by Alan Janney
“This sucks,” Hannah complained and she hit the steering wheel. She did that a lot. “We have like…one gallon of gas left. We’re so close to the ramp.”
“But look. Interstate 105 is completely gridlocked too. Look at all the stalled cars. Exiting would do us no good.”
“Both 110 and 105? Priceless. Just perfect. Exactly what I need.”
So we sat. And we sat. Idly I texted Chase but he didn’t answer. And then we sat some more.
We were still sitting three hours later. She’d turned the car off to conserve gas and we were cold. We hadn’t spoken in forty-five minutes and I detected through minor clues that she blamed me for this. The trip had been her idea, though, so I didn’t feel bad. But I was cold and tired.
Pedestrians began streaming by my window a little after midnight. First a handful of people walked past and then more joined. Soon an entire river of humanity flowed by. They seemed…scared.
“What’s going on?” I was growing alarmed.
“I don’t know,” Hannah sighed. She was busy on her phone. “I hate this place so much.”
“Hannah,” I said urgently. “Hannah look.”
A man had approached our car from the rear and now he stood in the brilliant glow of our headlights, examining us. A bandana was tied over his hair. He also wore some sort of mask that covered his mouth…oh gosh. He was dressed in a poor imitation of the Outlaw. That can’t be good. Worst of all he carried a pickax! Why did he have a pickax??
“Seriously,” Hannah said contemptuously. “This is just ridiculous.”
Someone knocked on our window. We both screamed. A man bent down to yell through the window. “He wants you to get out of the car!”
“In his dreams!” Hannah yelled back.
I rolled down the window and asked, “Why?”
“Dunno, lady. But I’d get out if I were you.” He indicated the man with his head and then he kept going. The scary man shrugged and walked out of our headlights towards the tanker. He hefted the weapon over his shoulder and swung with all his might. The tool clanged off the curved side of the big oil drum.
“Oh god,” Hannah groaned. “What is this idiot doing?”
He swung again, further denting the metal. The next blow pierced the outer shell.
“Hannah, we need to go,” I urged.
“No way,” she scoffed.
He hit the tank again and again with loud bangs and finally the sharp point buried itself deeply and oil or gas or whatever burst forth. The liquid spray soaked him as he yanked free his pickax from the shower. He turned and calmly walked to the other tanker. The pungent smell of gasoline wafted through the open window.
“Hannah, now!” I yelled. I pushed open the door and climbed out. “This is dangerous, let’s go!”
“No!” she shouted. “I’m not leaving my car and walking into Compton! Look at those people!”
“Hannah!” I screamed but the crush of people surged me away from her Audi. “Hannah come on!!” The last time I saw her she was frowning and shaking her head at her phone.
There were other men dressed like the Outlaw ghosting through headlight cones. Their masks were wrong and none of them got the costume exactly correct but their intent was obvious. Dozens of Outlaws were walking through the traffic and directing travelers out of their cars. They had axes and shovels and were punching holes in all the gas tanks. We walked through streams of the gasoline.
We were herded away from the headlights and forced to climb over the interstate’s security railing. We stumbled like cattle down a poorly lit grassy hill and into a city intersection. There, however, strangely enough the Outlaw imposters forgot about us. Scary men with flashlights were ordering us down the hill, away from the interstate and into the heart of Compton, but then the crowd was allowed to go where it pleased. Most of my fellow castaways were obviously trying to get through to the police on their phones. It was midnight, the streets were mostly deserted, and we’d been forced to abandon our cars. Couldn’t get much worse!
I yanked out my phone as I stumbled along with the crowd flow.
Hannah!! Please! This is scary and they have guns. You’re sitting in a RIVER of gas. Come find me! We’ll stay together!!
Just then, Chase texted me from an unknown number!
>>Hi Katie! It’s your handsomest friend, Chase Jackson! My other phone is broken but you can text me at this number. Hope you had a good Friday!
I dialed the strange number frantically but I got a weird busy signal. I tried again. Still busy.
