Yeah, it was a shit situation that wasn’t going our way.
A plan gelled inside my head.
“Okay. We draw them in, then,” I said. “Finish it.”
“Copy that,” Jackal replied.
I moved across the kitchen to the small open area next to the bottom row of cabinets. I kept low and out of sight, hidden within the small cloak of darkness that remained, waiting for the gangbangers to present me with a viable target.
Jackal made a wide arch and headed for the hallway.
The two men traversed the steps. They came inside with weapons drawn and ready. I didn’t open fire, but drew them in with the lull of silence.
The floors creaked. Panted breaths escaped their mouths. They whispered in a low tone, making it hard to understand what they were saying.
“Oh shit,” one of the men said aloud. “They got Tripp.”
I poked my head out and snuck a peek. A stocky, muscular man knelt next to Gold Chain while his plump cohort swept the kitchen. He felt Gold Chain’s neck, then dipped his chin.
“The Young Bloods–”
I took Fat Boy out first with a headshot. His head snapped back as his legs gave out.
The stocky man flinched, then brought his Glock to bear. He glanced back to his partner, then searched for the source of the gunshot. He swept the kitchen from side to side. We locked eyes for a second before I released him from this world.
A slug to the head and he was finished. A fine-red mist tainted the air behind him. He slumped forward, then fell face first to the floor.
The remaining gangbangers breached the front door with rifles shouldered. They funneled inside the house, searching for any threats. My magazine was almost depleted, so I had to make each shot count.
They spotted me in the kitchen, tucked in the corner near the cabinets. Their faces were fixed with scowls and furrowed brows as they charged through the living room toward me.
A flash of white loomed from the hallway, followed by the harsh bark of Jackal’s Glock. The trailing gangbanger took a slug to the head and went down. Another round chambered off, striking the lone thug in the temple.
His arms fell lifeless to his side. The rifle clutched in his hands clattered off the floor. He hit with a dense thud.
Jackal emerged from the hallway with his Glock trained at the bodies in the living room. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I stood up, and moved across the kitchen in his direction.
Jackal lowered his piece to the floor, but kept his finger over the trigger. “So, you got something useful out of Gold Chain in there?”
“I did.” I peered at Gold Chain, then back to Jackal. “Remember that red Chevy lowrider we saw hauling ass away from the house earlier?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“That was our mark.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CORY
We made it out by the skin of our teeth. It was another close call that could’ve gone either way.
I kept the gas pedal mashed to the floor, trying to put distance between us and any Young Bloods who sought out the cherry red lowrider. We stuck out like a sore thumb for the rival gang, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
My side ached, and my head throbbed. I ignored the pain as best I could, but it persisted. The bottle of oxy I’d scored called to me from the black bag snuggled next to my hip. I didn’t have any water to wash the pills down. They’d have to go down dry.
I unzipped the bag, then dug my hand inside. My eyes shifted from the road to the interior as my fingers felt for the bottle.
Cars were few and far between, making it easier to navigate the projects.
Certain intersections were blocked off by police barricades, the only real sign of authority in the ghetto. Some barriers stood in place, flashing their yellow lights, warning of the dangers that loomed down the road. Other blockades had been run over and demolished into busted pieces that littered the streets.
Bingo.
I pulled the bottle out, then popped the top. I glanced inside the container, spotting the white oval pain relief pills rattling about. Dosage? Who knew? I figured I’d start with one, then go from there.
The edge of the plastic bottle pressed to my mouth. I tilted it at an angle, then gave it a shake. My tongue fished out one of the pills, then reeled it in. It went down as smooth as could be expected without the aid of any fluid.
I secured the top in place, then tossed the bottle back into the bag.
Anna sat with her hands cupped together between her legs. A distant look filled her gaze as she stared off into space. She lifted one hand and nibbled at the ends of her fingers, biting at the skin and nails that were already cut short. There wasn’t much there to consume.
She hadn’t said much of anything since we’d left Tripp’s place. I could only imagine what must have been going through her head.
I was frazzled, but made sure to not show the angst and frustration that ate away at me on the inside.
“You keep biting at your fingers like that, you’ll soon hit bone,” I said, trying to break the silence.
Anna removed her fingers from her mouth, and tucked both hands under her legs–away from prying eyes. “It’s a bad habit that I’ve had since I was younger. One of my coping mechanisms for stressful situations. It’s embarrassing, I know, but it helps me calm down and think straight. I guess there’s worse things I could do.”
“No judgement here,” I replied while lifting my hand in the air. “I’ve got plenty of bad habits that I’d love to kick myself. I haven’t been successful yet, but I’m trying.”
“Yeah, well–” Anna shook her head, and peered down to the floorboard. “Never mind. Just forget it.”
She had something weighing on her mind. That much was certain from the way her foot rapped against the floorboard nonstop, and the way she shifted in the seat. She shot me a glance from the corner of her eye, but then looked away without speaking.
