Steve observed Jimmy through the shattered back window. The Grim Reaper. The man who killed his friends. Destroyed his camp. The bastard who forced others to fight the undead.
“You’re done,” whispered Steve as he squeezed the trigger.
The 5.56 caliber round exited the rifle’s chamber, spun around inside the barrel and traveled forty feet to the vehicle.
At the last second, Estrella popped her head up to say something to Jimmy. She couldn’t have picked a worse time.
The bullet, meant for Jimmy, struck the backside of Estrella's head. Blood and brain tissue splattered inside the cabin and covered Jimmy's face.
Steve didn’t take his eyes off the metal sights. Estrella wasn’t his intended target, but Steve wasn’t remorseful, either. If anything, it took one more evil person out of the world. Out of the equation. Now, all that remained was a clear path to Jimmy.
Steve’s eyes locked on to Jimmy’s in a feral, animalistic stare down.
Jimmy grit his teeth.
Steve had him, dead to rights. He allowed a faint smile, followed by a look that said, “You're next.”
Steve’s world slowed down. Everything around him- the rain, nearby infected that West was dispatching- everything paused. The moment was an exact replica of the night he failed to save his dad in Fullertown.
This time, though, he wasn't going to allow the moment to beat him.
This time, he wasn't going to make the same mistake.
This time, things were going to be different.
This time, he would save a loved one.
Before Steve could shoot, he noticed that the bolt on the AR was stuck again. The next round had failed to feed properly. It was a quick fix, though, Steve knew. So, he pulled back the charging handle, but in doing so, the worst, most untimely thing came to fruition.
As fate would have it, the cycling ejected the rifle's last round.
When Steve realized what happened, the blood drained from his face. Steve was physically defeated, completely demoralized.
Seizing the opportunity, Jimmy put the gear in drive and sped off.
“Noooooo!” Steve screamed, scrambling to pick up the sandy round and self-load it through the ejection port. But by the time he managed the action, it was too late.
Jimmy was off in the darkness.
The opportunity, the moment of salvation was gone. Steve had failed.
“Saraaahhhhhhhh!” he cried to the Heavens.
As Jimmy sped off, Travis and the others ran around the backside of the Ranger’s station.
“What happened?” Travis asked.
“He's getting away!”
“Who?” Collin asked.
“Jimmy! He's got Sarah!” Steve said, lifting one of the motorcycles, intent on chasing after him.
Without hesitation Travis replied, “I'm coming with you.”
The second lieutenant picked up a pair of guns from the deceased bikers and tossed one to Steve. He hopped on a motorcycle and said, “Let's go!”
Before Collin or anyone had a chance to interject, Steve and Travis sped off into the night.
Chapter 11
Twenty miles east of Providence State Beach
November 28, 2009
2020 hours
It felt like a category one hurricane, but neither the frigid temperatures nor the harsh precipitation affected Steve. All he cared about was Sarah. It was that determination that caused his muscles to over tighten and apply heavy pressure to the brakes.
As the police motorcycle came to a sliding halt, Steve ditched the bike. Despite the clumsy dismount, he managed successfully to hit the ground running. In his mind, there was no time for a kickstand. No time whatsoever to be wasted. He did his best to keep panic sidelined as well, but based on what he was seeing, he wasn't sure if it was possible.
“My God,” he said under his breath. The headlight from his abandoned motorcycle illuminated the scene.
Twenty feet in front of him was a horrific, multi-car accident. One black SUV lay upside down, wrapped around a large Douglas-fir. Flames from a small fire in the engine compartment flickered faint lighting.
Another vehicle of the same make, model, and color had crashed into that one. The bodies of both the driver and front seat occupant rested on the smashed hood. Fluids, both bodily and mechanical, secreted from the wreckage, only to mix into the rainwater and collect underneath in a cesspool-like state.
“What the hell happened here?” Travis asked, pulling up behind Steve. “I was only a little behind you after we turned the corner. Did you see it?”
Steve didn't bother looking back, he was searching for something else.
