pieces of rusty machinery but beyond that nothing. If I dropped down low, the larger clumps of grass might hide me, but I wouldn’t want to have to depend on them. I headed for the outhouse.
I imagined the Highway Patrolman’s actions, trying to judge when he would appear. He would stop the motorcycle a little way from the Trekker and approach our vehicle cautiously. He would check to see if anyone was hidden in it or under it. Then he would look around, trying to determine where we had gone. He would see my footprints in the dirt and follow them. He’d be suspicious, expecting an ambush.
If he was following protocol, the Patrolman would radio in his position. If we left him marooned here, help would come. Eventually. But before that, there was a danger that back-up would arrive to help him apprehend the fugitives. Us. Harmony and I needed to move quickly so that we weren’t caught out.
The old outhouse had withstood the passage of time better than many of the main buildings. I guess they built them well back then. You don’t want your squit-house blowing away while you’re sitting on the potty with your pants around your ankles. I ducked behind the narrow structure and waited. I heard the patrolman stride into the empty building and stomp across the floor. He wasn’t being especially cautious.
The Highway Patrolman appeared in the doorway at the back of the building. He looked even bigger than he had at the diner. His uniform was still spotless. He’d taken off the helmet and didn’t have a hair out of place. Maybe he varnished it to stick it down. He had to turn slightly to get his shoulders through the gap. He scanned the wasteland with slow sweeps of his head. He cocked his head on one side, listening, perhaps trying to pinpoint the location of a sound. But I wasn’t making any – I was even holding my breath. I was relieved to see that he hadn’t drawn his gun.
Wind whistled through the rough grass behind me. The sound reminded me of childhood trips to see the ocean. I wanted to lead the policeman further from his motorcycle. After I’d heard the sound of Harmony’s grenade doing its thing, I would circle back round to the Trekker. I’d probably find Harmony sitting in the driving seat. And I would hand over the keys without quibbling. It was nice to have her around again. Obviously, if she’d hot-wired the Trekker and abandoned me to my fate, my feelings towards her would need to be revised.
I left the cover of the outhouse and set off at a fast jog, dodging around the pieces of fallen timber and rust-coloured scrap that littered the ground. I ran at an angle away from the building, out into the open scrubland. I looked over my shoulder to make sure the Patrolman was behind me. He was following but hadn’t broken into a run. His long strides were covering the ground pretty rapidly.
“This is the police,” he said loudly. “Stop and place your hands on your head.”
Did that ever work for him? I wondered. Did petty thieves just think, Oh, yeah, I’ll stop running and let him catch up with me? I didn’t think so. Not unless they saw they had no possible chance of escaping.
I kept going, listening for the sound of Harmony’s grenade. But I heard nothing. Surely she would have blown up the bike even if she did intend to steal the Trekker and go off without me. Wouldn’t she?
“Surrender and come quietly or face the consequences,” the Highway Patrolman said. He wasn’t shouting but his voice carried well. “Be advised that lethal force has been authorised.”
I doubted that. He could use reasonable physical force to make an arrest. And would get away with a bit of unreasonable physical contact. But not lethal force. Not for a traffic offence. He was just trying to scare me into surrendering. I hoped.
I came to a dry ditch and dropped into it. Staying out of sight behind the clumps of spiky grass, I knelt and peered over the edge of the ditch. The big policeman was still marching towards me. And he had drawn his gun from its holster. I didn’t like that. Again, he was probably trying to intimidate me – to convince me to come quietly.
He raised the gun and fired. The bullet impacted three inches from my left eye, sending up a spray of dirt. I ducked down and started crawling back towards the town. For a warning shot that had been pretty darned close. Perhaps the muscleman wasn’t a great shot. Or perhaps he was a terrific marksman. Either way, I didn’t like him shooting live rounds towards me.
At this point, the policeman probably didn’t know I was armed. I had no intention of announcing this fact by drawing my revolver. That’s as good as shouting ‘Shoot me!’ to a cop.
I still hadn’t heard an explosion. What was keeping Harmony? Worse than the idea of her abandoning me was the thought that the Highway Patrolman’s back-up had arrived and arrested her. I wished we’d taken time to link-up our communication devices. Hopefully, nothing terrible had happened and she was even now putting the grenade under the patrol bike. All I needed to do was keep its rider entertained a while longer. And dodge his bullets.
Chapter Seventeen
Heading out further into the scrubland didn’t seem like a good idea. I would make an easy target there. The ditch I was in curved back towards the town so I decided to follow it. I ran hunched over until my back began to complain at which point I thought to hell with it. I straightened up and jumped out of the ditch. Most of the buildings, when seen from the back, were little more than facades supported on a fragile wooden framework. I headed for the nearest building that still had its walls intact. It was the one I had originally entered. I had expended my energy running in a rough circle and ending up where I’d started. But once I was back in the building and out of the Patrolman’s sight, I could come up with a plan.
I heard the sound o
f the gun firing behind me and the flup! flup! flup! as the bullets hit the soft ground close to my heels. I dodged behind the outhouse once more and paused to catch my breath. I risked a quick peek around the corner. The Highway Patrolman was striding in my direction, emotionless and unflappable. Sweat was dripping off my face and my shirt was wet with it. His uniform still looked immaculate and his hair was unruffled. He made me feel scruffy and inadequate.
As I ducked back he must have seen the flicker of movement. A bullet smacked into the dry wood of the outhouse and the whole thing shook. I glanced towards the open doorway of the old building, judging the distance and the angle. Could I keep the outhouse between me and him when I ran for it?
More bullets slammed into the outhouse. Splinters of wood flew all around me. The dry brittle wood wasn’t going to offer much protection – a close-range shot would pass right through and still do me serious harm.
The shots didn’t let up – his gun was now on rapid-fire. The outhouse was shuddering as pieces of it were torn away and rained down inside and outside. It couldn’t withstand much more. If I was going to use it to cover my escape, I had to move now, before it collapsed. I launched myself towards the back door of the building.
I hit the dusty floor inside and rolled. The fusillade outside stopped and it grew very quiet. Had he seen me move? Or was he just reloading? Was he marching towards my present hiding place or the outhouse? I stayed down on the faded boards – I presented less of a target if I stayed low. There was a hole in the floor close to my head and I could see down into an old cellar. It might be a good place to hide if I needed to make a last stand. But I couldn’t see how to get down there.
It was dark in the old building and the air felt hot and thick. Dust motes floated in the air and the sunlight coming in the back lit them up like firebugs.
Road Rage Page 10