“You sure?” I asked. “I’m a pretty good listener, or try to be. I know this probably hasn’t been easy for you. I’m sorry that you got dragged into what happened back there. That wasn’t my intent. It shouldn’t have gone down like it did.”
Anna shrugged. “It’s okay. Believe it or not, it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever seen or been a part of. Tales of a troubled youth, I guess. Besides, given the current state of things in the city, I’d say it’s just par for the course, or so my dad used to say when things went sour.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. Since the tsunami slammed the coast, and the devastating earthquake followed close behind, LA had been run through the ringer. For the parts of the city we were driving through, it was difficult to tell whether the earthquake had caused the damage, or if it was just the projects.
Anna leaned forward, then fished her phone from her back pocket. She picked at her fingers some more, then shook her hand.
The screen flashed white as the phone booted up. Her eyes fixed to the screen as she waited for it to finish loading.
I checked the side-view mirror for any trailing cars, but spotted none that caused any real concern.
Scarface, and the other hit men lingered in the back of my mind, making me wonder where they’d pop up next. It kept me on guard and keen to my surroundings.
“Son of a bitch,” Anna said under her breath. The tip of her finger pecked against the bright screen. She gritted her teeth, then sighed. “I can’t get this piece of crap to connect to anything. Nothing’s working. The signal bar, or whatever the hell it’s called, just has a circle with a line through it.”
She turned the phone toward me, pointing out the absence of any bars.
“Networks are still up and down from the looks of it,” I said. “They’ve been buggy since the tsunami hit.”
Her face scrunched in confusion. “Can tsunami’s even do that? Disrupt cell service?”
I shrugged. “No clue. I guess it’s possible. Something’s disrupting communications.”
I leaned toward the steering wheel, and retrieved my phone from my back pocket. I thumbed the power button. The screen flashed white, presenting me with an array of apps. In the top right corner, no bars were visible. It was the same thing as Anna’s phone–a circle with a diagonal line going through the middle of it.
Great.
“Watch out,” Anna shouted while pointing through the windshield.
A car pulled out in front of us from the Shell gas station we were passing by.
I dropped my phone to my lap, then jerked the steering wheel clockwise. I laid on the horn, trying to get the driver’s attention.
Tires squealed.
Anna screeched.
She grabbed the door handle, and held firm to keep from sliding along the tan bench seat.
The bed of the truck fishtailed as we missed the slow-moving sedan by a hair. The car didn’t brake or stop, but kept venturing out into the street at a snail’s pace, as if we weren’t there.
“Jesus Christ.” I brought the truck under submission, and straightened out the vehicle.
“Are they blind or something?” Anna asked in a huff as she glanced through the back window. “It’s not like we appeared out of thin air.”
My heart hammered. I struggled to catch my breath. I felt lightheaded from the near collision.
Both hands gripped the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles turned milky white. “I don’t know, but I’m glad we didn’t get into a fender bender.”
I pulled off to the side of the road–parking next to the curb. I threw the truck in park and exhaled.
The sedan passed by without the driver giving us a second look. They continued on their way down the street, then vanished around the corner at the next street.
Anna mumbled under her breath, flicking her hand in the car’s direction. “Some people can’t drive for shit. I swear.”
I turned toward Anna. “Just be glad we didn’t–”
A vehicle came into view from the passenger side-view mirror. The black, older-model car crept along the street and stopped in the middle of the road.
That’s strange.
“What is it?” Anna asked.
I placed my arm along the top of the bench seat, then peered through the rear window. “I’m not sure.”
A car passed the idling vehicle, honking its horn as it sped by.
Anna looked in the side-view mirror. “Why is that car parked in the road like that?”
A bad feeling washed over me. My mind raced, wondering who lurked within the vehicle.
Anna craned her neck, then pressed the side of her face to the window to get a better view of the car.
I faced forward in the driver’s seat, then took a deep breath to calm my frayed nerves. I grabbed the gear shift on the column. My foot pressed the gas, revving the engine.
Anna looked away from the street, then shot me a bewildered gaze. “I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but I’m getting creeped out.”
“Yeah. I don’t like it either,” I replied.
The engine seethed.
A slight rattle loomed from under the hood of the truck.
Anna peered to the floorboard, then back to me. She sat back in the seat, and closed her eyes.
I watched the vehicle as my hand gripped the gear shift. “Make sure your seat belt is fastened. Doesn’t look like we’re out of the woods yet.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CORY
A game of cat and mouse.
The vehicle sat idle for a moment longer before taking off. It barreled down the street at full tilt.
I slammed the truck into drive and punched the gas. The back tires spun, fighting as we pulled away from the curb. The bed of the truck drifted inward some as we drove out into the street.
The speedometer climbed, but not as fast as I wanted it to. My hands rapped against the steering wheel, muttering to the vehicle to go faster.
The car gained on us in a blink. I recognized the symbol on the hood of the approaching vehicle. An Oldsmobile Cutlass.
It closed in fast.
The grille vanished behind the bed of the lowrider. The car nudged the bumper of the truck, causing us to sway. The lowrider drifted from side to side, but I corrected our course.
