The Nightworld

by Jack Blaine

  I shrug. “I just worry about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” I have never meant anything more. She seems to know it too. Her expression goes from furious to soft.

  “Okay. I get that. Because I feel the same way about you.” She looks down for a minute, but then she looks up, fierce, and meets my eyes. “But from now on, we go in together, wherever we go. Because I worry about you too, and me waiting around while you play at some idea that you can keep me safe? That’s not going to work.”

  “Deal,” I say. There’s nothing else to say, really. She’s right. I probably can’t protect her. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try. Lara seems mollified, and we finish our meal in a more companionable silence. I keep my hand cupped over the flashlight even though I don’t think it illuminates anything past the van’s dark hulk. As I’m drinking the last of the water, we hear it.

  It’s distant, but I know it won’t be for long. An engine. Who knows what kind, maybe a truck, maybe that car I saw on my way into the city, driven by a crazy man with a gun. I kill the flashlight and take Lara’s hand. We huddle as close to the roof of the van as we can. We look at each other—her eyes reflect the dread she must see in mine. Tank stays with us; he seems to know something’s wrong. Lara puts her free arm around him and holds him.

  The engine gets louder and louder, closer and closer. It must not have a muffler; it feels like the noise is actually going to assault us. As the volume increases, I can feel fear buzzing up my spine. It’s like we’re waiting for some huge fist to make impact, and my reflexes are telling me to duck. I think I actually do duck, just a little, when the thing passes where we are. As it passes, I don’t feel relieved. Instead I imagine the sound of the motor, sputtering to a stop just a few yards past us. I imagine the driver looking back, wondering what it was he saw—a movement? A glint from our motorcycle? I see him reaching for a gun, backing up, scanning the wrecked cars for life.

  None of that happens. The vehicle passes us and keeps on going. After a minute or so, we can’t even hear it anymore. I can feel my body relax. Lara takes a deep breath and lets it out.

  “Let’s get going,” she says.

  We get Tank strapped back into the sidecar, and Lara digs an extra shirt out of her pack to put on under her jacket. It really is cold, and having the wind whip through us while we’re on the bike doesn’t help. It strikes me that Tank might be cold too. I rummage through my own pack; I threw one of the afghans from the couch in Lara’s apartment in there. I wrap it around Tank, tucking in his toes. A few strategic adjustments of the strapping holding him in, and he’s snug and warm. He looks up at me, and I can see in his eyes he’s more comfortable. When I turn around, Lara is watching me, smiling. She tilts her head at me, and it seems like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t. She just smiles wider and motions toward the bike.

  It starts with no problem. I wonder if there will ever be a time again when things like whether the bike starts will feel like less than life-or-death issues. I hope so.

  The freeway stretches ahead, an endless dark line.

  Chapter 29

  We’ve been riding awhile. My butt hurts and I wonder how Lara is feeling. Tank has found a way to use Lara’s pack as a pillow, and he’s asleep, I think. I’m thinking about pulling over for another stop, just to stretch our legs, when Lara squeezes my arm hard.

  “What?” I shout back at her, unsure if she can hear me over the bike. She leans forward and puts her mouth close to my ear.

  “I saw a light behind us!”

  I let up on the gas for a second, and the bike slows.

  “No! Keep going.”

  I can hear the fear in Lara’s voice. I give the bike more gas and look ahead. The freeway stretches flat for at least another couple of miles, but then there’s a drop-off where it descends into a valley. I turn my head so Lara can hear me better.

  “Let me know if they get any closer! I’m going to try to lose them!”

  I gun the bike, pouring on speed until I’m going so fast I worry about losing control. I just want to get down the hill with enough time to ditch whoever’s behind us—I just hope there’s an off-ramp.

  When we reach the crest of the slope, I could laugh out loud. It’s a long, steep descent, with not one, but two off-ramps to choose from. I try to decide: the first one arcs off the freeway gently, eventually ending in an intersection that must lead to the usual gas stations and restaurants. The second is too far ahead to really see, but it looks like it veers off more sharply, and it disappears behind a small hill. The freeway climbs again after that and disappears on the horizon. A perfect setup to ditch a tail.

