There were two hand-painted signs posted on the front of the store, close to the entryway. The one with the biggest lettering said $50 LIMIT PER HOUSEHOLD. CASH ONLY. As they got closer, Gabe could read the other. It said ALL FOOD IS FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED. NO FIGHTING. ANYONE CAUSING ANY PROBLEM WILL BE ASKED TO LEAVE WITHOUT ANYTHING. NO EXCEPTIONS.
“Do you see the sign, Mom? You think people are fighting over the food?” Robby asked.
“I don’t know, son. What do you think, Mr. Horne?”
Gabe just shrugged. Her face looked disappointed when he didn’t speak. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “People fight over stupid stuff all the time.”
“That’s true,” the boy said as he turned and looked at his mother. Gabe saw the look on the young man’s face and wondered if he was referring to some of the fights Gabe had had when he was drunk. Gabe was infamous for some of the brawls he’d caused in this sleepy little town.
The three got into line and waited. Jane kept trying to make small talk, but Gabe kept his answers to one or two words. Finally when she asked him what he planned to buy, he’d had enough.
“Look, I agreed to come with you, but I don’t want to play twenty questions,” he said rudely. The hurt and disappointment returned to her face. She turned to the front of the line with her back to him. Gabe was thankful for the reprieve.
Over the next half hour, he overheard others in line discussing the state of things. One man was talking about the gas station rationing fuel. He said that just like the fifty-dollar limit here at the grocery, the station was only allowing ten gallons per vehicle and wasn’t letting anyone put gas in fuel cans. A woman mentioned that her husband went to the gun store to buy her a shotgun for self-defense, but that the shop wasn’t selling any guns. Others talked of crimes and shortages, but most of it sounded like rumor to Gabe.
Finally they rounded the corner of the store and they were only ten or twelve people from the door. As they were nearing the entrance, one of the deputies came over to the line. “When they give you a basket and a flashlight, you can go in. We have men inside, so no fighting. If you start any trouble, you’ll be escorted out of the store without your food. Understand?”
The deputy looked up and down the line as people nodded. When he saw Gabe, he stared at him for a minute. Gabe wasn’t sure if he knew who he was, or if he was trying to figure it out. The deputy continued. “The store is expecting a delivery in a couple of days, so if they’re out of something you need, you can come back next week. Remember, you can only buy fifty dollars’ worth, and they are only taking cash.”
The deputy gave Gabe one last look and walked back over to the checkout table. Very shortly thereafter, Mrs. Walker and her son went into the store. Two minutes later, Gabe was given a basket and a flashlight. He entered the store and looked around. There was enough light from the windows in the front to see down the aisles, but not enough to make out exactly what was on the shelves. Gabe pushed his cart down an aisle and shined his flashlight onto the items. He saw that the store had gotten out their old pricing guns and marked everything. Bar codes and scanners were of no use without electricity.
He had all the vegetables he could eat at home, so he passed on everything in the canned fruits and vegetables row except for some peaches. He grabbed some sugar and flour because it seemed as if he should. There wasn’t any salt left, though he did find some pepper. The dried goods were almost all gone. All the large bags of rice were gone, but he did get two small bags. The only pasta left was angel hair, and he bought three one-pound packages. He found some jars of pasta sauce. They weren’t his favorite, but he bought three anyway. There wasn’t any bread, milk, or fresh meat. The canned meat was well picked over, too. He was almost sad to see there was no Spam left. He found some off-brand soup and put twenty cans in his basket. He looked for batteries, but they were out. The only candles he could find were the expensive, aroma type, so he passed on them. There were a few cans of grape juice on a shelf, and he got them. He looked for cheese, but to no avail. Figuring that there wasn’t much else he needed, he pushed his basket into the checkout line.
When the lady in front of him started to check out, she asked the clerk if they had any diapers. The man said they expected some on the next truck, but that they’d go fast. He suggested that if she needed any baby products, she should come early on Monday. He called out her prices, and before her basket was empty, the calculator man stopped the price caller.
“That’s already fifty-two eighty-six,” the man said.
“You’ll have to stop here,” the other man said.
“Oh, okay. I really need the rest of the stuff in the basket. Can you add it in, and then let me take some other things out?”
The calculator man rolled his eyes. “Look, lady, we’ve got a lot of people to check out. The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know?”
The woman shrank. Her face looked as if she had been unexpectedly punched in the gut.
“It’ll just take a minute, Joe,” the price caller reasoned. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t done it for others.”
“All right,” the younger man said, with exasperation in his voice.
Gabe saw the lady mouth the words “thank you” to the price caller, who had MIKE printed on his name tag. He hurriedly called out the last items, and Joe declared the total at just over fifty-nine dollars. The woman started picking items off the table, and Joe deducted them until she was under fifty dollars. She paid him, and he made her change out of a cigar box. The second deputy pushed the cart to her car.
Gabe started unloading his basket, and Mike began calling prices. It didn’t take long for him to finish, and Joe called out his total.
“Forty-two sixty-one. Mister, you’re the first one today who didn’t go over or right to the fifty-dollar mark,” he said. “I’d like to shake your hand.”
