Collision Course

by David Crawford

  DJ walked over to look for his night-vision goggles. As soon as he saw them, he knew they were broken. He immediately let loose with a string of obscenities that would have made the most hardened sailor take notice. He fussed and fumed under his breath for several minutes, then slowly realized he was accomplishing nothing. Calming himself, he rationalized that he didn’t need the goggles nearly as much now as he did before. He was only a short distance from his destination, and there were few people out here who would cause problems. It would be all right to finish the trip using his headlights. He carried the night vision back over to the quad. Perhaps he could find someone to repair them. Now that he had calmed down, he got back to business.

  Moving deliberately, so as not to aggravate his back, he began picking up his scattered belongings and stacking them back onto the monster quad. When he was done tying them in place, he carefully climbed back onto the machine. DJ pushed on the throttle and it began to move. He had gone only a few feet when it felt as if someone had applied the brakes. He checked the brake lever and it seemed fine. He mashed the throttle lever again, but something was holding the four-wheeler. He gave it more gas, and it began to move, but there was something wrong that DJ could feel in the handlebars. He pulled the flashlight back out of his pocket and shined it down onto the front tires. They were pointing different directions, not at all unlike the dead deer’s legs.

  CHAPTER 28

  DJ’s anger instantly returned, hotter than it had burned at the broken goggles. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? The night vision could be done without, but not the quad. He wanted to push the broken piece of shit back over, but pain shot up his spine when he tried to dismount. Sitting back down, he didn’t even dare to take a breath until the pain began to subside. He realized he wasn’t doing himself any good by losing his head.

  All right, if it’s broken, I’ll just have to fix it. He carefully dismounted this time and found his tool bag. It was small, but well thought out, containing a wrench, screwdriver, or socket to fit everything on the quad. Cautiously lowering himself to the ground, he pulled out his flashlight to examine the front of the quad. Looking at the steering assembly, he saw immediately what the problem was. The tie-rod to the right wheel was broken. Nothing short of a welder could repair it, and DJ doubted even that would hold for long. A new emotion washed over him. It didn’t warm him as the anger had done. It was despair, and it turned him cold.

  * * *

  First light found Gabe driving over the Cotton Creek Bridge. When he got to the hill where the road was cut through the side, he stopped and got out. A few minutes later, Jake Solis drove up on a medium-sized tractor, complete with a front-end loader. He parked it on the side of the road and climbed down.

  “Good morning, Mr. Horne,” he said as he extended his hand.

  “Good morning to you, and please, call me Gabe.”

  “I thought I’d be the first one here, Gabe. You must be an early riser.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Gabe said. “Mostly it’s because I tossed and turned all night. I finally figured I might as well get up.”

  “Nervous about the wedding?”

  Gabe’s head snapped around as if a heavyweight’s left hook had contacted his chin. “Ahh . . . yeah, I guess a little. How did you know?”

  Jake smiled. “I was nervous for all three of mine,” he said. “It’s only natural. Everything will be fine.”

  Gabe wasn’t sure if the man knew anything about his past or not, but it was nice to know that he wasn’t crazy for being anxious. He nodded.

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” Jake assured him. “Just do what the womenfolk tell you and everything will go off without a hitch. You think we ought to get started?” he asked as he tipped his head toward the hill.

  Gabe was glad the man had changed the subject, but somehow he found it comforting that he could talk about the wedding. “I’m ready if you are. But I hope you know a lot more about this than I do. I’ve only moved dirt a wheelbarrow at a time.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” Jake said as he climbed onto the tractor. He drove it up to the top of the hill and had already pushed two loads of dirt onto the road when Paul showed up with several other cars and trucks behind him. At first all the men could do was watch Jake push down bucket after bucket of dirt. Once enough dirt had been pushed onto the road, they started spreading it to the other side. It was backbreaking, sweaty work, but everyone worked as hard as they could. Gabe noticed that some of the office types had to take fairly frequent breaks. Five years ago, he had been just like them, unaccustomed to hard physical work. He had pushed himself to work like this almost every day since then.

  But this was different. This wasn’t like a punishment. Gabe was enjoying the labor and the good-natured joking with the other men. They treated him as an equal and spoke to him with respect, even when teasing him about being a soon-to-be newlywed. He was surprised that he enjoyed the lighthearted banter and the company of the other men. It had been a long time since he had felt this comfortable around others.

  * * *

  DJ had spent most of the remaining darkness carrying his few belongings across a pasture and into a small group of trees. Lifting everything over the fence had been very painful. He would have cut the fence, but that would have made it too easy for someone to find him. He had also pushed the quad down into the ditch and covered it with some grass, mud, and debris. Now he lay on his back, the only position that gave some relief, and watched the sky turn from black to blue. As soon as it was light enough, he surveyed his surroundings. It seemed as if it might be secluded enough that he could hole up here for a few days while he recovered and figured out his next move.