“No. I didn't. But whatever happened,just happened,” he answered, scanning the scene. Then, out of nowhere, he pulled out his pistol and darted off down the road. “Stay here and check for survivors! I'll be right back!”
Travis hustled over to the two men who had been ejected through the front windshield. Blood covered their faces and stained the whites of their dress shirts. Travis noticed earpieces and gun holsters, too.
Why do these guys looks like Secret Service wanna-bees?
After allowing adequate time to check their pulses, Travis determined the men had died from either blood loss or accident related trauma. So, he searched the rest of the vehicle for other survivors, but when he found none, he moved on to the upside SUV.
“Hello? Anyone alive in there?”
With the passenger-side doors being pinned by the other SUV, and the Douglas-fir blocking the others, Travis smashed open the rear window with the butt of his handgun. He called out again to see if anyone was conscious but received no reply. Carefully, he stepped through the glass, and crawled over toppled boxes, whose contents ranged from canned food to weapons and ammunition.
After making his way to the front, he found another two men; both dressed like the ones on the hood. The man in the driver’s seat was obviously dead. His skull had apparently smashed through the window and banged against the road during one of its rotations; bits of brain and bone dripped down.
At first, the passenger appeared dead as well, but Travis saw a faint line of steam come from the man’s mouth. The man was badly injured, but alive.
“Hold on, buddy!” Travis said, holstering his pistol. He snapped open his pocketknife to cut the seatbelt strap. “Stay with me!”
Outside the wreckage, Travis laid the man on his back and checked for injuries. He found multiple cuts and scrapes and a sections of stretched skin that appeared to hold back compound fractures. The worst of all was a protruding femur.
“Keep holding on, buddy! Everything is going to be alright!” Travis lied. In truth, Travis wasn't sure how the man had survived the crash, let alone stayed conscious through the pain.
“Steve!” Travis called out. “Steve get back here!”
Then, his attention came back to the man. He no longer saw steam coming from the man's mouth. Quickly, he checked for a pulse, but there was none. Travis debated administering CPR, but Steve returned with news of his own.
“Travis, we have to go now!” Steve insisted, coming around the wreck. “I found Jimmy's car up the road a bit. There wasn't anyone inside, but I found footprints. Fresh ones. It looked like they were heading south, up that hill. Do you see those lights up there? It must be a house! Come on, we have to go!”
Travis looked to the man. Then up at the house.
“Jimmy,” Travis growled, readying his pistol. “I’m on your six.”
2025 hours
The two-story log cabin was built in the mid-1950s. The logs were well overdue for a sanding and new coat of sealant, and the shingle roof was in desperate need of repair. Situated off of the electrical grid, the house was powered by a large, tri-fuel generator that purred through an add-on muffler.
“I hear voices inside,” Travis said, rendezvousing with Steve behind a black SUV. The car was parked in front of the cabin’s detached garage.
“Me too,” Steve replied,
eyes scanning the numerous boarded up windows. “It's gotta be them.”
“What do you wanna do, Steve?” Travis asked.
Considering their limited recon, the only practical point of ingress was through the front doors. Out of habit, Steve made sure his pistol had a round chambered, then turned and said, “We don't have time to make a plan. Follow me in. I don't care what you do to Jimmy, but just make sure Sarah is safe.”
“Deal,” Travis answered. As long as he got his pound of flesh, Travis was content. He followed closely behind Steve as they walked up the stone steps.
Quietly, Steve turned the doorknob and pushed. Immediately after opening the door, they found a man, lying on a bearskin rug. Blood trickled down from a giant red gash on the man's forehead.
After a quick pulse check, Steve leaned over to Travis and whispered, “He's alive and breathing. Must have been knocked out.”
“What do you wanna do with him?”
“Leave him for now. After we take care of Jimmy and get Sarah, we'll take him with us back to Camp.”
Travis nodded.
They stepped around the man, and continued further inside.
