by Trent Reedy
“We’re on the run from the FBI,” I said.
“Be serious,” said Becca.
I pointed at the federal agents, who had spotted us and were running our way. “I am serious. Bye.”
JoBell took one look at the men and ran after me. “Oh no. We’re coming too.” She pushed the driver’s seat forward and scrambled into the back.
“There’s no reason for you girls to get mixed up in this,” Sweeney said, even as Becca shoved him aside and climbed in the back after Cal. Me and Sweeney slid in and I fired up the car. Its engine absolutely roared.
“Daniel Wright!” the gun-toting agent shouted. They were two rows of cars away from us. “Stop right there. We need to talk to you.”
“He got a gun. Just wants to talk,” Cal said.
“Talk to the squealing tires.” I hammered on the gas and the Mustang’s wheels screamed. We shot ahead so fast, I almost dumped it in the ditch next to the driveway. “Which way?” I asked when we were on the road.
“Away from the cop!” Sweeney yelled. The car parked halfway in the grass had started flashing red and blue lights in its windshield. It was one of those sneaky cars-that-don’t-look-like-a-cop-car types of cop cars.
Becca leaned forward from the backseat. “No, no, they’ll have cars everywhere. Head south. Get around that cop.”
“You guys better strap in!” I laid on the gas and we shot off fast. Fifty, sixty, seventy … “Hold on!” The black car was trying to block the road. He was halfway across the centerline when I reached him. “Gonna bite a little shoulder here!” The wheels hit loose gravel on the side of the road and I felt the car skid like some shaky, rocket-powered sled. I relaxed on the wheel for a second to regain control before easing it back onto the road and gunning it again. Eighty, ninety …
My grip on the wheel was so tight that my fingers ached. I stared straight ahead, barely even risking a look in my mirrors at the two screaming cop cars that now followed us, keeping focused on the road. Biting my lip to concentrate, breathing deeply through my nose to try to calm my racing heart, I pushed the gas pedal down farther.
“You gotta go faster, dude,” said Sweeney. “They’re gaining on us.”
“But this is a Mustang,” said JoBell. “They’re driving plain Fords, like my mom’s work car.”
“The cops pack a lot more power under the hood than your mom’s grocery-getter,” I said. “Sweeney, remember all those times I said no when you asked me to disable the speed governor on this thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry about that.” A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. I didn’t dare take my hands off the wheel to wipe it. It went in my eye and I blinked it away. “Can someone switch on the air conditioner?”
Ahead, an oncoming semi filled the other lane, and a little Honda pulled up to the edge of a driveway. If he pulled onto the road in front of us, we’d have nowhere to go, and we were cooking along way too fast to slow down in time. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it,” I said to him. The Honda pulled out several car lengths in front of us. “You son of a bitch!” If we’d been going normal speed it would be no problem, but we were flying. “Damn it! Hold on, everybody!”
I whipped the car into the left lane to pass the Honda and put the pedal to the floor.
“Truck!” JoBell screamed. The semi straight ahead blew its air horns and flashed its lights.
“I got it. I got it.” For a second, I thought the cold terror down in my gut would make me lose it in my pants. I’d misjudged the vehicle interval. There was no room.
The second we passed the Honda, I cranked the wheel back to the right. A sound like a gunshot went off and sparks shot up by my window. The car shook, but kept going.
The semi had clipped the driver’s side mirror. My heart pounded. I checked the rearview mirror and saw the truck and the Honda pull over as the cops drove by. “Sorry, Sweeney.”
“And that, friends, is why you make room for emergency vehicles,” said Sweeney. “Well, that’s why other people should pull over. You focus on driving, Wright.”
“I have a map.” Becca held her comm out between Sweeney and me. “We’re coming up on that Y intersection. If we go right, we’ll stay on Highway 41. Or we can hook a little bit sharper turn onto Highway 54.”
I risked a glance in the rearview mirror and saw JoBell look at the comm. “Take 41,” she said. “There are way more roads that we can use to lose them.”
