He got out of the Malibu, slung the Ruger over his shoulder, and headed toward Magnolia Avenue, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. Two minutes later, he reached a small lane that ran parallel to the back of the gas station. Crossing it, he darted down the grass verge that led to a paved yard at the rear of the building.
He inched along the back wall and stuck his head around the corner to see a dark sedan parked at the top, whose nose peeked out onto the forecourt. In a low crouch, he crept to it, then scuttled around the side and peered over the sedan’s hood.
Fifty feet away, Walter knelt on the ground, at the spot where he’d pointed out the underground storage tanks the previous night. He was in the process of fixing a length of hose to what Cody presumed was a pump of some description.
Two men stood over him. Other than a menacing presence, they didn’t seem to have harmed him. The gang must have driven by earlier while Walter was rigging up the system. With a bit of luck, they would let him go once they’d fueled up.
Standing nearby, the big man and the girl watched the proceedings. Next to them was a skinny guy. He looked familiar. With a start, Cody saw it was Pete. Inwardly, he groaned. This must be the gang Pete had been thinking of joining. He must have told them of Walter’s plans to rig a pump for the underground tanks. Rage went through Cody. Pete had betrayed Walter. His price of entry into the gang.
The big guy was talking, speaking in a gruff low-toned voice. “Pete tells me you’re real smart, Walter. Said you were an engineer in the military. That where they taught you shit like this?”
Walter chuckled. “Don’t know about being smart, but it’s where I learned this shit all right. Though in practice, most of the time I just blew things up.” Although his tone was friendly, Cody could detect an undercurrent of tension in it.
“Maybe you ought to consider joining my group. I could do with someone with your skills.”
Walter shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, Mason, but see, I don’t plan on staying in the city much longer. I’ll be gone in a couple of days.” He stood up and rubbed the dirt off his hands. “We’re done. The system is set up. Why don’t somebody go fetch the gas cans and I’ll start filling them up.”
Mason pointed over to one of the pickups and ordered the two men standing next to Walter to go fetch the cans. “So where you planning on going?” he asked Walter while they waited for the men to come back.
“I guess I’ll hit the hills somewhere nearby. Plenty of forest and rivers where a man can live off the land. With my wife and daughter dead, I could do with some time on my own.”
The two crew members returned, each carrying several large gas cans. Walter took one. Kneeling down again, he screwed the cap off and stuck the end of the hose into it. There was the sound of a small motor running, then before long, liquid gushed into the container.
“It’s working,” Walter said with satisfaction.
“Of course…to hunt in the forest, you need to stay pretty mobile, don’t you? It’s not like they keep the deer in pens there, do they?”
Cody watched in horror as Mason withdraw his pistol from his waist holster. He strode toward Walter, who had his back to him, aimed at his left leg, and fired.
The gunshot rang out harshly around the forecourt, followed by a loud yell. Dropping the pump, Walter lay on the ground clutching his lower leg. “What the hell you do that for?” he cried out.
“Your vacation’s been canceled,” Mason informed him, casually slotting his pistol back in its holster. Don’t worry, we’ll get that patched up for you. Meantime, best you stick with us. The city’s getting dangerous. Who knows, in the coming days you might decide it’s not such a bad idea to join me after all.”
“Sonofabitch!” Walter gasped under his breath.
Mason stared at the two men standing beside Walter. “Come on. You’ve seen how the pump works. Start filling those cans.” He headed across the forecourt to where a black GMC Canyon stood parked.
With a look of dismay, Pete rushed over to Walter and crouched down beside him. “You okay?” he asked.
Walter pushed him away. “Get away from me,” he said angrily.
“I’m sorry. I-I never meant this to turn out this way.” Pete grasped Walter under his arms and dragged him to his feet.
Transfixed by the sudden turn of events, Cody decided that now was the time to act. Gritting his teeth, he unslung the Ruger, switched the selector to its firing position, and leapt up from behind the sedan’s hood. He brought the rifle up to his shoulder and fired off several shots in the air.