I wrenched the steering wheel counterclockwise at the approaching street. The tires squealed as I worked the brake and gas in tandem.
The lowrider bottomed out over the dip in the road. The bumper scraped over asphalt. The impact thrashed us about.
Anna panicked.
A muffled scream pushed through her pursed lips. She gripped the handle near the door a bit tighter.
I flitted my gaze to the rearview mirror. The bumper of the Cutlass raked across the road as the front end of the car rolled through the dip. Sparks ignited from the undercarriage. The hubcap on the passenger side popped off and rolled across the street.
The vehicle drifted to the side, then slowed down to avoid running into a parked car.
My eyes shifted to the road ahead, then to the rearview mirror–watching the Cutlass’s every move. It missed the parked car by a scant inch and continued on.
I took Pennington Blvd at full speed–clipping the curb with the back-passenger tire. The truck jolted from the contact but held firm.
The Cutlass appeared around the corner of the building a few seconds later. It drifted onto Pennington Blvd and continued its pursuit.
Damn it.
The intersection ahead was blocked with an array of vehicles. There was no way through the parking lot of steel except for the openings near the corners of the buildings on the sidewalks. It looked like a tight fit, but it was our only shot.
“Son of a bitch,” I said in frustration.
“What are we going to do?”
“Thread the needle,” I replied.
Anna turned and stared at me with a dumbfounded expression. “Thread the what?
A sedan pulled out from the side of a condemned building up the road. It stopped in the street, blocking our path. The dark-tinted windows rolled down.
Anna drew a sharp breath as we bore down on the stationary vehicle.
I kept going, knowing full well what would happen.
I pushed the lowrider harder, trying to squeeze every ounce of horsepower out of the meager engine. The truck sped up, but not by much.
The Cutlass gained ground and sought to box us in. It followed close, but didn’t ram us.
Arms stretched out of the open windows of the sedan, holding what appeared to be small firearms.
Oh shit.
The two black males facing us in the sedan opened fire. White flashes lit up the scowls on their faces.
I jerked the steering wheel toward Anna, sending the lowrider into the next lane. The swarm of bullets pelted the hood of the truck and up to the windshield.
Anna screamed, and ducked down in the seat. She covered her head with her arms.
Bullets ricocheted off the windshield while some punched through. Each impact spiderwebbed the glass, making it hard to see.
I leaned her way, and peered over the dash while trying to keep us from hitting one of the parked cars near the sidewalk.
A hailstorm of small arms fire raining down upon us as we passed the sedan. The driver’s side window shattered. Glass bounced off my arms and face, then gathered on the floorboard.
A torrent of wind gusted inside the cab. Jagged pieces of glass rimmed the window like teeth.
The lowrider bounced over the curb and onto the sidewalk. I worked the steering wheel from side to side while pressing the gas to the floor.
The Cutlass stalked us from behind, maintaining a steady pace with us. They showed no hint of stopping.
The truck drifted closer to the building we were driving alongside. The far edge of the passenger mirror scraped over the wall. It was now or never.
We blew past the non-working pedestrian light signal and sped through the opening. The driver’s side door made contact with the thick, chrome bumper of the
truck we passed.
Tortured metal groaned as the lowrider rocked. The truck swerved as we made a wide arch onto Duncan Ave.
I pumped the brake, but it was too late. The front bumper ran the length of the small white hatchback parked on the side of the street.
The truck jolted and slowed, but we kept moving.
The Cutlass ran the gauntlet and rammed its way through, but not without taking a beating.
The front end was smashed to hell.
The headlights were gone, and the hood was crumpled up. Smoke vented from the busted grille as the Cutlass drifted out of control. The car swerved from side to side before plowing head on into the white hatchback.
The passenger side of the small-white car lifted off the ground a few inches. The horn from the Cutlass blared. More smoke plumed from the front end as the occupants staggered out of the vehicle.
Anna cowered in the seat next to me with her arms draped over her head.
My head was on a swivel, searching for any threats that loomed within the alleyways and side streets we passed.
I took Johnson Ave at full speed.
The battered and beaten lowrider whined. The steering was off and felt lose. A loud coughing noise sounded from the engine as the aged Chevy truck spit and sputtered.
Not now. Come on.
The speedometer crept backward, dipping below fifty miles per hour. I pumped the gas pedal, but it did little good.
Anna removed her arms from her head slowly, then sat up in the seat. She looked about with a frightened gaze.
“Did we lose them? Are we safe?” Her voice trembled. She turned in the seat, and peered out the rear window.
“For now, but I imagine they won’t be far behind,” I replied while staring at the gauges on the dash.
The check engine light flashed. The knocking from the engine grew louder.
Anna leaned toward me, and craned her neck, trying to look at the gauges. “That doesn’t sound promising.”
“It’s not. I think we’re probably going to have to ditch the lowrider before too long,” I answered.
Brink of Extinction | Book 1 | Sudden Impact Page 10
