by Frank Redman
With Jenny’s car in sight, we paused out of sight and scoped the area for trouble. We tried to quiet our heavy breathing so we could listen and not be heard. Despite the effort, plumes of fog puffed out of our mouths as if we were tiny smokestacks.
I gave the all clear sign with an upturned thumb, then we sprinted to the car. I ran so fast to the BMW I couldn’t slow down in time and slammed against the side with an oomph!
After opening the door for Tyler, I jumped in and noticed Jenny was already in the car, started, belted, and shifted in gear.
How did she do that?
She turned on the lights and hit the accelerator.
A goon stepped into the middle of the street about fifty yards in front of us, taking aim with his gun.
Jenny started to swerve but I yelled, “Hit him!”
The gun flashed followed by a metallic thwack!
“Hit him!”
“I’m trying!” Jenny steered toward him and pressed harder on the gas pedal.
“Turn on the brights!”
The goon lit up like he was on stage. He used one arm to shield his eyes, aiming with the other. Another muzzle flash, but nothing happened.
Evidently it’s harder than I thought to hit something the size of a car bearing down on you while blinded.
The goon made no effort to get out of the way, probably thinking these two nice kids wouldn’t actually run him over.
He was wrong.
Sort of.
At the last second, Jenny slammed on the brakes, but too late to keep from hitting him.
The front bumper hit his legs with a sickening thud, then his face slammed against the hood, his body rolling onto the car. He bounced off the windshield just as the car stopped and then slid to the side on the street, unmoving.
Jenny shrieked, “Oh my God oh my God oh my God!”
“It’s okay, we’re okay, we need to go.”
“Oh my God is he dead?”
“I don’t know, but we can’t stop to find out. His buddies will be here any second. They won’t stop to find out if we’re dead, they’ll just kill us!”
For most well-adjusted individuals, it’s difficult to purposefully kill someone. The Kill People switch in our brain stays off. Taking someone’s life is shocking even in self-defense, or when trying to save someone you love.
Obviously, we can be trained to overcome the obstacle, and some non-well-adjusted people flip the switch on with intent.
I didn’t know for sure, but I doubted Jenny had ever killed anyone before. I feared she was going to shutdown.
I had killed. A part of me died simultaneously.
But for better or for worse, I wasn’t shutting down. I had to get Jenny going. She just sat there, bone-white hands squeezing the steering wheel so tight that blood couldn’t flow into fingers.
The rear windshield exploded.
Chapter Eleven
I smacked Jenny on the shoulder, hard, and yelled, “Go go go go go!”
Another bullet hit the trunk.
“Tyler, get down!”
I made a feeble attempt to look behind us to see who shot, but it was too dark to see at a glance. Then decided it didn’t make a difference.
Jenny stomped the gas pedal. The tires screeched briefly before biting pavement and the car shot forward. She fishtailed a right onto the street exiting her neighborhood.
I looked behind us. “I don’t see any headlights. They’re not following us.”
We took a left onto the highway away from town. I looked behind us again and took a deep breath, relaxing a little with no sight of pursuit. “I think we’re good.”
Wrong.
I caught a glimpse of a hard-to-see black Suburban waiting for us, lights dark, on the shoulder. Then headlights on and gravel spewing.
“Crap!”
Jenny pressed harder on the accelerator. Thankfully the car seemed to be unharmed by the bullets it took. German engineering.
But Jenny’s BMW wasn’t a racecar, and the Suburban, though still a few hundred yards behind us, would overtake us on this two-lane highway.
I wished we were in the Beast.
We rounded a long bend and over a hill, then Jenny abruptly cut the lights, slammed on the brakes, yanking the steering wheel left, and drove into brush in between trees.
The car whined in protest as bushes and tree limbs scratched the roof and sides. With no headlights, it was too dark to see small things, but Jenny weaved around slightly visible car-stopping trees. We bounced over the rough terrain; our seatbelts kept us pinned to the seats. Crunch-pop-squeal the car dutifully plowed through the woods and underbrush.