Walter and Pete stared over at him, a look of shock on their faces.
“It’s me—Cody!” he shouted. “Get over here!”
Glancing at each other, the two began running toward him, Walter hobbling badly, using Pete for support.
Meanwhile, Mason, who’d reached the far end of the forecourt, pulled out his pistol and fired in their direction. The two men who’d crouched down by the pump grabbed their rifles and stood up too.
Before they could take aim, Cody swiveled the Ruger at them. Aiming it at the quicker of the two, he pulled the trigger.
Two shots. Pop! Pop!
With a grunt, the man dropped to his knees. His rifle fell out of his hands and clattered to the ground in front of him.
Cody aimed at the second man, who by now had his rifle up to his shoulder. Another two shots, and he staggered. Clutching his rifle, he keeled over and fell to the ground.
Walter and Pete reached Cody and ducked around the back of the sedan. The gang, which had scattered around the forecourt, were firing wildly now, and the three took cover around the corner of the building. The thin metal of a sedan wasn’t going to offer them much in the way of protection from heavy gunfire.
“Good work, kid. Where’s your car?” Walter gasped. There was a thick film of sweat on his face from the pain.
“Too far for you to run,” Cody told him. He peeked around the corner and saw there was no one in sight. His fear now was that Mason would send some of his crew around the far side of the station and block their escape route.
He thought fast. Pulling out the keys to Joe’s car, he handed them to Pete, then pointed behind him. “Go fetch the car. It’s parked in front of the apartment block at the back of the station. A green Chevy Malibu, beat to hell. You can’t miss it.”
There was a look in Pete’s eye that told Cody he was anxious to redeem himself. Given the trouble he’d gotten them into, he still had plenty of work to do.
Snatching the keys, Pete ran along the sidewall of the station. Cody breathed a sigh of relief after he’d sprinted up the grass verge and crossed the lane without being shot at.
Cody pulled the Kimber from out of his jacket and handed it to Walter.
“All right kid,” Walter said, taking the weapon. “You watch the front of the station, I’ll go down the end and stop anyone coming around the back.”
Though injured, Walter’s voice was calm and authoritative. Despite their precarious situation, Cody felt his jangled nerves soothe a little. Walter limped along the side wall in the direction Pete had gone. He stopped at the corner and peered around the back of the station. He didn’t fire the Kimber, which Cody took as a good sign.
Out front, he heard the sound of an engine starting. When the gang had scattered, two had run toward a blue Nissan Patrol, parked across one of the entranceways. Sure enough, a moment later, the Patrol pulled away, facing downtown. As soon as it took off, however, it made a U-turn and headed back in Pete’s direction.
Cody took that as his cue to open fire. He flipped up the Ruger’s rear sight and lined up his shot through the peephole. As the Nissan straightened out on the road, he aimed through the driver’s window, releasing several shots. A moment later, the pickup veered off the road, bumped over the curb, and ran across the AutoZone parking lot before finally coming to a stop. Cody kept his eye on it. No one made an attempt to get out. If anyone was still alive inside, they were keeping their he
ads low.
Behind him, he heard the sound of gunshots. Glancing back, he saw Walter leaning around the far corner, firing the Kimber in single spaced shots. A volley of gunfire opened up in reply.
At that moment, the Malibu came charging down the lane, its engine screaming. Veering sharply, it swooped down the grass verge and careened across the yard, skidding to a stop alongside Walter, who yanked open the back door and clambered inside. Then the Malibu raced along the side of the station and jerked to a stop several feet from Cody. Running across to it, he opened the door and jumped in beside Walter.
“Floor it!” he shouted.
With a jerk, the car shot across the forecourt and out onto the main road. Cody buzzed down the window and poked the Ruger out while, behind them, several of the gang members started shooting. Cody unleashed the Ruger and they quickly ducked for cover again.
Pete straightened out the wheel and tore down Magnolia. After a few blocks, Walter ordered him to slow down and directed him down a side street.
