Collision Course

by David Crawford

  DJ also found that he had to climb up onto the tracks more often than he’d anticipated, and not just for the creeks. He knew where all of those were. He was also forced to avoid many downed trees, which had fallen over the access road. DJ figured this section of the road must not have been used in quite some time. In many places, the grass had grown up quite tall, and he had to be especially careful of uneven ground in those spots. Between creeping through the grass and navigating around the trees every few miles, he finally decided that riding on the tracks like the old man in the Cadillac would be faster, but would it be safe?

  No trains had traveled down this track in the eighteen hours he’d been next to it, but that didn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be one. DJ wondered if he should risk it. He’d be able to see a train coming toward him, and although he was worried about the possibility of a train sneaking up from behind, he figured he’d probably be able to hear it approaching. He decided it was worth the risk. He wished he had a rearview mirror on his bike, but he never thought he’d need one. Oh well, he couldn’t think of everything.

  DJ wondered how old the satellite pictures he’d used to plan his route were. He wouldn’t have thought the railroad would let their access road get so overgrown, but they obviously had.

  The trailer was equipped with taillights, but he’d left them unconnected. He decided to hook them up. They would hopefully be visible to a train if it approached and perhaps the engineer would blow his horn if he got too close. Besides, DJ thought, I really don’t have to be that concerned about anything but a train from behind me, so the taillights are okay.

  The tracks proved to be a lot better than the road had been, and DJ was able to pick up his speed. He had to deal with the unevenness of the ties and the gravel between them, but that was minor, and the bike easily soaked up the bumps as long as he kept a reasonable pace. He made sure to check behind him every minute or so.

  At midnight he began to get hungry. He pulled the four-wheeler off the tracks and found a nice little open spot. Opening the storage box on the back of the Polaris, DJ removed and opened an MRE with the aid of his red LED headlamp. He activated the chemical heater with a little water and slid the main course into the heater pouch. While he waited for his chicken and noodles to warm up, he snacked on the crackers and cheese spread. MREs weren’t DJ’s favorite food, but they were easy and filling.

  When he had finished the meal, he stuck the trash into a large Ziploc bag. He’d burn it when he got somewhere safe enough to build a fire. He started the quad up and put his night-vision goggles on. Back on the tracks, he continued making decent time, happy that things were working out almost as well as he’d expected.

  A little while later, DJ was rounding a long, slow bend in the tracks. As he finally got to where the tracks straightened out and he could see for quite a ways, he hit the brakes on the quad. At the moderate speed he was going, the big bike stopped almost instantly. There was something on the tracks about half a mile in front of him. It was hard to judge distance with the goggles, so he removed them, but all he could see with his naked eyes was blackness. He put the goggles back on and slowly pulled the bike down into the tall grass beside the tracks. He was careful to keep the engine rpm as low as possible in order to remain discreet.

  He shut the bike off and dismounted, deciding it would be best to go check it out on foot. He removed the black rifle from the scabbard and set it down next to him. Then he draped the camo netting he’d packed over both the quad and the trailer. Picking up his rifle, he checked the chamber to make sure it was loaded and slowly started to make his way toward whatever was on the tracks.

  DJ moved carefully through the tall grass. Every fifty steps, he crept up closer to the tracks until he could get a look at the obstruction. He was very cautious to only stick his head up just enough to see. This would present whoever or whatever was down there the smallest target possible if they were watching for someone.

  He’d covered almost half the distance when he finally recognized the Cadillac that had passed his camp that afternoon. DJ watched the car for several minutes but could perceive no movement around or in it. He wondered what had happened. Had someone jumped the old man? Maybe he’d broken down or simply run out of gas. Or could this be some kind of trap? He slowed his pace even more, using all of his senses to examine his surroundings.

  He got closer and closer to the car, but he didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary. He moved past the car about a hundred yards to make sure no one was set up on the other side. Once he was satisfied it was safe, he sneaked up to the car. Peering inside, he saw the old man lying on the front seat. DJ wondered if he was asleep or dead. The backseat was full of all kinds of stuff; pots and pans, clothing, tools, canned food, and many other goods were stacked from the floor to the top of the seats.

  DJ crept around the car looking for any signs of foul play. He didn’t see any, but he did identify the reason the Caddy had stopped. One of the ties had rotted, and the front tire of the big car had fallen through and become wedged between the ties.

  DJ caught movement from inside the car out of the corner of his eye. His head swiveled around to see the old man sit up behind the wheel. DJ instinctively ducked down behind the car, gripping his weapon a little tighter. Brake lights washed out DJ’s view through the goggles. He pulled them off his face as he heard the hum of an electric window.

  “Is anyone out there?” the old man called out.

  DJ wondered whether to answer or not.

  “Is anyone out there?” the old man repeated, a little louder.

  What could the old man do to him? “Yeah,” DJ answered.

  “Do you think you could help me get my car unstuck? I can pay you.”

  “Do you have any weapons?”

