by Hunt, Jack
“And go where?” Leo asked.
He set the photo down and went over to the fireplace. Starting one would attract those outside. Smoke, light, all of that was now a dead giveaway. “Anywhere but the city. It was already pandemonium out there before the lights went out. This is just the icing on the cake. People are dying. Bodies will pile up and what little remains will be fought over.”
The kid listened carefully. “Shit. Just when I got out.”
“Got out?” Colby turned to him.
“I meant, got out of living at my lovely family home.” He smiled.
Colby nodded, sensing a lie. “So what neighborhood was that you were in again?”
“Um. Rosewood.”
“You said west.”
“Did I? I meant south.”
“Rosewood is north.” He’d caught him in a lie. The kid wasn’t from Compton. There were only a few major neighborhoods and anyone who lived there knew that. He wasn’t sure what he was hiding but he figured it wasn’t his business to know. If the kid wanted to tell him, he would.
“You know, the homeowner has some nice gear in the basement. You should take a look. It might come in handy. For the road, I mean.”
Colby nodded. “Well then let’s go and take a look.”
He got up and kept a firm grip on him as he led the way. The house was a maze of corridors. He came to learn it had seven bedrooms, seven bathrooms, an entertainment room, two swimming pools, and a five-car garage. It was extravagance at its finest.
Using a flashlight to light their way, they ventured down a carpeted staircase into a huge basement that was outfitted as a bachelor pad. Two bedrooms were down there, two bathrooms and a game room with vintage ’80s arcade machines, a pool table, darts, a bowling alley, film posters on the wall, and a bar. But that wasn’t why he brought him down.
They ventured to the far back and entered a room the size of a small bedroom. It was like walking into a gun shop. Black caged racks lined the three walls inside. Before them was a red workbench with tools and boxes of ammo. There were knives, shotguns, rifles, handguns, even a samurai sword. It was an NRA member’s wet dream. “Holy crap,” Colby muttered.
TWENTY-FOUR
Los Angeles
Day Two of Event
They were easily looking at an eleven-hour hike to get back to his home in the Simi Valley until Leo showed him the garage. Inside were four gleaming vehicles: a high-end Lamborghini Aventador, a luxury Aston Martin, a boxy 1918 Cadillac Type 57 Victoria, and a 1962 Maserati 3500 GTi. Colby smiled. Things were beginning to look up. He stood with his mouth agape before circling the Maserati. “You know where the keys are?” he asked.
Leo stood across from him. “Yep, but won’t be much good to you.”
Colby's gaze roamed the slick body. Like any good car collector, the owner had kept these in immaculate condition. Colby poked his head inside and smelled fresh leather. “It only affects newer vehicles. Anything that doesn’t have a computerized system will be fine.”
“Huh. Well, then you’re down to two.”
“We need speed,” he said, thinking back to how the crowd had stopped Daisy’s truck. They couldn’t have that happen again.
This was perfect.
With a vehicle, they could be back in forty-five minutes, tops.
“Then the Maserati is your best choice.” Leo stepped back from the hood like he was trying to sell it to him. He spread his hands before him as if directing a film. “Black, six-cylinder, 240 horsepower, 3.5-liter. We are talking a championship, cream your pants, winning engine.”
Colby found it hard to hide his amusement.
“You know a lot about cars, kid.”
Leo glanced at him. “No, I just read the manual in the glovebox.”
Colby smiled as Leo continued. “The only question is. Do you think you’re man enough to handle it?”
“Pfft!” Colby waved him off as he returned to the door that led into the house.
“Hey, uh, Colby. Hold up. Do you think I can go with you?” Leo said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Colby cast a glance over his shoulder.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Why not.”
“I thought you had plans?”
“I do. I mean. Later.”
Colby grimaced. “Uh, I dunno, kid.”
“I mean just until you get out of the city. If that’s a problem I’ll take the other vehicle. It would just be nice to not travel alone.”
