He was thankful for their leisurely pace, though. It gave him time to examine his camp once again. The four-wheeler was still not hidden as well as he would have liked, but the camouflage cover helped. If these people were looking for threats as they should have been, it might have been a problem, but DJ was sure they would pass right by just as the bicyclists had.
He found a spot where he could watch them as they walked by, but they wouldn’t be able to see him. He lay down on his stomach with his rifle in front of him. His heart was beating at an increased pace, and he concentrated on his breathing to bring it back down to a normal level. The walkers were getting closer, and he was able to make out some of the words.
“. . . tired . . . when . . . stop . . . ,” a distinctly female voice said. The response by a male voice was too muddled to discern.
“. . . sucks!”
DJ snickered quietly. After a few more minutes, the travelers came into view of DJ’s hide. There were four of them, a family from the look of things. The father was in the lead carrying a huge backpack. He also had a hunting-type shotgun in his hands. His overlapping belly almost balanced out the backpack. A woman was behind him, presumably his wife. She wasn’t as fat as her husband, but she was close. She had a large purse draped across one shoulder and a small duffel-type bag over the other. A teenage girl followed next, trailed by a preteen boy. The kids both had day packs, probably the ones they used for their schoolbooks. They were both in decent shape, especially compared to their parents. Mom and Dad were sucking wind, but the kids didn’t seem to be too overworked.
“Can we at least stop and rest for a few minutes?” the mom asked. It was the same whiny voice DJ had heard before. He held his breath—he didn’t need them resting this close to him.
“Look, Linda, we can’t stop every five minutes if we want to make it to your sister’s before we run out of food,” the father said. “It’ll be dinnertime before too long, and we’ll take a nice rest then, okay?”
The woman said nothing.
DJ breathed a sigh of relief. He wondered how far the family was going. Probably not too far at the pace they were going. As they got even with his camp, he noticed that the girl, while not beautiful, had a cute face and a superb body.
She might have been sixteen or seventeen, he thought. She began to look side to side as if she knew someone was watching her. DJ realized that he was staring at her and he quickly averted his eyes. He had heard that people could feel when they were being watched. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that the girl had just started looking around.
“Hey, Dad, what’s that?” she asked.
DJ realized she was pointing right at his four-wheeler.
“I don’t know,” the dad answered. “It looks like stacks of boxes that somebody covered up. I’ll take a closer look.” He dropped his pack. The woman dropped her two bags as well and plopped down on the duffel.
The man was stepping over the track as DJ positioned his rifle. He didn’t intend to shoot the man, but DJ had to cover him just in case. The man was only twenty-five or thirty yards away, and his shotgun could make mincemeat out of DJ at that range.
“Hold it where you are,” DJ barked. The man froze, his grip on the shotgun tightening. Slowly he began to turn toward DJ.
“Please don’t move,” DJ said. “I have a rifle on you, and I’ll have to use it if you point that shotgun at me.”
“Don’t worry,” the man said nervously. “It’s not loaded.”
What a moron, DJ thought. He wondered if the man was a bigger idiot for carrying an empty gun or for admitting that it wasn’t loaded. Of course the man could have been lying, but DJ had a strong suspicion that he was telling the truth. DJ thought about how easy it would be for someone to kill the man, woman, and boy and take the girl.
Lucky for them I’m not that kind of guy.
“Well, there’s no way for me to know that for sure, so how about you just set it down?”
The man complied. His eyes moved back and forth searching for whoever was talking to him.
“The stuff you see is mine, and I’d just as soon you didn’t mess with it,” DJ said.
The man’s head turned toward DJ. His eyes were still looking, but his ears had at least narrowed down the search field. “I understand. We’ll just be on our way.” He started to bend over and reach for his weapon.
“Don’t do that!”
The man stopped at midbend. “I can’t leave my gun here.”
“I don’t expect you to. Let’s just get your daughter to pick it up and carry it until you get out of sight.”
“Whatever you say, mister. I don’t want any trouble.” He backed up to his pack. “Tammy, go pick up my gun.”
Tammy looked back and forth as though her dad was talking to another person and she was trying to figure out to whom. DJ was amused by the girl’s reaction. He decided to have some fun.
“Yes, you, Tammy,” he said. “Walk over to your daddy’s shotgun.”
The girl obeyed.
“Now put your hands up and turn around so I can make sure you don’t have any weapons.”
The girl did as she was instructed, and DJ watched, but not for weapons. He smiled. “Even better than I thought,” he said to himself.
“Okay, now pick up the gun and make sure the muzzle is pointed straight up. You can give it back to your dad once you round the next bend.”
Tammy just nodded and continued to follow instructions. DJ wondered if they would make it to where they were going. The way they were traveling, making noise, and walking down the middle of the tracks in broad daylight, their odds weren’t good. He could have helped them, but he was already behind schedule, and slowing to walking speed would only throw him further behind. He couldn’t afford that, especially now that more people seemed to be using the tracks. He would just give the man some advice.