For the next few minutes, the Malibu weaved through the back streets until they passed a series of interconnected, one-story buildings that took up an entire block. A sign outside read Austin East High School. Driving around the back, they drew up alongside the curb.
“Are we safe here?” Pete asked anxiously, cutting the engine. “I don’t think we’re going to outrun anyone in this heap.”
“We’re good. No one followed us,” Walter told him.
Pete breathed a sigh of relief.
“How’s your wound?” Cody asked.
Up till now, Walter hadn’t got a chance to examine it. He leaned against the passenger door and carefully raised his leg up onto the seat. Staring down at it, Cody saw a dark stain in the middle of his left calf.
“There’s the entry wound,” Walter said, studying it carefully. He peered around the other side. “And here’s where it exited. I got lucky. It didn’t hit bone, and no artery’s been hit.” He winced. “Hurts like a bitch, though.”
“Thank God for that,” Cody said gratefully.
“Main risk is infection,” Walter continued. “I need to get disinfectant and surgical gauze. Antibiotics too. I got isopropyl and bandages at home. Trouble is, we might run into Mason and his crew if we head back that way. Best if we pick it up somewhere else.”
“The Physicians Regional Medical Center is close to here,” Cody said, thinking about the first hospital he’d taken Joe to the other day. “How about we go there?”
Walter nodded. “That’ll do. All right, start her up, Pete. I’ll direct you.”
“Hold on, one minute,” Cody said. He reached out his hand and indicated to Walter that he return the Kimber.
Walter smiled. “Sure, kid. Wasn’t planning on stealing it. By the way, nice shooting back there. Your father taught you good.”
Without a word, Cody took the pistol from him. Leaning forward between the front seats, he jammed the muzzle into the side of Pete’s head. “All right,” he said through clenched teeth. “Before we go anywhere, you got some explaining to do.”
CHAPTER 9
Located on Courtland Street, the Atlanta Hilton was in the heart of the convention district and took up an entire city block. It was an impressive-looking building, lots of glass and steel, and had a sky bridge that connected it to the neighboring Marriott on the far side of the street. Ralph was torn choosing between the two. Finally, he settled on the Hilton. More for the name than anything else.
“Color me impressed,” he said as he and Clete dismounted their machines outside the huge Y-shaped building and stared up at the shiny three-story atrium that served as the main entranceway to the hotel. “We should stay a couple of nights and chill the hell out. S’okay, this one’s on me, I’ll take care of the bill.
Clete grinned. “Gee, thanks. When we get to our rooms, let’s order champagne. I’ll arrange with the bellhop to bring a couple of girls over. They’ll do that if you tip them right, you know.”
Ralph gave him a look. “That what you did last time you were here, hot shot?”
The two entered the building through a set of automatic doors that someone had already busted open. Strolling across the intricately-laid stone floor, they wandered into the spacious lobby, Ralph with his Bushmaster in hand, Clete with his Colt M4 carbine. As expected, it was totally deserted. No one at reception or at the bell stand.
Over on the left, Ralph spotted the bar. He nudged Clete. “Don’t know about you, but I could murder a drink. Come on.”
The two headed inside to the counter. “Fix me a Jack Daniels and Coke,” Ralph ordered. “I’ll be at my usual spot.” He sauntered over to one of the tables nearby and plonked himself down in a comfortable chair, resting his rifle against the side.
He looked around his surroundings. “Man, this beats a six by eight cell any day of the week,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “Yo, bring me over a plate of crackers!” he yelled at Clete. “I’m getting peckish again.”
A few hours ago, the two had broken into a high-end grocery store and gorged themselves on smoked ham, cheese, olives, and other delicacies. Not having eaten in so long, Ralph was getting hungry again.
It was dark inside the lounge without any power. As Ralph’s eyes got used to the gloom, he spotted a blur of movement over at the far side of the room.
He leaped out of his seat and whipped the Glock from out of his holster. “Clete!” he hissed. A moment later, Clete poked his head around the counter, a questioning look on his face. Waving his pistol, Ralph motioned toward the far side of the room.