  He tried to get some sleep, but the pain in his back would not allow him more than five or ten minutes at a time. He thought about his options. He could walk back to Peter and Margaret’s house and get their Buick. The only problem with that was that taking the car would tie him to their deaths. No, returning to the scene of the crime, as it were, was a mistake that he wouldn’t make. That left him with three choices. Fix the quad, walk, or acquire another vehicle.

  Fixing the quad was probably out. The tie-rod couldn’t be mended with duct tape and bailing wire, and that was all he had. Realistically, only a new part would guarantee a complete repair. Walking was a possibility. Looking at the maps, he saw he was only about twenty-five miles from his old retreat. Depending on how much he carried and how his back held up, he could make that in as little as two days. Still, he didn’t relish the thought of walking that far in his condition. Finding another vehicle was his best bet. But he needed to be very discreet. He was getting too close to his destination to stir up trouble, at least if he hoped to stay there for any length of time. Maybe he could find something that he could hot-wire.

  He tried to lie back down, but every time he dozed off, he started to roll onto his side and the pain woke him up. He didn’t want to take any of the painkillers he’d found at the farm since it was still daytime and he wanted to be as alert as possible, but he finally relented and took a couple. Hopefully, this will take the edge off, he thought. It did and he was finally able to get some sleep.

  DJ woke with a start, and bolted to a sitting position before he could stop himself. A knife jabbed itself into his lower back and he winced. As the pain slowly subsided, he could hear tires on the pavement and realized that was what had woken him. Sneaking a peak at his watch, he calculated that he had slept for almost seven hours. The sound of the vehicle approaching grew louder and louder by the moment. DJ hoped they would zoom on by, but he grabbed his rifle, just in case. He eased out to where he could see the road. Finally the truck came into view.

  It was older and had been lifted to accommodate the huge mud tires that had allowed DJ to hear it from so far away. As it approached where he had pushed the quad into the ditch, the pitch of the whine deepened. DJ knew that meant the t
ruck was slowing down. Just keep on going, dipshit, DJ thought. But a second later, the soprano squeal of neglected brakes was added to the bass of the mud tires. Just what I need, he thought sardonically as the truck came to a halt fifty yards past the broken four-wheeler.

  A very large young man jumped down from the cab of the pickup. DJ figured that if the man had been driving a normal-sized truck, he probably wouldn’t have seen the quad. He walked directly to the quad, squashing DJ’s last hope that he just needed to take a piss. The youngster wrestled the quad back up to the road with considerably less effort than it had taken DJ to put it there. He walked around it, much as DJ had seen cowboys do to a horse in old movies. He wondered if the big boy would have looked at the quad’s teeth if it had any. The truck driver noticed the nonparallel front tires and bent over to get a better look. A minute later he reerected himself to his full height, which DJ estimated to be about six feet four inches, and yelled at the truck.

  “Hey, Zach, come look at this.”

  The passenger door opened and a second country boy jumped out. This one was not as tall, but probably outweighed the driver by at least a full sack of feed. He walked back to the driver and looked over the quad.

  “It’s broke,” he drawled.

  “Of course it’s broke, butt-head. Why else would someone leave it? But all it needs is a new tie-rod. Other than that and a few scratches, it looks good as new.”

  “Yeah?” Zach said.

  “Let’s load it up in the truck and take it to my house.”

  “It belongs to somebody, Jason. We can’t just take it. What if they come back for it?”

  “Look, Zach, it’s covered in mud. This has been here for a while,” Jason said.

  “I don’t know. We pass this way all the time. Why haven’t we seen it before?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was covered up better before, or maybe I just looked in the ditch at the right time. The fact is, I got lucky enough to see it and, well, finders keepers.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Zach said, grinning. “Back the truck up.”

  A moment later the big truck was reversing, weaving from one side of the road to the other. DJ was instantly furious. Who the fuck did they think they were, stealing his quad? He started going over what he should do in his head. Shouting at them might get them to leave the quad alone, but he didn’t want to yell and give his position away. He might need to stay here another day or two while he mended. Shooting them would only bring people looking for them, so that wouldn’t work. What other options did he have?

  The truck stopped a few feet from the quad. Zach stretched up for the tailgate release. He could barely reach it and the tailgate almost hit him in the head as it fell. He began to look at the quad and then the bed of the truck. DJ almost laughed. There was no way the two of them, despite their size, could lift the quad that high. He relaxed and looked forward to what could have been a Three Stooges film, except of course, there were only two stooges.

  DJ heard the driver’s door slam. Then Jason appeared at the rear with some rope.

  “There’s no way we can get this thing up there, Jason.”

  Jason looked at the height of the bed. It came just below his shoulder. He put his hand on the underside of the tailgate and slammed it shut.

  “Dumb-ass, of course we can’t lift it that high. We’re going to hook the front on the trailer hitch and leave the rear wheels on the ground. Now help me.”