Gabe waved his hand at the man as if it was nothing. He paid, got his change, and then one of the deputies grabbed his cart.
“That’s okay, Deputy, I can take it,” Gabe said. He wondered if he’d ever met this deputy before.
“All right, but I have to bring the cart back anyway,” the peace officer said as he fell in step next to Gabe. As they made their way to the truck, the deputy lowered his voice and spoke. “You’re Gabriel Horne, right?”
Gabe nodded.
“I’m just a reserve deputy, so I don’t know what the deal is, but Jack Harris over there, he’s a regular deputy—doesn’t seem to like you much. He told me that if you caused any trouble, he’d run you in. You don’t want to go to jail right now, Mr. Horne. It’s just about standing room only. We’re starting to get some troublemakers out of the city, and you know how small the jail is. We can usually barely fit the local boys.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Gabe said quietly.
When they reached the truck, Gabe put his bags in the bed and gave the cart to the reserve deputy. He stood beside the truck and watched as the lawman pushed the basket back to the entrance of the store. A few minutes later, Mrs. Walker came out of the store and got into the checkout line. The same deputy grabbed her cart and started pushing it toward the truck.
When they had almost reached the truck, a ruckus broke out on the other side of the parking lot. The deputy turned and dashed over to the trouble. Gabe saw someone moving up behind Mrs. Walker and Robby from between some cars. The man, whom Gabe recognized as a fellow lowlife, pushed the woman away from the cart and grabbed the handle. Robby tried to catch his mother, and, while he probably broke her fall, the two of them ended up in a heap. The thief was pushing the cart for all he was worth toward Gabe and looking over his shoulder to see if the lawmen had noticed. As he got closer, Gabe stepped out from between the truck and the car next to it. He extended his arm at ninety degrees from his body and the basket-jacker turned his head just in time to see the clothesline catch him in t
he throat.
The man’s eyes got wide as his feet flew out from under him. The basket was still traveling on its own as the man crashed down onto the asphalt. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he looked like a goldfish that had jumped out of its fishbowl.
Jane and Robby picked themselves up and ran over to Gabe. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Fine,” Gabe said. “You?”
“Just a little scraped up. Thanks for saving our groceries.”
“No problem.”
Robby ran after the basket and was pushing it back when Deputy Harris came running up. He grabbed Gabe’s arm and swung him onto the trunk of a car. Twisting the arm behind its owner, he reached for the handcuff case on his belt.
“Deputy, you have the wrong man,” Jane said. “The man who tried to steal our groceries is lying right there.” She pointed at the man on the ground, who had a dazed look on his face and was trying pathetically to get up. “Mr. Horne here just stopped him.”
The deputy turned and looked at her without relinquishing his grip on Gabe. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Mr. Horne’s with us. He’s our friend.”
* * *
The rain started around four. Light at first, it increased until it became a steady, monotonous shower. DJ had strung up his hammock and tried to read, though he was unable to focus on the book. His mind kept obsessing over how long the rain would last and how much further behind schedule it would throw him. The constant sound of the rain on the tin roof, a sound he normally liked, only served to taunt him. He felt as if the rain were sucking the energy out of his body. After what seemed an eon of tossing and turning, he fell into a fitful sleep.
When he woke up, it was almost dark. The rain was still coming down, not quite as hard as before, but steadily. DJ fixed some dinner and poked at the meal. When would this damn rain stop? He spent some time going over his quad, though he knew it was fine. He recalculated his fuel range and now had plenty, even if he had to take another major detour. Looking over his new route on the map, he determined that it was still his best option. After an hour or so of piddling around, he decided to get some more sleep.
He awoke with a start. What was that? He looked around, but it was pitch-black. He listened but didn’t hear anything. Then he smiled. The rain had stopped. That’s what had wakened him. He walked to the door and looked out. The sky was clearing, and he could see the stars. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was two thirty. He might not make a lot of distance, but at least he’d get over the river. He felt well rested, and he was excited to get going. He hurriedly packed his stuff and readied himself for the ride.
Climbing onto the big four-wheeler, he pulled out of the barn and traversed the muddy field to the road. It was cooler than he’d expected, but it felt good. Once he got on the road that would take him over the river, he pulled out a jacket and put it on. He increased his speed some and soon could see the bridge ahead. There were a few cars stopped on it, but he could easily zigzag around them. He smiled.
As he approached, he slowed slightly so he could weave through the cars. He twisted the handlebars from side to side with a big grin. It was fun snaking through the stalled vehicles, and he applied a little more throttle to test his prowess on the big bike. The tires produced a small screech as the weight shifted from side to side. About halfway across, it occurred to DJ that the cars were more evenly spaced than would have seemed natural. It appeared as if someone might have strategically placed the vehicles where a car or truck could pass, but only at a reduced speed. The quad was able to move through them more quickly, but he wondered if it would be quick enough. Was this a trap? He stopped the four-wheeler to try to ascertain just that.
The answer came a split second later when he heard an engine crank and saw a truck pull up next to the last car on the bridge. A knot formed in his stomach. He quickly turned to look behind him. If they had a car on each end, he was a sitting duck. Nothing was moving behind him. He breathed a small sigh of relief.