A large branch lodged against the right rear passenger window sill, pressing until the window gave in. Glass shards showered the backseat. Tyler moved to the other side, his coat too smooth for any of the glass to stick.
We eventually rolled to a stop. Jenny didn’t use the brakes so we wouldn’t light up like a Christmas tree.
She put the car in park and turned it off.
Then we all turned around in the seats and held our breath. We couldn’t see the highway, and I couldn’t tell if we’d see any car headlights drive by.
This was our only hope. We were all in. If they found us here… dead.
But still a better plan than trying to outrun them, especially when they cheat with guns.
The gaping hole where the back windshield used to be made it easy to hear. A car drove by in the opposite direction. The thick brush blocked the light low to the ground, but light could be seen reflecting off the trees. And sound carried well.
Almost immediately, a large-engine vehicle screamed by with deep sounding tire noise, probably a truck. We couldn’t see it, but it had to be the killers.
We continued to sit in silence.
Two minutes.
Five minutes.
Eight minutes.
At some point, they’ll realize they’d been duped, but when, and what would they do? Would they double back? The road curved a lot in this area. Not sharp turns, but long bends and small hills. Line of sight travelled a short distance.
A strong musty smell from damp trees and ground settled into the car.
Everything was silent. The wildlife had either gone to bed or had left, scattering when we drove into their living room.
I turned to face forward in the seat. Jenny did the same.
I looked at her and said, “When did you learn to drive like that?”
“Just now.”
“Oh.”
Tyler said, I need to pee.
I thought of checking the time on my phone and realized I no longer had a phone. So I thought of checking Jenny’s, then realized she no longer had a phone. Oy. Stupid GPS-enabled cellphones. I made a mental note to get a sundial.
But then I remembered Jenny had a watch. I was getting tired and not thinking straight. I asked her the time.
The watch face didn’t illuminate. She reached into her glove box, retrieved a flashlight and deftly looked at her watch. Yes, deftly. I would consider any action someone successfully completed this early in the morning with no sleep to have done so with deft.
“Four-thirty.”
“It’s probably all right, but where’s your switch to turn off the dome light?”
She reached up to the light above my head and slid it to Off so the light wouldn’t illuminate when a door opened.
I got out and opened the door for Tyler, who found the closest tree suitable for relieving himself.
Jenny walked up next to me. I stared at Tyler.
I turned to give him some privacy, and looked at Jenny. “I’m sorry about your father.”
No reaction. I guessed she was tabling the emotions, even the acknowledgement for now. So I moved onto something else. “You hungry?”
I’m always hungry. It only seemed natural that Jenny would be hungry too.
I heard Tyler, Yes. I heard Jenny, “Yes.”
I retrieved three granola bars from my backpack th
at I kept for emergencies and passed them out. I left the wrapper on Tyler’s granola bar, and he said in response, I’ll bite you.
“You need to learn patience.”
Jenny looked at me.
I said, “Talking to the dog.”
Jenny looked at her battered car and rubbed the large indention on the hood. She simply said, “Sadness.”
Having a strong affinity for my own car, I empathized with how she felt.
I walked around the passenger side to assess the damage to her Beamer. Deep scratches lined the fenders and doors. At some point during our Texas jungle adventure, the front bumper hit something large enough to remove it.
At least one bullet was lodged in the front of the car. I stooped in front to see if I could locate the bullet entry. It was too dark, and I didn’t want to use a flashlight. But the hissing sound seemed to indicate the radiator wasn’t happy about something. Plus there was the strong smell of antifreeze. The car would probably overheat if we started it back up.
Just as I’m not a mechanic, I’m also not a ballistics expert. But I couldn’t imagine the back windshield could stop the travel of the bullet that shattered it. We might find as many as a half-dozen bullets in the car.