On the third time he answered. “Hi there! You’re up late. How’s it going?”
“Chase, I’m in trouble,” I said, trying not to cry. I was standing on the sidewalk beside a closed car detail shop. This was the closest spot I could find near the interstate. I could still see Hannah’s car on the raised Freeway. “A lot of us are.”
“What?” he asked and his voice turned hard, almost scary. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure yet, but…” I screamed. Out of nowhere, one of the masked men put a gun to my temple. I tensed and shuddered but he didn’t pull the trigger.
“Come with me,” he ordered. I didn’t argue. He shoved the gun against my head and pushed me into the street. I looked around desperately but a lot of my fellow displaced travelers had guns to their heads too. Twenty of us had apparently not been walking fast enough and we were being pressed into the middle of an intersection towards a waiting city bus. The bus had been parked underneath a blinking yellow traffic light. It was empty until we were forced to climb aboard. This was madness! What was happening?? Why was no one helping us??
A man in a mask with an assault rifle came aboard too. We sat very still in our seats. We were all cold, and wet with gas, and terrified. The bus was dark.
“Stay here,” he said. “Don’t cause trouble. You won’t be hurt.” Then he left and forcibly closed the bus doors. Trapped. Someone behind me wailed.
My phone rang. Chase!
“Chase,” I cried into the phone. “Chase I’m so scared.”
“Tell me exactly where you are,” he said.
“I don’t know! Not exactly.”
“What’s happening?”
“Men in Outlaw masks started pulling people out of their cars. Hannah is still in hers,” I sniffed.
“Are you in Glendale?”
“No,” I laughed bitterly, wiping my nose. “I’m in Compton.”
“Compton?!” he shouted. “Why are…never mind. Just tell me where.”
“In a bus,” I said, trying to think straight. “Where 105 and 110 meet. Harbor Freeway.”
“Okay.”
“Something big is happening, Chase.” Tears poured down my face and I was shivering. “We’ve been stuck for hours and I haven’t seen any police, even though everyone’s been calling. And these guys have guns.”
“Alright. I’m coming to get you.”
“No, don’t,” I sobbed. My sweet Chase. “Traffic is backed up for miles, Chase, and they put me on a bus. I’m trapped. It’s no use trying to get here.”
“I’m on the way. I will tear this city apart to find you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Friday, March 3. 2018
I spent Wednesday and Thursday night in an extravagant hotel room downtown. Natalie paid for it without my knowledge. I passed the hours by watching the news, working out in the hotel gym, and soaking in the giant jacuzzi tub. Not a bad life. Even the disease gave me a vacation; I slept and felt great.
I texted Dad and told him I’d be spending the night with Cory. But if I didn’t figure out how to appease Carter soon then I’d need to come up with some other excuse.
On Friday, after Natalie’s college classes ended, we went out for dinner. It was the nicest restaurant I’d ever been in; there were white tablecloths and candles! She dressed in disguise and no one noticed her. The diners adjacent to our table were discussing the Outlaw’s newspaper interview. To my astonishment, Natalie’s fascination with the Outlaw did not sl
acken as she spent more time with his mild-mannered alter ego, Chase Jackson. She plied me with countless questions about the masked man and his nighttime shenanigans. After she swore to secrecy, I told her about the Infected and the Chemist and PuckDaddy and the FBI and the Sniper. I left out Tank because she knew him.
“This is unbelievable,” she said when I was done. Our dinner was finished. “I mean…it’s the most incredible story I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, it’s wild.”
“So now you’re just waiting around, biding your time until the Chemist starts a big fight?” she asked with a faraway look.
“Basically. Then I’ll help Carter deal with him and any Infected we find, and everything will be back to normal.”
“You hope,” she said.
“I hope.”
“It sounds dangerous.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “But I’m okay with that. My body is…weird now, and I think it needs action and excitement almost as much as sleep or food. I can’t run from it.”