“Except I bet the cops will have the road blocked at the Y intersection,” Becca said. “Check this satellite view. There’s tons of trees to the right, so we can’t go around the roadblock to stay on 41. But this looks like an open grassy field at the corner of this road and 54. We might be able to drive across that to skip the roadblock.”
The speed governor kicked in and I could feel the tension going out of the accelerator. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are cruising along at about a hundred fifty miles an hour. This is as fast as this baby can go. Do we have a plan?”
“I’m with Becca,” said Cal. “Hit the grass, not the trees.”
“You try to drive onto an open field at this speed and you’ll roll it,” Sweeney said.
“Maybe there won’t be a roadblock,” JoBell said.
But I could already see red and blue lights flashing up ahead. There must have been a dozen cars sitting on the road. As we approached, I spotted police, regular uniformed guys, not the suited federal agents that had been at the school.
“They have guns,” JoBell said.
I’d seen that too. This was stupid. What if they opened fire? What if I couldn’t keep control when we drove through the grass field? What if there was no grass field? I could get my friends killed here. “Maybe we should give up.” The cops behind us were closing to within three car lengths. “There’s no way we can get away.”
Sweeney hit his head back against the headrest. “Dude, we’ve been over this. If you were just going to give up after all, you should have done it back at the school, before we were doing one-fifty and running from the FBI.”
We were coming up on the barricade fast. I could see a clearing on the left side of the road, which looked like the open field Becca had mentioned. But those satellite images were crap. What if there were tons of rocks or a big ravine or something else to tear us apart?
JoBell squeezed my shoulder. “Whatever this is all about, I trust you. I believe in you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We really need to talk about that. Hold on, everybody. This is a Mustang, and we’re about to ride it like a rodeo.”
“I so don’t like the sound of that,” said Sweeney.
As soon as we reached the open field, I cranked the wheel to the left and we launched off the shoulder down a little drop into the grass. The back tires slid and we fishtailed for a moment. The girls screamed. Sweeney screamed. Hell, I think I might have screamed. In the next second, I spotted a gentler-looking part of the embankment, and if not for my seat belt I would have flown up out of my seat when we jumped up onto the other highway.
“You did it!” Cal shouted. “One cop car spun out in the grass. He slowed way down before he came up on this road.”
When I’d steadied us on Highway 54, I checked my mirror. The police at the barricade were scrambling to their cars to follow. The two black FBI cars pulled out ahead of them and were after us again.
Sweeney slapped the dashboard. “Dude, let’s head onto one of these county highways. We can make two or three turns onto other back roads before they’ve made their first. We’ll lose them.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Hold on.” I eased on the brake to slow down enough to make the corner. But right as I approached the intersection, about six police cars pulled out from behind the trees on the left to block the road. “Oh shit!” I stomped on the brakes hard, and we skidded out of control. We were going to slide right into the police. I yanked the emergency brake lever back and cranked the wheel hard to the left again, this time sending the Mustang into a sliding three-sixty
spin.
“We’re gonna die!” Cal screamed.
“These tires are so expensive,” said Sweeney.
I bit my lip and held the brake and the wheel. There was nothing more I could do. We would crash or we wouldn’t.
Finally, we stopped. I opened my eyes, though I hadn’t even realized I’d squeezed them shut. Then I sat back in my seat and unclenched my fingers from the steering wheel, grateful I hadn’t killed us all. I let out a sigh of relief.
“Get out of the car!” An officer tapped my window with his .45.
“Oh, now we’re in trouble,” Cal said. He ran his hands down his face.
The black FBI cars pulled up, followed by the other police from the first barricade. We were surrounded now. “I’m sorry, guys,” I said. “I’m really —”
“Get out of the car!” the officer yelled again. At least now he wasn’t pointing the .45 at us. We all climbed out. Tension rocked through my whole body. It was like being all tight with my fists, ready for a fight, only with no way to let loose all the adrenaline. I couldn’t fight all these cops.