As I continued to inspect Jenny’s ride, I marveled that none of the tires were flat—scratch that. The driver side rear tire was flat, the bottom partially hidden by soft ground.
I finished the circuit and walked up to her. She sensed what I was doing and looked at me expectantly, not having the heart to look herself.
“We’re not going anywhere in your car. She’s done.”
“Sadness,” Jenny repeated, and closed her eyes.
A deep voice boomed, “What in the blue hell are you kids doing!”
Chapter Twelve
I jumped at the voice which resounded like a cannon. It startled me so bad I reflexively covered my ears and flinched to drop to my knees and duck for cover, but I recovered before actually hitting the dirt.
I whirled around to see a large man in all black leveling a shotgun at my torso, then Jenny’s, then mine, back and forth. He used the front end of the car as a barrier between us.
Tyler had been off exploring and was also taken off guard by the man who manifested out of nowhere, without a noise, like a ghost. The dog ran up to us, walked around the corner of the car, and growled.
“Call off the dog or it’s dead.” He pumped the shotgun for effect. “It’s been awhile since I had dog stew.”
I wondered why it always seems more ominous when someone pumps a shotgun after a threat, or cocks a revolver. The gun will kill you just as dead either way.
There was such little light, the man’s outline could barely be seen. He seemed to be wearing black fatigues. Just a large mass, features blending into the darkness. He said, “You two keep your hands up,” as he aimed down toward Tyler.
Jenny and I raised our hands over our heads.
I said, “Tyler, come here. Come on.”
I got him. Tyler continued to growl.
“Tyler, no. Come here.”
I didn’t really know if Tyler would obey. I hadn’t been around him enough. And just earlier that night—it didn’t seem possible that everything had happened in just one night—he failed to protect Mr. Broxton, and thought it was his fault.
“Tyler, you’re not faster than a gun—”
“—darn straight—”
“—come here before he shoots you.”
“Boy’s talkin’ sense, dog. Listen to’im.”
Tyler stopped growling, but didn’t move and didn’t avert his eyes. I heard him sniffing.
I am amazed at how well dogs can judge a human’s character. I don’t have scientific proof, but it’s been my experience, that dogs have an uncanny ability to sense whether a person is good or bad. I trust a dog’s initial impression on whether to trust that person or not.
If the dog does, I’ll be more likely to follow suit. If the dog doesn’t, I won’t be friending the person on Facebook.
I said, “What do you think?”
Jenny looked sideways at me, not knowing if I was talking to her.
The stranger glanced at me as well.
I smiled and nodded toward the dog as if to say I’m talking to him. It sure would’ve be nice if I could communicate silently with Tyler like he could with me.
Tyler said, Difficult to know. I think he’s okay. Could be wrong. I need to smell his butt.
“Not going to happen. Get over here.”
Jenny looked at me again.
Tyler backed a few steps, still eyeing the armed stranger, then moved quickly to my side.
I said, “Good dog.” I would have reached down to pat him, but we still had our hands up. Even if the stranger wasn’t planning on harming us, it didn’t mean I should test him.
He pointed the shotgun at the ground and said, “Now what’re you kids doing out here?” He had a heavy southern accent, even for the Deep South.
Jenny and I exchanged glances, neither one of us knowing what to say or not say.
He turned his head to take in the car. “Looks to me like you’re running from something. I ain’t never seen someone crazy ‘nuff to drive through my woods. Yep. This here’s a first. And you sure as hell picked a bad car to go offroadin’.”
I noticed he didn’t seem to have trouble seeing in the dark. Then I noticed the contraption over his eyes. Night vision goggles.
I said, “Does everybody but me have night vision goggles?”
Tyler said, I don’t.
I extended my leg sideways to kick him on the hip.
“Oh, you like these?” he said as his finger tapped the side of the goggles.
“Yes, sir.”
“Military grade 3rd Gen AN/PVS-7D dual eye tube goggles. I can see better at night than you can during the day and I ain’t gotta squint to do it!” He relaxed the arm holding the shotgun allowing the barrel to point straight down.