  I decide to take a chance. I head for the second one as fast as I can. Right before it there’s a utility building—one of those metal cubes about the size of a garage that dot the landscape. It’s got a clump of three smallish pine trees nestled up against one side. As I’m passing it, an idea strikes me; I slow way down, turn off the exit ramp, and drive straight for the building. I pull the bike between it and the trees and kill the engine. Lara and I hop off and crouch next to the utility building’s wall, peeking out at the freeway. She shoves my gun at me and sets an extra clip of ammo between us.

  “If I get killed, this fits my gun. Make sure you get my gun.”

  I stare. “You’re not—”

  “Look!” Lara points to the freeway.

  We’ve hidden ourselves just in time. The lights of a car pierce the dark at the top of the hill behind us. The car is moving fast at first, but it slows once it clears the rise. I think they’re looking for our taillights. I’m right, because they slow nearly to a stop at the first exit. I can almost hear them wondering which exit we took, that one or the next, or if we took one at all. The car idles for a minute or so—it’s too far away at this point to see the people inside, but the fact that it’s a dark sedan with no markings makes me imagine that they are the kind of people who have two-way radios with them. The kind of people who shoot scientists and teenage kids without a second thought. I hope I’m wrong.

  Lara and I wait without a sound. The sedan slowly rolls closer, and I watch with horror as a window rolls down and a high-powered spotlight shines along the side of the road. I glance at the bike: Tank is being quiet, and I don’t see how they could spot the bike or us from the road. Still, I feel like holding my breath. Lara presses closer to me.

  All we can do is wait.

  It’s so quiet, really, especially when you think about the fact that we are on the side of a major freeway. The only noise is the sound of the black car, its quiet engine humming as it approaches. No birds, no wind, no horns or whizzing semi trucks. I draw back from the side of the building, and Lara and I both flatten ourselves against it. The car must be directly across from us now. I can see the individual needles of one of the tree branches, lit up by the floodlight. And there, in the cold dark, sweating underneath my jacket, I hear the sound I was hoping not to hear: the crackling static of a walkie-talkie.

  The government men have followed us somehow. I know that it seems silly to think that just because they have walkie-talkies that they’re the same guys—but I know. I just know. They’re looking for the device. I know we’re dead if they find us.

  I squeeze Lara’s hand and turn to look at her. She’s looking back, and I can see some of the fear she’s feeling. But I see something else too, something like . . . focus, I guess. She’s right here. With me. And she’s telling me that, with her eyes, with the pressure of her hand. I gather myself and try to let her know the same thing. If we die here, I want her to know I was with her.

  The car engine hums louder, and we can hear that it’s gaining some speed. After a couple of seconds, I risk peeking out again, and I see its taillights heading uphill, away from us. I wait, frozen, until it disappears from sight over the hill. Then I let out my breath.

  “They might double back. Let’s just sit here for a few minutes.” Lara sounds as relieved as I feel.

  “Better yet, let’s
just camp here for the night.” I look around at our cover. The three trees and the building will hide us pretty well from almost all angles. As long as we don’t light a fire, we should be able to sleep here safely.

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” Lara relaxes against the building.

  After about fifteen minutes, we decide it might be safe to get some stuff from the bike. I grab our packs and Lara unstraps Tank. She loops the end of the strapping through his collar. “Last thing we need is for him to run off sniffing.”

  “Good thinking. He might, and then we’d be in trouble.” I watch as she takes him to the edge of the tree cover and waits for him to pee. Then they come back to the back of the building. I spread the sleeping bag out and we all sit on it. We manage to assemble a half-decent dinner of cold canned chicken soup and some more water for all of us, including Tank. We make our bed as well as we can, and Tank snuggles in with us. I look up at the sky.

  “I don’t know the last time I saw the moon,” I say. “The cloud cover seems to be permanent.”