  The two youths grabbed the handlebars and easily lifted the front of the bike and hooked it onto the trailer hitch. Then Jason started looping the rope around both so that it wouldn’t bounce off.

  DJ felt a wave of panic tie a knot in his intestines. They would be gone with his quad in a minute or two. He had to stop them. Or did he? The machine was useless to him, and if they drove off with it, there would be no reason for anyone else to stop here. He could easily hide out here for a while and recover. On the other hand, the quad did not belong to them. It didn’t matter if it was broken or how long it had been left here. He clicked the safety off on his rifle and centered the reticule on Zach’s big fat head. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  No, he couldn’t do it. Even if he buried the bodies, someone would find that ridiculous truck. DJ slapped his head when he realized the truck was just what he needed. Maybe I’m the third stooge, he thought, snickering at how shortsighted he had been. He reacquired his target, then decided that he would take Jason out first. He was partially obscured by the quad and the plumper Zach would make a much easier moving target. When Jason’s head appeared in his line of sight again, DJ squeezed off the perfect shot. Zach stared at his friend in shock, no doubt trying to figure out what had happened.

  The fat boy must have realized what kind of trouble he was in just when DJ decided to fire. The bullet missed Zach, but not by much. Zach was now in high gear for the cab of the truck, and DJ was impressed with how fast the big boy could move. He put the center of his electronic sight on the leading edge of the rotund target’s legs and sent another shot on its way. It missed, but the next shot didn’t. Zach stumbled, and then fell to the ground clutching his knee. He began to scream in a pitch resembling fingernails on a chalkboard. DJ rose to get a better angle on the downed man. He fired one more shot. Then all was silent.

  CHAPTER 29

  Suddenly the big truck’s engine came to life and it started to peel out. DJ hadn’t considered that there could be a third person in the truck. He didn’t want to shoot up the truck, but he couldn’t let whoever was in there get away. He centered his rifle’s sight on the door and let off three quick rounds. At least one of them must have found its mark, as the truck slowed and turned toward the ditch. The front right tire went down the embankment, making it look like a bull lowering its head in preparation to charge. A second later, it began to climb up the other side as the left front went down. It seemed like slow motion, but the high center of gravity coupled with the uneven terrain caused the truck to roll onto its side like a dead elephant. Its baby, the four-wheeler, came off the hitch and just stood on the side of the road as if it were mourning its dead mother.

  DJ just stared as the wheels in the air turned slower and slower. “Shit,” he said aloud. He walked toward the road, keeping an eye on the truck lest someone should emerge from it. He got to the fence and gingerly climbed over. Moving around the truck, he could see a young woman behind the wheel. She was lying over on the driver’s door, holding her neck as blood squirted out between her fingers. DJ tipped his head to one side as he looked at her. She was very pretty. He shook his head, almost imperceptibly, at the indignity and hopelessness of this tragedy. She wasn’t quite as attractive as Crystal had been, but it was still a shame. As he watched, the squirts had less and less force until they became a drip. The girl’s eyes closed.

  DJ looked at the impotent beast the truck had become. “Fuck me,” he whispered.

  * * *

  “All right, I’m off to guard duty. Then I’m going home to get some shut-eye,” Gabe said.

  “You be careful, Gabe. Remember, you’ve got a big day coming up and I don’t want so much as a scratch on you,” Jane said with a wink.

  “I have no idea what day you could be talking about, Mrs. Walker,” he said with a big smirk.

  She grabbed the dish towel draped over her shoulder and swung it at him. He jumped back just before it made contact. “Whoa, there. Not a scratch, remember?”

  Her eyes narrowed, showing the laugh lines he found so appealing. He quickly stepped back in, grabbed her around the waist, and kissed her. It seemed to last forever, until it was over. He wanted another, but knew he had to get going. He gave her a peck on her forehead.

  “Thanks for dinner,” he called out above the squeaking of the screen door spring.

  * * *

  DJ didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t in any shape to walk anywhere
, but he couldn’t stay here now. He really shouldn’t leave the four-wheeler here, either. It could be tied to him, but there was no way to push it far enough away for someone not to suspect it was connected to the three dead teenagers. He saw the rope the big one was going to use to tie the quad to the truck, and he got an idea. Maybe he could tie the steering apparatus on the broken wheel so that it would stay straight. He wouldn’t be able to make any sharp turns, but if he leaned over enough to get the weight onto the working side, maybe he could at least get far enough to divert any suspicion. He grabbed the rope and went to work.

  It took about forty-five minutes of trial and error, but the result worked even better than he had expected. The only real downside was that it hurt his back to lean out far enough to get the quad to turn, but he still had plenty of Vicodin. He would have to be careful how much he loaded on the quad and where, but he might be able to make it all the way to his retreat like this. He cut the fence and drove over to his camp. As quickly as possible, he loaded only what he had to have onto the crippled machine, careful not to leave anything with a serial number or any other identifying marks, and hid the rest. Then he made a huge loop on the quad and headed back out to the road.