Tried the switch again.
Nothing.
No power.
His gaze came to level and he stared out the windshield. Keep going, he told himself. Just keep going. He sucked in a deep breath, left the Humvee behind, and raced across the concrete floor to the GTO. He climbed in and checked the ignition.
No keys.
He checked the visor.
Nothing.
He patted around in the near darkness, feeling for the keys, hoping they were still in the car.
They weren't.
He was tired, dog-tired. His shoulder was throbbing again, a sharp annoying pain, but one he had become accustom to feeling. He was leaving Kate behind. He'd promised he would keep her safe. He'd promised Hannah and Cheryl the same thing. He'd promised he would kill Cyrus. Vowed he would kill David.
He had failed on all counts.
But he wasn't dead, so that was something, right?
He ducked under the dashboard thinking he could hotwire the car. But it was dark. None of the wires had any color. They all appeared to be different shades gray.
Damn.
He pulled the bundled wires out as far as they would go, hoping the weak light coming through the windshield might be enough to identify the three wires he needed.
Then he remembered.
He'd pulled the fuse on the car's dome light to keep it from coming on whenever the door opened. At the time, it had been a good idea. Now? Not so much. If he could short the fuse, he might be able to see the wires. Fumbling, blowing hair out of his eyes, he flipped open the fuse box and searched by feel for the missing fuse.
The passenger side door swung open. The springs compressed and the car rocked gently. Jesse looked up from his work. Cory was sitting on the passenger seat. Something dangled from his fingers.
Cory slammed the door shut. “Here,” he said.
Jesse heard a tinkling sound as the keys landed on the seat. Half-amazed, he pulled himself up by the steering wheel and stared at Cory.
“Go,” Cory said.
Jesse spun his feet into the floor well, stuck the key in the ignition, pumped the gas pedal to the floor once, and turned the key. The car whirred over twice and burbled to a start. He flicked on the lights.
“We've got to get to Kate,” Jesse said.
“Think,” Cory said. “How do you plan to do that?”
Jesse knew he was right, he'd already decided that getting to her was impossible. They had to get out. That was the only sane course of action, but some small part of him didn't want to let go of her just yet.
“We've got to get her.”
“No. We going?”
“Yeah,” Jesse said reluctantly.
Ahead, the roll up door was bending and vibrating. The lone latch attempting to hold it closed had bent the track and the door was askew. Long metal spears were thrust under and the entire steel door rippled with each heave from below. It was too much for the locking mechanism to take. The metal latch broke and the door rolled upward.
Four men scrambled under the gap and pushed the door higher. Two others ducked through and ran for the GTO. Jesse shifted into gear and punched the accelerator against the floorboard. The big V8 engine coughed and sputtered. He furiously pumped the pedal to keep the engine running. Then, as if to answer his beck and call, the engine blew out the overly rich mixture of gas and air and caught and roared like a beast. The back tires squealed on the slick concrete, slowly gaining traction before finding grip and launching the GTO at the men in the doorway. At the last possible second, the men jumped out of the way. One wasn't quick enough. He fell against the car, hit the mirror, and thudded off the side. The GTO shot into the darkness, cutting into the night with its twin headlight beams.
Jesse cranked hard left on the wheel. The car slewed. The body rolled to the right, pushing Jesse away from the door panel. A metal dumpster flew past, missing the front fender by inches.
He straightened out and glanced in the rearview mirror.
Men were following, but they were rapidly disappearing into the distance. He quickly went over a mental map of the place in his head. Everything looked different through the car windshield. He had a general idea of where he was going. He knew where he had to be. He just couldn't connect the dots.
The big V8 roared. He made a left, then a right, spraying bits of gravel off the spinning back wheels. Stragglers who had remained outside after the festivities staggered into the path of the speeding car. Only by sheer luck did he avoid hitting them. He cranked the wheel back and forth, weaving between bodies, seeing them flicker past as amorphous blobs of gray and black. He made a right, and then another left, thinking he had identified the correct path. The car fishtailed, whipping back and forth. Jesse fought the wheel to keep the car traveling in the approximate direction he wanted to go. He kept his foot down hard on the pedal and then lifted to brake for the next corner, swinging the backend out, nearly missing the side of the building. He got back on the gas and stared forward, realizing he'd made a mistake.
Dead end.
He lifted off the gas and slammed on the brakes. The front end dipped and the car skidded to a halt. Cory was thrown up against the dashboard. He pushed himself back onto his seat. Jesse ratcheted the shifter into reverse, put an arm over the seat back, and twisted to see out the rear window. He gunned it once to test the gear then let off the brake and stamped the accelerator down hard. The car shot backward, gravel pinging in the wheel wells. He reversed his way back to where he had made the turn then whirled the steering wheel. The car snapped around ninety degrees, pointing back the way they had come. With a slap, he knocked the gearshift into drive, punched the gas pedal, and tried to push it through the floorboard. He aimed for the gap between the buildings. Tires spun, smoke billowed, the car's posi-traction differential kept both wheels spinning equally. Each tire fought to be the first to gain traction. Slowly, the car built forward momentum.
“Hold on,” Jesse said and took a breath.