  “I wonder,” whispers Lara, “what really is permanent now. “ She sounds weary. “Is it always going to be dark?”

  “I hope not,” I say. Tank groans, as though he’s telling us both to keep it down. Lara laughs.

  “I guess we’d better go to sleep. Tank’s trying to get his rest.”

  “Good night,” I say, and before I know what I’m doing, I lean over and kiss her. I mean it to be a soft, good-night sort of kiss, but it turns into a melting, throbbing sort of kiss that radiates throughout my body. She kisses me right back, with so much heat that I finally have to push her away. I know we’re both wishing we were in a place where we could lose ourselves to the feelings we’re having. But we’re not. I pull up on one elbow and swallow.

  “Sorry.” I feel a little embarrassed.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “Well, maybe, I shouldn’t . . .”

  “I feel the same way you do, Nick.” I can see Lara’s eyes glittering in the dark. “Don’t be sorry. But you’re right, we’d better get some rest, because we have a long way to go yet.”

  I nod. “Want to spoon instead?”

  Lara laughs. “I do want to spoon.” She rolls over so I can hold her and we make our bodies fit together. It’s warm, and I’m almost happy.

  Chapter 30

  In the morning after we pack the bike back up, Lara produces a couple of washcloths and pronounces that she feels too grubby for words.

  “I have to at least wash behind my ears.” She makes a face. “We have enough water to last until we get there, if we’re careful.”

  “Washcloths?” I ask her with a raised eyebrow.

  She shrugs. “I figured we might need them.”

  I’m still pondering the workings of her mind—washcloths and an extra clip of ammo—when she pours half a bottle of water on hers. She hands me the bottle.

  “I’m off to have a little privacy,” she says. “Keep Tank with you, okay?”

  “Don’t go too far. And don’t get in sight of the road.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I know. Be right back.”

  I watch her go, admiring the view. Then I get my own washcloth wet. I can smell myself. A little washup couldn’t hurt.

  Three things happen, almost all at once. Lara screams, and Tank starts to growl. Before I can even look at him, something hits me from behind and I’m out cold.

  I wake to Tank licking my face and whining. For a minute I don’t remember where I am, but then I see the trees and the building and I’m on my feet. Tank stops whining and waits, like he’s waiting for me to tell him the plan. I look around. The bike is still here, along with all of our stuff. Whoever came only wanted one thing.

  I run in the direction Lara headed to wash, and I find what I’m afraid of: her jacket is on the ground. The washcloth is next to it. She’s not here.

  From far up the freeway I hear the screech of tires. I can’t see the vehicle because it’s already over the hill. I run back to the bike and start it. I’m on the road before I even think about Tank. My heart sinks, but I can’t go back. Tank is on his own.

  I push the bike as hard as I can. I can’t hear the other vehicle anymore, but as soon as I clear the hill I see it: a beat-up convertible with just the metal frame of a soft top. Some remnants of the cloth top flutter from the frame, and I wonder who trashed it. Inside the car are three people. One of them is Lara. I can see her hair whipping in the wind, and it looks like she’s struggling, even from this distance.

  The driver sees me and hits the gas. I do the same, and the bike gives me a little more, but not much. Still, I think I can catch them. Lara looks back and sees me. She struggles even harder, and the guy holding her twists one of her arms behind her back and slaps her across the face. She hits him back, and I watch in horror as he draws his fist back and slams it into her face, hard as he can. Lara slumps over, unconscious.

  I scream into the air flying by, my heart pumping. I know what will happen to her if I can’t stop them. I drive with one hand, and with the other I get my gun out of my jacket. Then I get as close as I can get—they have about fifteen feet on me that I can’t seem to catch up on. I try to keep the bike steady, and I aim for the back tire. The guy behind the wheel must see me in the rearview mirror because I hear him yell. The other guy looks back and sees my gun. He grins, then casually pulls out a gun of his own and points it at my head.

  He pulls his trigger a split second after I pull mine.