  “Just an old shotgun and a revolver,” the old man said, “but I need them. I can pay you cash, though.”

  DJ found the man’s answer amusing. He had no need for relics. “I don’t want them. I just want to make sure you’re not going to shoot me.”

  “You don’t worry about that, sonny. I wouldn’t do no one no harm unless they was trying to harm me.”

  “That’s good to know. Do me a favor. Take your foot off the brake pedal.”

  The brake lights went out.

  “Now turn on the interior lights,” DJ said. Then he saw the dome light come on. “Please stick your hands out of the window.”

  “What for?” the old man said.

  “Do you want my help or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then please do as I ask. Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. I just have to make sure it’s safe,” DJ said with authority in his voice.

  “Okay, my hands are out of the window.”

  DJ stepped out from behind the car and activated his weapon-mounted light. He shined it in the old man’s eyes as he continued to move clockwise. “Now use the outside door handle and open your door.”

  The man did as he was told.

  “Step out and put your hands on top of your head and interlace your fingers, please.”

  Again the man complied. His back was toward DJ, who shined his light up and down, looking for a weapon. Nothing was visible.

  “Now turn around and face me.”

  When the man was facing him, DJ again looked for a weapon and sized him up. The old man was average height but very thin. The look on his face said he wasn’t dangerous, but DJ knew looks could be deceiving.

  “Where are your weapons?”

  “The shotgun is in the trunk, and my handgun is in the glove box.”

  “Good. We’re almost done here,” DJ assured the man. “Turn back around, and I’m just going to pat you down a little.”

  The man turned, and thirty seconds later, DJ was convinced he wasn’t a threat. He turned off his weapon light.

  “Sorry a
bout all of that,” DJ said, “but you can’t be too careful, you know?”

  “I guess that’s right,” the man said thoughtfully. He stuck out his hand. “My name is Jacob Kessler.”

  DJ grabbed the hand firmly. “DJ, DJ Frost. Where are you headed, Mr. Kessler?”

  “Please call me Jacob. Everybody does. I’m going to my son’s place. At least I was until I got stuck. He lives about twenty miles from here, I think.”

  “I see. Aren’t you afraid a train might come along?”

  “No. I live beside the tracks just outside of town. Some days, there are eight or ten trains that go down these tracks. Four’s about the fewest there ever is, but there hasn’t been a single one since the electricity went out. I guess they need power to track where the trains are and run the switches and stuff.”

  DJ hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense. He looked at his watch. It was pushing three in the morning. Obviously he wouldn’t be making anywhere near the distance he’d planned. He would help the old man out and then try to find a good spot to hole up for the daylight hours. He’d packed plenty of extra food just in case he got delayed a day or two.

  “Where did you come from?” Jacob asked.

  “I came from town, just like you.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “I don’t have one,” DJ said.

  “You’re not walking, are you?”

  “No, I have a four-wheeler about half a mile down the tracks. I just walked up here to make sure this wasn’t a trap.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Jacob said. “Both the four-wheeler and checking for a trap, that is.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can’t get you unstuck.” DJ pulled a small flashlight out of the cargo pocket of his trousers and shined it on the problem wheel.

  “I can’t get her to budge frontward or backward.”

  “Do you have a jack?”

  “Yes, but I already tried that. It’s one of those scissor jacks and the place you have to put it is too close to the tracks to get it under the car.”

  “Let me see it,” DJ said.

  The old man opened his car’s passenger door and retrieved the jack from the floorboard. DJ tried to get the jack behind the stuck wheel, but there wasn’t quite enough room. He looked in front of the tire, but there was no place where the jack could mate up. It was made to only attach to the vehicle at the four jack points. Probably some lawyer design, DJ thought. If only he’d been able to bring his truck, he would have had his high-lift jack. But there was no use dwelling on that—he’d just have to make do with what he had.

  He examined the back of the car and saw that it was slightly farther away from the tracks than the front. Probably a result of the old man spinning the tires as he struggled to get out, he thought. DJ tried the jack in front of the back tire, and it slipped into place with almost no room to spare. It would fit here and might raise the whole side of the car up enough; they’d just have to see.

  DJ attached the handle and began to crank. What the little jack lacked in versatility, it made up for in lift. As the car began to rise, DJ watched the front tire. It remained stuck between the ties until the jack was almost as high as it would go. Then it popped out.

  “All right!” Jacob said as the tire finally came free.

  DJ smiled and finished cranking the jack up the last inch or so. “Now we just need to find a board or something to bridge the broken tie,” he said.

  “What if we just fill the hole with gravel?”

  “Why not?”

  The two men took positions on each side of the wheel and used their hands to pack as much gravel as they could in the hole. When they were satisfied, DJ let the jack down. The tire was almost level with the others. Jacob started the car and easily pulled forward. He got out of the car with a huge smile on his face.

  “Thank you so much, DJ.” He pulled his wallet out and retrieved a hundred-dollar bill. DJ could see that there wasn’t a lot of cash in the leather case. “Here you go.”