Cory was already bracing himself in his seat, one hand the dash, one of the door handle. He said nothing. He just held on while the car slipped and slid wildly.
The GTO accelerated and rocketed down a narrow strip of asphalt. Ahead was the area where they had held the feast. As they got closer, tents and pop-up overhangs flew past to either side. The car weaved around large barbecues and serving tables. Jesse twisted the wheel, drifting the car hard through a right turn. Plastic tables crashed together as the tail end of the GTO sideswiped them. He straightened the wheel and plowed through more of the flimsy tables, all while trying to avoid the heavier wooden ones. Chairs flew, clattering off the hood. Leftover food spattered on the windshield. Men screamed orders. Arms flailed. People ran. Jesse could not make out what was being said over the roaring engine and smashing furniture, but he could certainly guess it was more than mild disappointment.
He knew for certain they had to get out of there now. To be stopped and dragged out of the car would only lead to being beaten to death by those he'd almost run down.
This was their one and only chance for escape.
He let the steering wheel spin in his hands and the car straightened. He concentrated hard on what he was doing. He drove the car onto a jagged strip of asphalt he had walked earlier. It was just wide enough for the car to pass. Nothing was in his way, so he held down on the gas pedal and prayed what he had planned to do would work.
If he remembered correctly, a tight corner lay ahead. He slowed, but not enough. He stood on the brake and the car pitched into a low, cement wall, scraping the passenger-side front fender. He clunked the gearshift into reverse and backed up against another low wall on the opposite side. Slamming the gearshift into drive, he planted one foot on the brake and kept the other on the gas.
Ahead was salvation. He had the car pointed directly at it. The path was clear. The moon was full. Everything was cast in a silvery light and dewed with night mist.
He gunned the engine twice, hoping the ramp leading into the arena would
hold together long enough, hoped the car would survive the desperate flight, hoped the heavy gate leading into the raptor pens was still open and empty, hoped the final gate leading outside would be easier to bust through than the main gate. Finally, he hoped he was doing the right thing leaving Kate behind, leaving Eve behind, not killing David, not killing Cyrus as he'd promised.
But there were no second chances, no take-backs.
The gate would be open. The path had to be clear. He sucked in a deep breath and held it.
A man fell against the car and clawed at the side windows, three more were approaching with baseball bats raised, angry scowls on their faces.
“Buckle up for safety,” he said to Cory.
He squished the accelerator and held the brake. The accelerator pedal levered the steel rod that yanked on the cable that connected it to the carburetor. The thirsty four-barrel carburetor locked fully open. Fuel and air gushed into the greedy V8 engine. The tires squealed and smoked. The blue smoke enveloped the rear of the car and pushed forward over the top, finding its way in through tiny cracks in the car's body.
Jesse inhaled the acrid odor of burning rubber.
“You sure?” Cory asked.
“Yup,” Jesse said with finality.
He lifted his foot off the brake pedal.
The back end of the GTO slipped sideways as the tires fought once again to gain traction on the crumbling asphalt. The car slowly bucked forward, wanting nothing more than to answer the desperate call for velocity. The steering wheel became loose in his hands and became of little use correcting the course of the car. The needle on the tachometer flew into the red zone, saying danger, danger, danger. The whole car shook with a cacophony of noises coming from every inch of its fifty-year old Detroit steel, twisting, straining, and feeling like it wanted to rotate around its forward axis.
Aim and pray, Jesse thought, lowering his chin to his chest and looking out the front windshield at his target. Somehow, the tires generated enough friction to grip the pavement, ramming him back against the seat, depressing the seat springs until they could go no further. He held on, eyes focused only on where he wanted the old beast to go.
It headed directly for the ramp, hungrily eating up the roadway.
A man stood at the bottom entrance to the ramp.
Jesse flipped on the high beams, lighting up the night. He saw a reasonably tall man with a bald head, black circles around his eyes, wearing a crazy black and purple robe.
Cyrus, the circus freak.
Jesse aimed for him. He'd promised he would take him out and now was as good a time as any.
He willed the car forward, willed it to smash into the bald-headed man. He wanted to fold him over the hood and crush him to death. At least he could have that small satisfaction. At least he could kill that bastard.
And if he died trying, so be it.
The GTO crossed the distance.
Forty feet.
Thirty feet.
Twenty feet.
Cyrus remained there, not moving.
Ten feet.
At the last possible second, Cyrus leapt to one side, much faster than Jesse had anticipated.
It was too late to swerve.
The GTO hit the ramp. The car's springs compressed and bottomed out with a thunk. Jesse was squeezed down hard against the seat, crushing the weakened upholstery springs past their limits. The plywood ramp flexed, bent, and cracked under the weight of the GTO.
Then the supports holding the entire structure up broke.
Everything inside the car shifted to the right as the car rolled counterclockwise along its forward axis. Shards of plywood from the ramp folded, collapsed, and scrunched ahead of the car. Forward momentum carried the GTO forward.
It was no longer going to clear the top of the trailer.
The car slammed into the side of the trailer three-quarters of the way up.
Inside the car, Jesse battled to keep his grip on the steering wheel. His instincts screamed to tear his hands off the wheel and cover his face.