  My bullet hits the tire, and the convertible skids to the side. I wait for the impact of his shot, but his aim is thrown by the movement of the car. I can see the driver fighting the steering wheel, and losing. The car is veering off the road, and it jolts along the side of the freeway lane until it hits the grass. I hold my breath.

  Thankfully, it doesn’t roll. Before it comes to a full stop, the driver is out of his seat and running toward me. I stop the bike and jump off, just in time for him to leap on top of me. We roll together, but instantly push apart and spring to our feet. He comes in punching, but he’s wild; nothing hits home. I dodge around for a bit, trying to both avoid him and look for my gun, which I’ve lost in the tumble. There’s no time to try to get a fix on the guy who has Lara.

  I can’t see my gun anywhere, and now my opponent seems to be showing better form. He darts in with a left hook that glances off my temple when I turn. He hops back and regroups. I focus on being ready for him when he comes back at me.

  Then I hear a scream. I look in the direction of the car—it’s not Lara. She’s still limp as a rag, being dragged out of the car by the second guy. He’s the one screaming—a scary, crazy howl. I see him drop Lara on the ground and he falls on her, ripping at her clothes. Something deep inside me starts to burn, white-hot.

  My distraction has been a welcome opening for the guy in front of me. He comes for me. But he hasn’t banked on my anger. I don’t know where my focus comes from or how I know just where to hit him; I’ve never been in a fight in my life. But I roundhouse-punch him harder than I’ve ever hit anything, and he drops like a stone. I don’t even stop to look, just run past him to where I’ve finally spotted my gun on the ground. By the time I scoop it up, the guy on Lara has seen his friend and he’s heading my way. I stand still, pointing the gun right at his head. He slows when he sees it, and then he stops. He has a weird, crooked smile on his face and tilts his head. Now that I have a chance to get a good look at him, I can see he’s older, somewhere around fifty maybe. He’s got a scar on his throat, a ragged red thing that crosses his Adam’s apple and jumps every time he swallows. He’s shaved his eyebrows or something—in any case, they aren’t there.

  “You won’t pull the trigger.”

  I stay silent. He smiles wider and starts walking, slow little steps in my direction. I shake my head.

  “You’d better stop.”

  He does. But he laughs too. “Or what, little boy?” He does a little dance step in place. “You know,” he says, “I�
��m going to kill you.” He reaches slowly inside his vest and draws out a knife. It’s big, and serrated. “I’m going to kill you quick, because you bore me. But then I’m going to go get your girl.” He nods in Lara’s direction. “I’m going to do things to her, and then I’m going to kill her too. Only slow.” He runs his finger along the edge of the knife, hard enough to cut his own flesh. Blood springs from his finger. Then he starts his tiny steps again, moving toward me.

  “I’ll fucking kill you.” I hold my gun straight out, aiming right for his head. I mean it, and I realize that my life is about to change. I’m going to kill a man.

  “No, you won’t, little boy.” He whispers the words, and then he smiles. He licks the blood from his finger.

  Then his head explodes.

  Chapter 31

  The guy sinks down to the ground, blood covering his face. Behind him, Lara stands shaking, holding her gun. I run to her.

  “I couldn’t find it—the gun. They took it from me. But it was in the front seat.” She sounds strange, her voice monotone.

  “Are you okay?”

  “He told me all the things he was going to do to me. He kept saying all the things . . . he was going to do.”

  “He’s not going to hurt you.” I ease the gun from her hand and pocket it. I put my arm around her. For a minute I just hold her. I feel her breathing, and I thank whatever power might exist that she is still alive. Her head is buried in my chest, and she clings to me, holding me as tight as I hold her. We sway a little, standing there by the side of the road, almost like we’re slow-dancing, next to a dead man.

  I hear something, and I look past Lara’s hair. The guy I punched is getting up, eyes glittering in the dim light, a knife in his hand. He rises slowly, like a panther, and starts toward us, making a low growling sound in his throat as he comes. I raise my gun with my other arm still wrapped around Lara, and I whisper to her. “I’m going to shoot the gun now.” And then I do, sending a bullet into his skull.