The FBI agents piled out of their cars and drew their weapons right away — a mix of nine mils, .38s, and .45s. The police all around us hoisted their weapons. Most of the cops had guns like the FBI’s, but some had shotguns, and several were packing AR15 assault rifles. They were all tense, ready to shoot. Did they think we were packing?
The officer who had come to my window took two steps closer and raised his .45. “Don’t move! You’re under arrest.”
I slowly raised my hands in the air to show them I was unarmed.
“He said, don’t move,” Sweeney said out of the side of his mouth.
“Bill,” said the officer to another behind him, “get these kids in my car.”
“Let’s go,” said a voice behind me. I felt a firm grip on my shoulder pushing me back behind the barricade. He opened the back door of one squad car and motioned for us to get in.
One of the FBI agents lowered his weapon and gestured for his fellow agents to do the same. “Thanks for your help.” He smiled at the lead cop. “You can handle the other kids with whatever you want to charge them with, but I need to take Daniel Wright with me right away.” The lead cop remained completely serious. The Fed agent frowned. “Is there a problem?”
The police officer nodded to the other uniformed police. “Now, boys.”
Suddenly a dozen cops rushed the FBI men, grabbing their weapons and slapping them in handcuffs. The Feds struggled a little bit, but stopped when the cops showed them their guns.
“I guess you didn’t understand me,” said the lead cop. “I’m Sheriff Nathan Crow, and you men are the ones under arrest.”
“You can’t do this!” the FBI agent said. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
The sheriff didn’t move. “Like I said, I’m Sheriff Nathan Crow. Governor Montaine sends his regards.” He motioned to another officer standing by him. “Get these men loaded and take them back to the lockup at Freedom Lake.” He stepped out into the middle of the small army of policemen. “The rest of you, get out on patrol. See if these Feds brought any of their friends along.”
The sheriff laughed when he saw us standing outside his car. “Well, don’t look so surprised. What? Did you think I was arresting you?”
“I was driving one-fifty in a sixty-five zone, Sheriff Crow,” I said.
“Recklessly,” Sweeney added. I elbowed him.
“Please, call me Nathan.” The sheriff reached out his hand and I shook it. “You probably don’t remember me, Danny, and of course now it’s been a long time, but your father and I were good friends. You sure have grown!”
My father didn’t come up in conversation that much, so when he did, it always threw me off. Sheriff Crow was right — I didn’t remember him — but if he had been friends with my dad, he must be a good guy.
“I’m glad we were able to catch you!” The sheriff slapped me on the shoulder. “I thought the first barricade would have been enough to rescue you, but I’ve never seen moves like yours, ’cept in the movies. No wonder you made it past them.”
JoBell looked from Sheriff Crow to me and then back again. “Wait a minute. Why is the governor involved in this? What’s going on here?”
“She doesn’t know?” Crow asked.
I shook my head. Governor Montaine must have told him why these FBI guys were after me.
“No, I don’t know.” JoBell glared at me. Tears were welling up in her eyes. “But I just risked my life on the run with you, so I better get some answers soon.”
“This is supposed to be kept secret,” Crow said.
“What’s supposed to be kept secret?” JoBell asked. Then she gasped. “Oh no.” She wiped her tears with one hand. “You mean, you … You didn’t stay home to help your mom that Friday night, did you?”
Becca put her arm around JoBell’s shoulders. “It’s okay.”
JoBell’s tears were rolling down her cheeks now. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Sheriff, is there some place me and my friends can go to talk in private?” I asked.
“Sure.” The sheriff shrugged. “You’re free to go, if you’re okay driving home. I ask that you remain vigilant, and keep an eye out for more Fed agents.”
“Come on, Jo. Let’s get in the car.” Becca gently led JoBell back to the Mustang.
Sheriff Crow handed me a slip of paper. “Here’s the governor’s personal comm number. He wants you to contact him as soon as you can.” He gave me another slip. “Here’s my number. If you have any more trouble, if you need anything at all, feel free to contact me. I mean it. Your father and I were real close. I take friendship very seriously. You need help, call.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I will. Do you know what the governor wants?” I snuck a peek toward JoBell and my friends back at the car. JoBell was still crying.