“Listen, buddy, when Tammy gives you the gun back, I’d suggest you load it and stop making so much noise. Anybody could have killed you before you even knew they were there if they wanted to. I heard you four or five minutes before you even got here. If you’re smart, you’ll get off the tracks and walk in the brush. Quietly.”
“Okay, mister. Thanks for your help.”
DJ watched them walk out of sight and wondered if they would take his suggestions to heart.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Finally it was time to leave. DJ packed up what little he needed to and pulled a fuel can off the trailer to fill up his bike. It took a little more gas than he’d expected, probably because he’d needed to slow down to avoid obstacles. It was all right, though. He had brought extra gas just in case. He examined the tracks to make sure they were clear. Then he mounted his machine. Pulling up between the tracks, he was glad to be on his way.
* * *
Walking down the steps of his trailer, Gabe looked up at the sun. He didn’t need a watch to know it was three thirty. That was another indication he’d really tied one on. He saw that weeds were trying once again to take over his garden, pulled a hoe out of the shed and fought back the undesirable flora. Sweat from the heat and the work poured out of his body. He could smell the toxins he’d poisoned himself with over the past weekend. His muscles protested at the work, not because they weren’t used to the physical demand but because Gabe’s single meal in three days had already been burned. Gabe pressed on, ignoring his body’s pleadings.
When the weeding was done, Gabe grabbed a big bucket and started picking vegetables that had ripened over the weekend. There were so many that the harvest spilled over into a second and then a third bucket. He took the bounty into the kitchen and washed the produce, piece by piece. The tomatoes, most of them softball-sized, were Gabe’s specialty. They used to be Hannah’s, but he’d inherited them when she’d left. He sold them at the farmers’ market on Wednesdays. Well, t
he woman down the road and her son did. No one in town would have bought anything from Gabe. They all hated him. He was the town drunk, after all. Just as that Otis fellow on the Andy Griffith Show had been. Only he didn’t just walk into the sheriff’s office and lock himself up. The sheriff’s deputies had done that—more than once, too.
Gabe began to separate the vegetables into two piles, one he’d sell and one he’d eat. He found a tomato that was a little odd-shaped. Although there was nothing really wrong with it, he knew it wouldn’t sell. The city slickers who shopped the market wouldn’t buy anything that didn’t have a typical shape and color. He looked at the odd tomato for a moment and then bit into it as if it were an apple. The sweet fruit filled his mouth with a flavor little would match. If only this could obscure the memories the way the bourbon did, he thought.
CHAPTER 5
DJ was pleased with the progress he was making. According to his GPS, he had eight more miles to go before he got off the tracks. Then it was just a short jaunt down a county road to the power line. Once he got to the campsite he had intended to reach last night, he could decide whether to go on or not.
The bridge over the river was the last big obstacle before he turned off the tracks. He couldn’t wait to get on a smooth road. The constant thumping of his tires over the ties was starting to drive him crazy. It would take some time to cross the bridge, but DJ knew his plan would work.
His quad’s tires weren’t big enough to span the gap between the ties on the bridge. This would have made it impossible to cross if he hadn’t been prepared. He figured he could let some air out of his tires on one side and let the wheels run directly on the track on that edge. On the other side, he’d use the two-by-eights he’d stashed next to the bridge. They were both twelve feet long, and he could lay them across the ties. He’d have to leapfrog the boards all the way across the bridge, but if what Jacob had said was true and the trains weren’t running, he’d have plenty of time.
DJ had figured long ago that any bridge over the river was a natural choke point. Not only did it have the probability of snarling traffic, but it was an obvious place for an ambush. When he was first planning his bug-out route, he’d figured that the railroad bridges were much more likely to be open and safe than a bridge built for cars. In fact, that was how he’d come up with using the railroad in the first place. The only problem was how to cross when there was nothing between the ties. Conjuring the idea to use boards had been easy. The problem was how to carry them to the bridge. Since they’d have hung way over the back of the trailer and taken up valuable space, DJ had decided that the best thing to do was to preposition the boards. That, too, seemed simple enough, but how could he get them there? He’d gone over many possibilities until he settled on renting a small boat and motor and using the river to get to the bridge. Once he was there, it had simply been a matter of burying the boards and motoring back to the boat ramp.
The boards were treated, and he’d carefully wrapped them in heavy plastic and sealed them with duct tape. It would only take a few minutes to uncover them and pull them up onto the tracks. Not much farther now, DJ thought.
He rounded the last curve before the bridge and blinked a couple of times to make sure what he saw was really there. A train sat motionless on the tracks. DJ squeezed the brakes on his ride and came to a stop, staring at the train as if it were a ghost. He hoped it had stopped before it got onto the bridge, but he knew that was unlikely—unless it was a very short train. It looked to be one of the trains that hauled coal to the power plant on the outskirts of town. He’d seen them before, and they were usually very long. Other questions flashed through his mind. Had it just stopped temporarily? Why would it stop on the bridge? Could he get someone to move it? If it were abandoned, could he move it himself? Could he squeeze his four-wheeler past it? This was a situation he’d never considered, and he didn’t know the answers. He would just have to check it out.