The cabin's floor plan was revealed in its simplistic entirety. To their immediate left was a short hallway with three closed doors. Up a few feet and to the left was a kitchen; pots and empty food cans and boxes lay scattered about. To the right was an open living room, the only highlights were a cloth couch and a small fire crackling in a cast iron furnace. Against the far wall were stairs leading to the second story.
“Clear this floor,” Steve signaled, using his free hand to dictate the order. Then, he pointed to himself and signaled that he would clear the second floor.
Travis answered back with an “okay” sign, and then broke off down the short hallway.
At this point, neither Travis nor Steve had heard any sound. Nothing indicated where Jimmy was keeping Sarah hostage- if they were even there. Still, Steve's gut feeling was telling him "second floor,” so that's where he headed.
Steve moved with a sense of urgency, but did his best to keep the decrepit wooden floors from creaking with each step. By the time he arrived at the top, Steve’s ears picked up muffled voices. He moved forward to the edge of the hallway, then before proceeding, he took a second to close his eyes and hone in his hearing.
He made out the voices and confirmed two things. First and most importantly, Sarah was alive, and by the sound of it, putting up a good fight. Second, they were in the room at the end of the hall behind a partially opened door. A stream of light escaped through the doorway, highlighting the frame.
“Gotcha,” Steve whispered.
Each step toward the door was pivotal. He had to be completely soundless, no creaks, no cracks, no sounds whatsoever.
Steve’s mind created the future in which he made his way silently down the hallway, opened the door, and before Jimmy could react, Steve would put two rounds in his chest and one in his head.
With each step closer, that was the scenario he hoped for. The one he prayed for. The one where he could redeem himself as the hero he failed to amount to back at Camp.
Before the door, there was a loose floorboard. It protruded two inches upward, just enough to cause someone to trip. Luckily, Steve lifted his foot higher and avoided a potential catastrophe. At the edge of the doorframe, he paused and inhaled deep.
This is it, Steve. You got this. Move quick, move fast. Aim quicker, fire faster. Save Sarah.
Then, in a SWAT-type dynamic entry, Steve flung the door inward and ducked inside. Before the wooden door slammed into the spring stopper, he had the entire room scanned.
From right to left there was a dirty window, a nightstand with a lamp, and a queen-sized bed. Then, there was his target. Huddled in the far left corner of the room, Jimmy Sanchez was forcing Sarah to tie off a piece of the bed sheet to apply to an injury on his arm.
Both Jimmy and Sarah were equally surprised to see Steve burst into the room.
“Steve!” Sarah shouted out of instinct.
But before Steve could take a shot, Jimmy dove behind Sarah and used her as a shield. He pressed his head against Sarah's soft-skinned face, creating the smallest target for Steve. As he dragged her onto the bed with him, Jimmy jabbed his pistol into her spine.
“Let her go, Jimmy! There's nowhere left to go!”
“You,” Jimmy spat. The word was caustic.
Steve didn't wait for Jimmy to finish his thought. He repeated himself. This time louder, and this time with a promise behind it. “Let her go, or I swear to everything that is good and holy, I will end your life.”
Jimmy smiled. That same criminally insane smile. He ignored Steve's threat again and said, “Wrong words, hermano. Look around you. There ain't nothin’ that’s good or holy here. All there is, is me. The Grim Reaper. Death himself, puta!”
He yanked Sarah’s head back so hard she yelped.
“Go ahead! Try to put a bullet in me. But I can guarantee you that I'll put one in your girl's heart before I go down!”
Steve thought about it. And thought hard. During their conversation, there was no clean shot; no way he could fire without hitting Sarah. And if he missed, that was all the motivation Jimmy would need to make good on his own promise. So, Steve put his enraged, lover's ego in check.
“Fine,” he said, taking another step closer. “So how does this end? What do you want?”
“Want?” Jimmy said, cocking his head to the side. His good eye twitched. The fresh memory of Estrella's brain splattering all over his face was beyond enraging. Jimmy’s breathing grew shallow and fast. For the first time, it seemed as though Jimmy was showing true emotions.