He made his way cautiously over, relaxing when he got closer. A woman with wavy salon-styled brunette hair sat alone at a table, her feet tucked up in front of her on the armchair like a cat.
She wore a tight-fitting cream sweater, a black leotard, and heels, straightening up as he approached, to reveal a shapely set of muscular legs.
Dancer’s legs, Ralph thought to himself. On the table beside her was a tumbler of whiskey, a bottle of Laphroaig next to it.
She stared at Ralph, unfazed by his presence. That included the nine millimeter pistol he pointed at her chest.
“Well howdy,” she murmured. “Seeing as that’s a gun in your hand, I guess you’re not pleased to see me, huh?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ralph growled. He looked around the room suspiciously, as if he was missing something. Like the girl was bait, and a heavily-armed SWAT team was about to storm the bar at any moment.
Closer to her, he saw just how beautiful she was. She had Asian-shaped green eyes, light-brown skin, and a delicate oval face with perfect bone structure. She looked straight off the cover of a magazine.
“Isn’t a girl entitled to have a quiet drink on her own while she contemplates her woes?” She patted the chair next to her invitingly. “How about you sit down and I’ll tell you all about them.”
Ralph hesitated a moment, then holstered his weapon and sat down beside her. “We all got woes, lady,” he said gruffly, unable to take his eyes off her. “How about you start by telling me your name?”
“Maya. And you?”
“Ralph.” He waved a hand at Clete, who had stopped ten feet away and stood watching the two uncertainly, his M4 still up at his shoulder. “What’s keeping you? Bring my drink over.” He shook his head as Clete lowered his rifle and headed back to the bar. “Hard to find good help these days.”
Maya chuckled. “Friend of yours, I take it?”
“I guess. I’m kind of short on friends right now.”
“Aren’t we all? Last time I logged onto Facebook, they told me I had more friends than I think. I’m not so sure though. I think they might be lying.”
Ralph chuckled. “That’s funny.”
Maya stared at him closely. “No offense, but what’s with the face?”
Ralph ran his hand over the mess of scars on his face, the result of several knife fights over the years. “You’re not the first to ask. Let’s just say I ran into a
little trouble once. Come to think of it, more than once.”
“Looks like you run into it pretty hard. Lucky for you, I got a thing about ugly men.”
Ralph grinned. “Must be my lucky day. This morning I was locked up in a cell, starving to death. Six hours later, I’m in the Hilton with a beautiful girl who likes ugly men.”
“Only because the good-looking ones are all dead. Sorry, did I forget to mention that part?”
The grin on Ralph’s face widened. He liked this girl already. Maya cruised right at his speed, with her foot mashed to the floor. “So what’s going on?” he asked. “You get here before the shit went down, or did you book in on the special like me?”
“I got here two days before everything went to hell. Out of the blue, a friend of mine came to town and invited me over.” Maya shrugged. “Seeing as I wasn’t doing anything at the time, I mosied right over.”
Ralph stared at her carefully, sizing up what she just told him. “Nice to have friends like that. I take it he’s dead? That’s what the odds say anyway.”
Maya nodded. “I left him in his room and took another one across the hall. Sad, but there you go. Sometimes in life you got to move on.”
At that moment, Clete came over with their drinks. Placing them down, he dragged another chair over from the next table and sat down beside them.
“Clete, Maya. Maya, Clete,” Ralph said by way of introduction. “Biggest goofball I know. And that’s before the whole damned world went and died on me.”
“Hey!” Clete protested. “That’s not a nice way to introduce somebody.” He flashed Maya a toothy grin. “Don’t worry, I’m a darn sight smarter than Ralph makes out.”
Maya smiled back at him sweetly. “That’s a relief to know. Tell me, how long are you two planning on staying here?” she asked, looking from one man to the other.
“Don’t know, we just got here,” Ralph replied. “I’m liking it already.”
“Sure, but we can’t stay here forever. You know that, don’t you?”
No Direction Home (Book 1): No Direction Home Page 5