The engine on the truck shut off, and he heard two doors slam.
“You, on the bridge, we know you’re there,” a voice called. It was vaguely familiar to DJ. “This is our bridge. You have to pay a toll to cross.”
DJ quickly weighed his options. He could turn around and find another way. He had the gas to do it, but what if he ran into the same situation at the next bridge? How much further behind would that put him? The longer he stayed out here on the road, the more dangerous things would get. Turning around might be a good backup plan, but he wanted to cross here if at all possible.
He could fight his way across. There was a chance he might get hurt, but there were probably just two or three guys guarding the bridge. All of a sudden, he knew where he recognized the voice from. It was one of the rednecks from the store—one of the men who had wanted to trade the watch for gasoline. If it was just those two, DJ could take them out easily. After all, he was a security specialist, and they were just a couple of yahoos. Creating a ruckus was the last thing he wanted to do, though, and there was always the chance that they had more guys than he could easily dispatch.
The last option he could think of was just to pay them. Maybe they didn’t want much. It seemed foolish not to try this avenue at least, he reasoned, even though it could still be a trap.
“How much to cross?” DJ shouted.
“What have you got?” the redneck called back.
“I’ve got about twenty bucks,” DJ said.
Laughter came from the other side. DJ listened closely and only heard two men. “Buddy, you could have twenty thousand bucks, and it wouldn’t be enough. Haven’t you been watching the news? Money’s worthless unless you need to start a fire or wipe your ass.” The man laughed at his joke. “We want something we can use.”
“What did you have in mind?” DJ asked.
“Gas is good.”
DJ thought for a moment. Other than his firearms and his quad, there was nothing more valuable to him than the gas. Still, if he could get by on two or three gallons, it would be worth it. “I might have a couple of gallons I could spare.”
“Two gallons? I don’t think so. The least I’d be willing to take is ten.”
The irony that these guys wanted the same amount of gas DJ had taken from the store last night wasn’t lost on him. It occurred to DJ that if this was a trap, they’d have just agreed to the two gallons and then tried to take whatever they wanted. He relaxed some and tried another tactic.
“How about an ounce of gold?” he called out.
“How about ten?”
Crap, don’t these bumpkins know any number besides ten?
DJ decided that bargaining with these hooligans wasn’t going to work. He’d go back down the road some and then decide what to do. “I don’t think so. I’ll just turn around and go back.”
“Then we have a problem. You see, you’re already on our bridge, so you owe us a toll no matter which way you go.”
Now DJ was mad. Who did these idiots think they were? DJ reached down and grabbed the pistol grip on his rifle. He’d show them. As he began to remove the weapon from the scabbard, more rational thoughts took over. They were probably ready for that. Better to do this on his terms. The old truck they were driving didn’t look too fast. He could be gone by the time they made it across the bridge.
“Okay, I’ll give you the gas,” DJ said. He hit the starter on the eight-hundred-cc engine and backed up from the car he’d been using to hide behind. When he had enough clearance, he whipped the bike and trailer around and made his way off the bridge as fast as he could. At the end of the bridge, he realized that, with his night-vision goggles, he was going too fast to see anything in the road in time to stop. He thought about turning on his headlight, but that would give his position away. He’d just come this way, so it should be safe, unless a c
ow or something had wandered into his path. It was a chance he’d just have to take. Looking down at the speedometer, he saw that he was already over sixty miles per hour. The big quad continued to accelerate. At this speed, it was really cold, but DJ kept his mind on the task at hand.
He would travel at high speed until he could find a side road. Since he’d spent so much time examining the maps, he was pretty sure that the nearest road was about a mile and a half away. He glanced down at the red needle; it was pointing at seventy-five. As he looked at his GPS, it seemed as if his estimation of how far it was to the first turnoff was accurate. It would only take a little over a minute to get there. He glanced over his shoulder. The truck’s lights were on, and he could see the beams weaving through the cars on the bridge. If those guys had been smart, they’d have blocked off both ends, he thought.
DJ made out the road coming up on his right. He let off the throttle and prepared to turn. Looking back, he saw the headlights of the old truck—one bright and one dim—way behind him. Would they expect him to turn at the first intersection? If he was one of them, he would. Deciding that he’d better continue past the first road, he hit the throttle again and strained his eyes to see the next turnoff.
Thirty seconds later, he saw a road on the left side, but he was going so fast that he couldn’t slow down in time to turn onto it. He looked at the GPS again, but the road didn’t show on the screen. It was probably new or not important enough. He glanced over his shoulder. The truck was a little closer now. He had to find a turnoff quickly, or they’d be on him. The GPS showed the next road in a mile.
He finally saw the road sign and squeezed the brake lever hard, bleeding off his speed. He turned hard to the right and accelerated to a comfortable speed. The road was dirt, but that didn’t bother the quad. He kept looking over his shoulder, and a few seconds later, the pursuing truck sped past. DJ blew a long breath out and realized that he had a death grip on the handlebars. He took his thumb off the throttle, and the big bike coasted to a stop. DJ shook out his arms.
Collision Course Page 7