Detecting an opportunity to win his favor by appealing to the obvious pride in his goggles, I said, “Very impressive, sir. I’ve wanted to get night vision goggles myself. Where can I find goggles like yours?”
Again tapping them he said, “These here I bought from a Nam buddy of mine online. I gotta deal. They’d cost you close to four thousand dollars with the features I have. Shoot.”
I tried to be impressed—which was easy since I was—without going overboard. “Wow, four thousand dollars? The quality of those goggles must really be outstanding.”
“Yep.”
I thought I heard the pitch of his voice change as if smiling. I was winning his favor.
Then he raised the shotgun and said, “Now quit trying to change the subject!”
Or maybe not.
We had gotten back to that again. I still didn’t know what to say. Jenny stood next to me, arms raised, as soundless as a fallen tree.
The stranger prodded, “Why are you two crazies driving through my woods in one of them German cars made for valet parking?”
I wanted to say, ‘It’s Jenny’s car, sir. I wouldn’t own a German car. American made, all the way.’ But I’d be lying because I would like a Mercedes and if the stranger didn’t kill me, Jenny would.
So instead, tapping into the shallow well of discretion I possess, I said, gravely, “I understand you think we are crazy. And to a point I agree with you, sir. But please don’t let your initial perception influence your thoughts regarding what I’m about to tell you, which, sir, is the truth.”
I paused to give my request added weight.
Tyler said, This ought to be good.
The dog just lost his chance for more Cheetos.
“It’s a long story; may we put our hands down, sir?”
He stood silent a time, then sighed. Finally, he said, “Fine. But I’m warning you, if either of you so much as fart—sorry little lady—I’m gonna blow yer intestines out. It’ll be the last time you ever pass gas.”
Trying my best to make sure lowerin
g my arms didn’t press gas into my colon, I rubbed each arm to get the blood flowing again. “I went to Tyler’s house, that’s the dog, to help his owner, Mr. Broxton, with a computer problem. When I arrived, Mr. Broxton was on the floor in his study, wounded by what would be a fatal gunshot. There were two black Suburbans at his house, and at least two people dressed in black on the premises. Before Mr. Broxton died, he told me to get specific data off his computer and warn Mr. Meredith.”
I paused there to make sure the vet was with me so far. I used names, since even using fake names added legitimacy to a story. But I used real names because I was too tired to put on a good act.
He said, “Go on.”
“I got the data as instructed and Tyler and I fled the house. The two dressed-in-black bad guys saw us and tried to shoot us.” I wondered if I should omit Tyler’s wall-jumping bag-carrying Cheetos-scarfing abilities. “Do you like Cheetos, sir?”
“Huh? What do Cheetos have to do with anything?”
“It’s a weird question, sir. Never mind. I’m nervous.”
Despite the Cheetos question, the vet seemed to be interested. “I guess you got away since you’re standing here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wouldn’t have missed.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t have, sir. We ran through the woods and drain pipes until we got to Jenny’s house, this is Jenny—”
Jenny said, “Nice to meet you.”
The vet said, “Likewise, ma’am.”
This whole scene was just too bizarre. I continued, “We ran into Jenny outside her house. A solid black Suburban was outside. Jenny, and I know this sounds crazy sir, but it’s the truth, led us through a secret entrance into her house.”
“What’s crazy about that?” said the vet. “I might have one or two myself.”
Jenny backhanded me on the shoulder.
Pressing on, “We found Mr. Meredith, her dad, lying on the floor in his study. He was bleeding to death from a gunshot in the leg. A German man—” I didn’t know if the southern stranger had something against Germans, but I made sure the supposed European heritage of the bad guy was described— “and two of his goons, probably German, were there waiting for us. The main German bad guy tried to get the same data—I don’t know what’s so important about it—and shot Mr. Meredith in the other leg because we didn’t give it to him.”