“What do Iwant? You took everything away from me!” He shouted, blaming Steve for the loss of his men, his spoils, and, rightfully so, the love of his life. “Maybe I should do the same to you.”
Then, Jimmy yanked Sarah's head back again and pressed the barrel of his pistol against her temple.
“Don't!” Steve pleaded, lowering his gun, but keeping it ready. “Don't hurt her!”
“Steve!” Sarah whimpered, “Baby I'm scared.”
Sarah was a tough girl. She had been in a hostage situation six months prior, when a man named Robert Seaton held her at gunpoint. But that situation was different. Robert had an emotional attachment to Sarah. He was in love with her, jealous that Steve won her affection, but still in love nonetheless. Sarah knew Robert would never pull the trigger. But here. Now. This was completely different. A whole new situation, with new and extremely volatile factors.
“It's gonna be okay, baby. I promise!” Steve said as calmly as possible.
Without anyone noticing, Travis had made his way upstairs and to the edge of the room.
“What's the status, Steve,” he asked, pointing his gun at Jimmy.
“Everything is good, Travis,” Steve replied, signaling for Travis to lower his gun, too.
“Doesn’t look good to me.”
In an effort to keep all parties calm, Steve said, “We are all just talking here. No one is doing anything. No one is going to shoot anyone, right?”
“Oh, then there's this puta!” Jimmy roared, momentarily turning his attention to Travis. “You made me kill my brother!”
“He wasmy brother!” Travis screamed. Then, the second lieutenant raised his gun and took a step forward. “Don't you dare say that word again! He wasn't your brother!”
Jimmy laughed, thriving on the lividity that he created.
“Brother,” he mocked for the sake of mocking, “I bet you wanna kill me bad, don't you,bro.”
Travis growled and took another step forward. His index finger teased the trigger. Another ounce of pressure and it would go.
“Travis!” Steve yelled, stepping closer to the second lieutenant. He put his hand on top of Travis' gun and said, “Remember what we talked about! Lower your gun!”
It took every bit of himself to lower the weapon. Fortunately for Steve, Travis didn't want to
see an innocent woman die.
“Good, boy,” Jimmy quipped.
Steve turned to Jimmy and said, “Alright, Jimmy, guns are down. What do you want?”
With Sarah still in front of him, Jimmy circled to the door. Steve and Travis mirrored his movements.
Jimmy licked his lips, sniffed Sarah's hair, and then exhaled as though he had an orgasm. He brought his attention back to Steve.
“Any other day, I would have no problem ending this bitch and going down with a fight. Especially after you killed Estrella!”
“That was an accident! I was aiming for you…” Steve tried to say.
“Cállate! I'm the one talking now!” roared Jimmy. “But today isn't that day. I wanna live to see another day. The day I come back for you. In a month, a year, ten years. Oh, I'm gonna come back. I'm gonna tie you up. And I'm gonna make you watch as I go to town on your girl before I kill her slowly. Then, when it's all over, and you can't feel anything anymore, I'm gonna kill you...”
Steve gritted his teeth. The mental scenario of that promise was horrific. As much as he wanted to kill Jimmy for even uttering Sarah’s name, he wouldn’t. So, he bit his tongue and allowed Jimmy to finish the rant.
“...For now, mija and I are gonna walk outta here. Once I get a new ride, I'll let her go down the road, I promise…”
“No way!” Steve interjected, taking a step forward, and simultaneously raising his gun. He was willing to do anything, let Jimmy have anything but not this. Not Sarah. She had been a hostage for long enough. “Your promises don't mean shit. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you leave here with her!”
The room was at a standstill. The OK Corral times ten. Then, before the situation had a chance to meltdown, Steve tossed his gun on the floor and said, “Take me. Let Sarah go. I'll go with you.”
Travis was shocked, but he kept his sights trained on Jimmy’s scarred eye.
“What are you doing, Steve?”
The Longest Road (Book 2): The Change Page 35