He pulled the quad down into some tall weeds and covered it. Then, taking his rifle with him, he slowly approached the train. As he got closer, he was able to tell two things. First, the train was empty. This made sense because it was headed away from the power plant. Second, and most important, the train had started to make its way across the bridge. DJ’s heart sank—he knew his carefully mapped route had most likely been ruined by this unforeseen event.
He slowly walked up to the bridge, carefully watching for anyone lurking. When he got closer, he realized there was no way to squeeze his quad between the train and the side of the bridge. His body could barely fit into the limited space. He walked across, cautiously and deliberately centering his feet on the ties. Once across, he walked the considerable distance to the locomotives. There were five of them, sleeping giants with no regard for his Lilliputian plans. They had stopped, ironically, at the road he had planned to take, most likely for a truck to pick up the crew.
He climbed up on the lead engine, opened the door, and stepped in. He turned off his night vision and fished his flashlight out of a pocket on his vest. Looking over the controls, he thought they seemed rudimentary, but after fumbling with a few buttons, DJ had to admit that he had no idea what he was doing. He thought about how in the movies the hero always found the keys on top of the visor. Unfortunately, there was no visor, and this was no movie. Disappointed, he hiked back to his quad.
Once there, he pulled out his maps and started searching for a way around the bridge. Unfortunately, the last road he had crossed bigger than a goat trail was almost halfway back to where he’d started that night. He groaned as he saw how far out of the way he’d have to travel taking that route. It looked to be at least an extra twenty or thirty miles, not to mention the forty or so miles he would have to backtrack, and who knew if the bridge over the river going that way would be traversable? He searched for another way, but he realized he didn’t have any other options.
He checked his gas tank and saw that it was over half-empty. Going back would use at least another half a tank. That was close to five gallons wasted. He refigured how much he would need to complete his trip and realized he’d be short. He plopped down sideways on the seat of the quad and put his head in his hands. For almost fifteen minutes, he didn’t move. Finally he pulled his head up and shook it.
“I have to figure out what to do,” he said out loud. He briefly considered leaving the quad and going the rest of the way on foot. He’d known that there was always the contingency that the quad might become disabled and he had gear in case he had to resort to plan B. It would be hard to carry enough food to walk the rest of the way, but he knew he could do it. But the quad and the items he’d have to leave behind were just too valuable to abandon if there was an alternative.
Perhaps he could find a little more gas. He looked at the map again. It wasn’t likely he’d find an open gas station on the back roads he’d selected. He could go to a more populated area and try to find a station, but would it even be open or have any gas? DJ knew that gas would soon be worth its weight in gold.
He looked at the map again. Jacob had said that his son didn’t live too far.
Maybe I could find him and trade the hundred dollars for some gas.
That seemed like the best idea. Even if he didn’t find the old man, maybe he’d stumble on a farmer who would sell him some gas. If he had to, he could even steal some. He didn’t like that option, but it wouldn’t be the first time he was guilty of some petty thieving. He would just have to do what he had to do.
DJ climbed back on the quad, feeling a little better about his options. He pulled up onto the tracks and began the trip back. Just before dawn, he found a good camping spot not too far from the turnoff. He set up camp, making sure it would be hidden enough in the daylight, and went to sleep.
* * *
Gabe wondered why the woman hadn’t shown up. He paced back and forth from the door to the table where he had all the produce ready to go. It wasn’t like her
to be late. In fact, he couldn’t remember her ever being late. If he had had a phone, he would have called her. Maybe her truck had broken down, he thought. Maybe she or her son was sick. No matter what the reason was, Gabe didn’t like altering his routine. He decided to get in his truck and go see what the problem was.
The half-ton Chevy groaned as he let out on the clutch. Gabe turned onto the road when he got to the end of his gravel drive and urged the almost-thirty-year-old truck forward with a slight mash of the accelerator. The truck was in nice shape for its age. Gabe was able to keep it in good repair since it was easy to work on. It didn’t have all the fancy things a new truck had like power steering or air-conditioning, but the straight-six engine ran well and didn’t use much gas. Of course, Gabe only went to town once a month for groceries, so gas mileage was really not a factor for him. Many months, he used more gas in his Rototiller than he did in the truck.
Three and a half miles down the road, he came to the mailbox with a chicken painted on the side. The name painted beside it said J. WALKER. Gabe turned into the woman’s drive and drove up to the house. It was modest but well kept, and the small yard in front was manicured. Gabe could hear the chickens clucking in back when he turned his truck off. As he opened the truck door, the woman opened her front door.
“What do you want?” she asked. The look in her eyes held the disdain Gabe was used to. It was, however, the first time he could recall seeing it from her. He was much more comfortable with this look, though. In fact, it was the first time he could remember being comfortable enough to look her in the eye for more than a second.
Collision Course Page 4