He held on. Clamped his eyes shut.
The two-ton mass of the GTO punched through the relatively thin steel of the trailer and burst out the far side. Airborne, Jesse found himself weightless.
Then the car nosed over, slowly at first.
Then the front end dropped away.
Then they were headed for a crushing impact.
It all felt like an eternity to Jesse. Things were moving in a blurry slow motion. He tried to yell, tried to scream, knowing what would happen next. He wanted to say, brace yourself! He wanted to say, hold on! He wanted to scream, this is going to hurt! He was yelling all this in his mind, yelling it at himself, yelling it at Cory, yelling it because that was the only possible reaction anyone could have when faced with the same impending impact with solid concrete and asphalt.
But he never had a chance to say any of it.
The car slammed into the stained and pitted asphalt and bounced wildly as the tired, leaking, spent shock absorbers sought to do the impossible. Metal scraped pavement, dug in hard, screeched, chattered, and crunched. Air burst from Jesse's lungs and through his lips. The car bounced once, twice, thrice, and continued to roll forward.
As the car slowed, events rushed back into focus.
He gritted his teeth and fought new pains. He pushed himself away from the bent steering wheel. The whole world pulsed white, grew brighter, grew dark, and grew narrow.
His head bobbed about, neck muscles failing one by one.
He saw Cory on the floorboard lying sideways, not moving.
He saw blood. Some of it was his.
Why didn’t Cory buckled up? he thought as he slumped against the steering wheel.
-35-
BREAKING BAD
EVE FELL TO her knees. Her fear was so intense that it was difficult to breathe. Cyrus was beyond upset. She had tried everything she could think of to calm him while he changed out of his robe and back into a pair of black cargo pants and button-up shirt.
What he wanted now, she knew, was for her to sell out her friends.
“I don't know them,” she said. “I swear it. I swear I don't know them. Please, don't.”
He opened the heavy steel door to his quarters, pulled her to her feet, and forced her out into the corridor. No one was in sight in either direction.
“We'll discover the truth soon enough,” he said and grabbed her by the shirt and directed her to walk ahead of him.
Weeping, drying tears, she complied. A metal stairway near the end of the corridor led down. She stepped on the first tread and gripped the metal railing, wondering if this would be the last time she ever descended these stairs. She tentatively put her foot on the second tread and shifted her grip along the railing. She almost expected him to shove her from behind and send her tumbling to her death.
He didn't.
But when she reached the bottom, she tripped and fell. He kicked her until she stood then gripped her arm, denting her flesh and pushed her forward down the darkened corridor. At the next junction, he directed her to go right and down another set of stairs then left through a long tunnel with pipes running along the ceiling and finally down one more flight, this one made from stamped metal. It rattled and swayed as she shifted her weight.
She had never been so deep inside the complex.
At the bottom, he let go of her arm and pushed her until she stood in front of a red door. A single bulb above her head burned in a wire cage and gave off a dull yellow glow. She could smell her own fear in the form of hot sweat and a vinegar-like sourness. She also detected other odors, different odors, familiar ones.
She knew who was inside the room before he opened the door, and that made her even more afraid.
Cyrus banged on the door with his fist.
No one answered.
He fumbled for the right key and stuck it into the lock.
A noise came from behind her. She whirled in time to see David arriving in a hurry. His face was made
even more hideous by the harsh shadows cast by the single light source. His missing eye was a sickly, pus-colored orb floating in a sea of melted skin. He smiled at her. The smile was both off-putting and yet oddly comforting at the same time.
She stared at him. Could he save me? Would he? She had done nothing to offend him, nothing at all as far as she could remember, but he always seemed angry with her, maybe jealous, she never was quite certain.
No, she decided. The way he had looked at her during the games had told her that. He would not save her.
She was all alone in this.
Cyrus held the door open for her. She glanced at him, searching for any clues of what he might already know, wanting to find something she could tell that would sate him. She also could not grasp what had brought on his sudden wrath, but she had a good guess. He had probably discovered that Jesse and Cory had shot and killed his men and that she had known all along.
It would be difficult to find the right words to say. She could claim fear, or she could claim she really didn't know Jesse or Cory, that they were simply other travelers and meant nothing to her, and that was why she had pretended not to know them. But, she had still been caught in her lie. She would still be punished. The best she could hope for would be to please him with some other tidbit of information.
She was ready to go in, ready to say whatever needed saying. She knew Jesse and Cory would be there, sitting, waiting. She had to find a way to tell them to keep their mouths shut.
But what she saw next shocked her.
A bare light bulb hung over a table in the middle of the room and created soft shadows that faded into pools of blackness near the walls. Across from each other in the center of the room sat Cory and Jesse, just as she had assumed. Each was bound to a chair with their arms tied behind their backs, another thing she had expected. Cory had an injury along the side of his head that she had noticed earlier when they had been reunited, yet another expectation fulfilled. What she hadn't expected was that they were in such disarray and covered with so much blood.
Jesse's head hung low in defeat. It bobbled back and forth like a toy as he tried to lift it and look in her direction.
Red Asphalt: Raptor Apocalypse Book 2 Page 29