“Okay. This is too perfect. My surprise for you is ready. Let’s go look,” she said with the wild-eyed smile of an excited little girl. We walked back to her building to fetch my motorcycle. “Bikes make me nervous. I’ll meet you.”
She gave me the address and she set off to walk there. I rode to the location she’d provided, five blocks away It was an enormous Self-Storage warehouse on 6th street.
“You got me a storage unit?” I asked, bemused, when she showed up.
“Yes! Come on!”
She led me deep inside the structure to a rear deluxe unit. She used a key to take off the padlock and I raised the roll-up steel door. The extra large unit had been transformed from a bare industrial concrete bunker to a fully furnished hideout. Carpets had been installed and maps hung on the walls. A made bed was in one far corner and a computer desk in the other. A blue couch faced a flat screen television. Several large lockers and trunks had been pushed against the walls. So had two mini-fridges.
“There’s food and water and a place to recharge your bike. And a heater if it gets cold. And extra clothes. And disposable phones and tablets and a laptop and everything!”
“Natalie, what…” I was speechless.
“You need a base here in the city,” she explained. “It’s dangerous not to. Just don’t make too much noise. Technically people aren’t allowed to live in storage units.”
“This is too much.”
“Oh and there’s money,” she remembered.
“Money?”
She opened a desk drawer stuffed with stacks of cash. Each stack was worth five hundred dollars. I didn’t know that amount of money existed in one place.
“There’s twenty-five thousand in cash,” she said. “I think. I also put a check card in here for you, which accesses a bank account with five hundred thousand dollars.”
“Five hundred thousand…” I repeated but my knees got weak and I sank into the desk chair. “Natalie. You can’t.”
“Yes I can.”
“No. This is far too much.”
“Outlaw, I have so much money. I have six million dollars in my checking account. Twice that in a savings account. And it just sits there. This is the most fun I’ve ever had with it. Additionally, you’re a good man and I know you’re responsible and this is important. Los Angeles is getting crazy and you’re our rallying cry. And after your interview in the newspaper yesterday? You set the whole world on fire and it’s going to get even more dangerous.”
I didn’t know how to respond. What do you say to such blind loyalty?
“Besides,” she continued with a coy smile. “Once you realize you’re in love with me this can be our love nest.”
Natalie had a swanky party to attend. She begged me to accompany her but I declined, pointing out that I might be recognized. Instead, I settled into my new hideout. I plugged in the bike, inventoried the lockers and storage trunks, watched television, and surfed the internet. With the door rolled down, the room was pleasantly warm. I didn’t check my email or Twitter or anything else because PuckDaddy would be monitoring their access and could track the log-in information. I wished I could talk with him. Or Samantha Gear. Or Katie. Katie!
I texted her from my disposable phone. It was late. I hoped it wouldn’t wake her. She called back instantly.
“Chase,” she said. There was a lot of background noise. “I’m in trouble. A lot of us are.” Her voice was shaky.
“What? What’s wrong?”
She screamed and the line clicked dead. I leapt off the couch and called her back but the call wouldn’t go through.
“What’s going on,” I said out loud, panic rising in my throat. I turned on the television and started scanning for a news channel. “Come on Katie. Answer.” I dialed again but the call wouldn’t connect. I tried again and again before stumbling across CNN.
Finally the sixth call went through.
“Chase! I’m so scared,” she cried.
“Tell me exactly where you are,” I demanded. Compton. Home of the Chemist. My heart sank. What on earth was she doing there?! CNN came back from a commercial break and immediately put a map of Los Angeles on the screen. Police were reporting a bizarre traffic jam in south LA. All of the freeways surrounding Compton were blocked by stalled vehicles. Videos from phones showed people running down the highways, abandoning cars. It would take days to clear the mess. The city of Compton was neatly boxed in. It had to be the Chemist. This was it. He was making his move.
“I’m coming to get you.”