  DJ almost waved the old guy off. After all, the money was probably not worth much, but he realized it might come in handy.

  “Thank you, Jacob,” he said as he stuffed the bill down in his pocket.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you? Would you like a ride to my son’s place? It’s not much, but you could get a decent meal.”

  “Thanks, Jacob, but I just better be on my way. Good luck to you.”

  “Same to you, DJ. You stay safe,” Jacob said.

  “You might want to keep that revolver where you can get to it quickly. No telling in these times what you might run into.”

  “So noted,” the old man said. “Thanks again. If you change your mind about coming by my son’s place, it’s about five miles north of the tracks on Route Eighty-seven. Just look for the bigmouth bass mailbox that says Kessler.”

  “Thanks,” DJ said with a single nod of his head.

  Jacob climbed back in the Cadillac and started down the tracks. DJ walked back toward his quad, thinking about how he hadn’t even made a third of the distance he had planned. When he reached the vehicle, he noticed that there were enough trees and other cover right there to hide him well enough until tomorrow evening. He pitched his tent and hit the sack.

  * * *

  Gabe woke up. He smacked his lips and made a face. His mouth was dry and gummy, and it tasted as if mice had nested in it. He got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. The face in the mirror looked like crap. Bloodshot eyes, four days’ worth of beard—coming off a three-day bender could do that to a man. Of course, a genuine hatred for one’s self didn’t help any. The face stared back with the same abhorrence that everyone held for Gabe. Well, almost everyone. He put some toothpaste on the brush and began the long process of making himself half human again. Next came a shower and then a shave.

  As he combed his hair in the dresser mirror, he almost recognized himself. He was thinner, and his face was haggard, but he still looked a little like the Gabe from before. This thought pulled his eyes to the picture of the three of them. He only let himself look for a second, though. Any longer would send him back to the whiskey.

  After dressing, Gabe walked into the living room and surveyed the single-wide mobile home. Nothing looked damaged or too out of place, indicating that he’d just drunk until he passed out this time. The front door was open, and he wondered why. Had someone come to see him? He couldn’t remember for sure, but it seemed that someone had. He closed the door and then hurriedly straightened up the rest of the house.

  Hunger gnawed at his stomach. Had he eaten in the past three days? The single plate in the sink said yes, but he couldn’t remember when or what. He fixed some bacon, eggs, and biscuits and sat down at the table. He ate quickly, as his hunger really manifested itself after the first bite. When he was finished with breakfast, he quickly grabbed his hat and headed for the door. There was dirty work that needed to be done, and he was just callous enough to do it.

  CHAPTER 4

  DJ slept soundly until about ten. He probably would’ve slept longer, but the sound of voices jarred him awake. A little disoriented at first, he needed a minute to remember where he was and why. When it came back to him, he began to wonder if he’d been dreaming. The answer came when he heard them again. He quickly and quietly dressed and stepped out of the tent, rifle in hand.

  He stood outside the door and listened. A moment later, he saw movement, and he squashed his instinct to hit the dirt. Even though he was more exposed than he’d like, it was safer to be still. He tracked the movement with his eyes, and a second later he identified two people on bicycles. A young man and a young woman were heading the same way he was going. They both had their mountain bikes loaded with gear, and the man had a trailer attached to his bike. It was one designed to carry children. DJ didn’t know if it held its intended cargo or
just more gear, but he thought it was a good plan. Not as good as his, but without night-vision equipment and a quad, it would be hard to improve on.

  Of course, they shouldn’t be talking, and he didn’t see anything for self-defense, but it was still a good plan. They were moving quickly, the bikes were quiet, and they were able to carry a good bit of gear. Fortunately they passed without even knowing DJ was there. He relaxed and was thankful they were moving quickly because in daylight he realized the woods he’d set up camp in weren’t as thick as they’d seemed in the dark. His tent stood out the most, so he took it down and packed it. He moved the quad into a better spot and covered it again. Satisfied that things were as good as he could get them, he decided to fix some breakfast.

  As he ate, he realized he had to be more careful about where he set up camp. If the bicyclists hadn’t been talking to each other, he probably wouldn’t have woken up. He wondered if anyone had passed when he was asleep. He doubted it, but it was possible. He might have to start using some precautions just in case someone did stumble onto his camp.

  Later in the day, DJ was playing solitaire when he heard voices again. They were coming from down the tracks, and he guessed they were at least fifty yards away. It seemed as if the tracks were turning into a main thoroughfare.

  I’ve got to get off these tracks as soon as I can.

  He carefully moved to where he could see down the tracks. A small group of four or five was walking between the rails in a tight cluster. They were moving too fast to be watching for ambushes but too slow to cover much ground. The one in the lead had a shotgun, but DJ couldn’t tell about the others, and the group was making no effort to be quiet or conceal themselves. DJ wondered how they’d made it this far with their lack of noise discipline. He could take them out easily if he had the notion. It was a good thing for them he was one of the good guys, he thought.