Crow patted me on the shoulder. “He didn’t tell me. I’m only a sheriff.” He nodded toward JoBell. “But it seems to me you have more important people to deal with. The governor can wait.” He held out his hand, and I shook it. “You’re a good kid. A good man. You got guts, and I have a lot of respect for you. Hang in there.”
“Thanks,” I said. “For everything.”
* * *
Sweeney let me drive again, saying I’d earned it after that crazy chase. As I steered us back toward Freedom Lake, this time at an easy sixty miles per hour, nobody spoke for a while. I think we were all trying to take in what had just happened.
“You know,” Sweeney said after a long time, “I know we were almost caught by the FBI and we almost crashed and everything. But still, you have to admit, that was … kind of awesome.” He gave me a light punch to the shoulder, and then hit a fist bump with Cal, who was riding in the middle of the backseat. “Dude, you whipped us into such an awesome spin! How did you know how to do that?”
I bit my lip to hold back my smile.
“Eric,” Becca said. “Not now.”
I caught a glimpse of JoBell’s tear-soaked face in the rearview mirror. “I don’t feel like going back to school right now,” I said. “Everybody cool if we head out to Party Bridge?”
“Yeah,” Cal said. “I don’t even want to be in school on a normal day. After all this? Forget about it.”
“Sounds good,” said Sweeney.
“Yeah,” Becca said.
JoBell stayed silent.
I drove around the ROAD CLOSED sign on the Abandoned Highway of Love and then steered slowly down the middle of the road, veering into the right lane at the point where most of the left lane had long since fallen into the river.
“Party Bridge,” Cal said after everyone had climbed out of the car. “Too bad we got no beer.”
“It’s twelve thirty in the afternoon,” Becca said. She watched JoBell duck under the I-beam to walk out on the bridge. “Hey, Cal, Eric. We better make sure the Mustang is okay after that chase. Help me check it out, okay?”
“Wha —?” Cal
did his thing where he tilted his head to the side and screwed up his face with his left eye closed. “Wright’s the mechanic. He’s the one —”
Becca grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him over to the car. “I think we should check it.”
She winked at me and I mouthed the words thank you. I put my hands on top of the I-beam and vaulted over.
JoBell was leaning against the guardrail in the middle of the bridge with her arms folded. I sidestepped a hole in the pavement as I approached. The gurgle of the water rushing around the rocks below would cover our voices and give us some privacy.
“Oh yeah!” Cal called out from behind me. “Yeah, the three of us better check this car out to make sure it’s okay.”
“Would you shut up?” Becca hissed at him.
“Cal’s a pretty rotten actor,” I said when I stepped up to JoBell.
She finally looked up at me. “You’re a great actor. You fooled me.”
The tears were welling up in her eyes again. I couldn’t stand to see her cry. I slowly reached out for her hands, grateful when she took mine and rubbed them with her thumbs. Maybe I had a chance of keeping her. “I wanted to tell you right away. Only Governor Montaine said —”
She pulled her hands away. “I don’t give a damn what Governor Montaine said.”
“It’s not only that,” I said quickly. “I tried to tell you that first Monday before school, but I could hardly get a word in, and you were flashing my photo on your comm. And every time I see that photo, I remember that girl. Makes me want to —”
“That’s you in that photo?” JoBell stood up straight and backed away from me a couple steps. “I can’t believe … you were there. You’re one of them.”
“You have to understand. It’s not like —”
“Did you …” She waved her hand to fan her reddening face. “Did you … kill her?”
“JoBell, no.” I reached for her again but she backed away. Tears rolled down her face. What was she thinking? Did she hate me? Was I nothing more than one of the Butchers of Boise to her now? “Let me explain.”
“You’re one of the shooters?”
When she put it like that, it sounded like she was asking if I was a murderer.