I hit the stopped traffic on Highway 110 three miles north of Katie’s location at one in the morning. The Compton congestion was causing snarls everywhere. Most travelers were beginning to abandon their vehicles, fearing reports of masked gunmen ahead. Some still waited in their cars, hopelessly marooned but exhausted. I glared down the jammed highway, furious at this obstacle.
My Outlaw costume was earning startled second glances. Guy next to me rolled down his window and said, “Hey, you the Outlaw?”
I turned on the Outlaw’s phone for the first time in several days. Puck, it’s me. Katie’s trapped in Compton. I’m going to call you. You better freaking answer.
Before I could dial him, he called me. His voice came through my helmet. “There you are! Where have you been, dummy??”
“Hiding. You told me to,” I snarled.
“I didn’t mean it, jerk. Or, whatever. Don’t ever leave again.”
“Katie is trapped,” I said. I began slowly picking my way through the vehicles at three miles per hour. There were too many pedestrians and too many car doors ajar to open up the throttle. I wanted to scream.
“I know, I just located her phone. She’s near one of those big loopy pretzel shaped highway interchanges, about three and a half miles ahead. She’s alive, dude. She just texted her mother.”
“You think this is the Chemist?”
“No doubt,” he replied.
“Where are Shooter and Carter?”
“On their way. East of you, going through the neighborhoods. It’s go time, baby!” He sounded giddy.
“Chemist must have hundreds of guys working with him, right? He hijacked twenty miles of interstate.”
“Right you are. Carter is shocked. But the plan remains the same. Remove the Chemist, let the rest fall apart.”
“Any sign of the target?” I asked.
“Negative. I zeroed in a satellite and I’m running facial recognition programs on all media pumping out of that area. But he’s staying in the shadows so far. Hey, Shooter is on my other line. I’m piping her into this call.”
“Why not Carter too?”
“He doesn’t love technology like the rest of us. Shooter, you hear me?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she said. “En route to the target. Welcome back, Outlaw.”
“Samantha,” I said. “Katie is in Compton.”
“What?!” she shouted in my ear. “Why?”
“I’m not sure.”
&
nbsp; “Damn it! Damn it damn it damn it!”
“I’m coming to help,” I said. “But Katie is my number one priority.”
“This is why Carter says not to get attached,” she grumbled under her breath. “Now I’m worried about a high school junior. Damn it.”
“Are you with Carter?”
“We got separated.”
The pedestrians were jumping out of the way as I advanced. Some of them began recognizing me and they waved. First one guy put his hand up for me to High Five. Then another. And another. News of my approach flew down the interstate. Before long I had a corridor lined with smiling faces and cameras.
“My journey is not going unnoticed,” I commented inside my helmet.
“Of course it isn’t,” Samantha sighed. “That’s what you do.”
“This is ridiculous.” The crowds actually cheered. Drivers were backing their cars out of my way, hastening my headlong dive towards Katie. Into the jungle. Into madness.
PuckDaddy said, “You guys want some more fun news?”
“Not really,” Samantha replied.
“Our old pal Tank is in Compton too,” he said.
“Oh. Great,” I said. Shooter and Puck fell quiet. We were all thinking the same thing: that’s why Katie was in Compton. She was with Tank. Not with me. I burned with embarrassment and jealousy. But why had he taken her there? She hadn’t mentioned him on the phone. “What’s he doing there? Could Tank be working with the Chemist?”
PuckDaddy responded, “No way. I’ve been monitoring his texts for weeks. Tank hates the Chemist. Also, Tank is in his car about a mile from Katie. I don’t think they drove to Compton together.”
“I’m confused. And pissed,” I said.
“Wow,” Puck said. “Think about this. When you three get there, that’ll be the highest concentration of Infected in… what? A hundred years? Seriously. This is awesome! Woooooooo!!”
“PuckDaddy. Focus,” Samantha ordered.
“It’s times like this I wish I could walk. I’d jump so high!” PuckDaddy shouted.
“You can’t walk?” I asked, stunned.
“Long story,” he replied. “I’ll fill you in later. I can barely think right now, the disease is so loud in my ears.”