Although he’d acted all ballsy earlier, he got a sense Leo was nervous.
“Might get hairy out there. You prepared for that?”
Leo puffed out his chest, feigning courage. “Of course. I mean I’ve got my gun, right? Let me rephrase that. You’ve got it. But if you don’t mind…” He extended his hand and wiggled his fingers indicating he wanted it back with a smile.
“Sure, you can come. Just until we’re out of the city. On one condition, though.”
There was a pause then Leo’s eyes widened. “Oh, hell no, dude, I’m not going down on you. There are some lines I just don’t step over and that’s one of them.”
Colby laughed. “Kid, you need to get your head examined. I was about to ask, where is your family?”
“Oh. Uh…” He shifted from one foot to the next, awkward, hands digging into his pockets. “Well, that’s the thing. I don’t… have any.”
“No one?”
“I just said that didn’t I?” he shot back all defensive.
There was a beat.
“You know what…” Leo waved at him. “Forget I asked. I’ll make my own way.”
Colby grabbed his arm on the way out. “Leo. Relax, man. I didn’t say no. If you don’t have family and I sure as hell know you aren’t from Compton, where were you before this?”
Leo dipped his head and mumbled something incoherent.
“What was that?” Colby asked.
“A group home. Okay. For troubled teenagers.”
He walked out of there leaving Colby chewing it over. He followed him in and was about to ask a few more questions when a scream tore through the house. Alicia. Colby bounded up the steps, Kane already ahead of him. Leo was in his shadow. There was a commotion occurring at the far end of the house. An angry voice. Threats. Before he reached Alicia’s room, a gun went off, twice. Colby had his handgun at the ready as he came around preparing to confront an armed assailant.
Instead, he found Alicia looking down at some stranger on the carpet, bleeding out. Her hand was shaking. “Alicia.”
She didn’t answer as he crossed the room.
Startled. Unaware that he was even there, possibly even thinking it was another intruder, she lifted the gun and he knocked it out of the way but held her wrist. “Hey, it’s okay. Let me take that,” he said, prying the handgun away from her death grip.
“I woke to him crawling on top of me. He was trying to…”
Leo reacted, kicking the guy in the gut. “You sonofabitch!”
Colby stretched a hand back. “Leo.” He dropped to a knee and checked the guy’s pulse.
“Is he dead?”
Colby nodded.
“Listen, we need to get moving now. It’s not safe to stay here any longer.” Colby led Alicia out of the room. Shock had set in. It was to be expected. People weren’t used to killing one another. Not that killing was something you could get used to, but it got easier the more it was done.
He’d shot two people as a police officer, but another three before becoming one. Back when he was in Humboldt.
He understood what she was feeling as they made their way down. The shock was finally setting in. Before leaving, they filled backpacks with some additional food and water. There was no telling how far they would get out there. They couldn’t take every weapon that was in the house. Also, when the gas in the car ran out they would need to travel light. Two Walther Q5 Match handguns, the samurai sword, an AR-15, and an M4 carbine with several boxes of ammo — that would suffice.
; He loaded it into a duffle bag, zipped it up, and dumped it in the back of the car.
“What do you think? Leo said, showing him his boot.
Leo had taken a SOG Instinct boot knife.
“Not bad kid.” Colby placed Alicia in the passenger seat. She stared out, looking lost. “You okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You did the right thing. That’s it.”
Colby ushered Leo into the back seat, a tiny space that really didn’t offer much legroom but it would have to do. To Leo’s horror, Kane hopped in the back with him.
“Great. You think I could ride up front?” he said, leaning as far away from the dog as possible. As Colby lifted the garage door, the first faint rays on the horizon flooded in. They’d stayed at the house until almost dawn.
When he stepped out, he saw the first challenge. The iron gate. It was locked. It worked off a control pad but with no power, it wouldn’t open. Beyond the gate, several people ran by, still caught up in the thick of the unfolding chaos. They needed to hurry. It wouldn’t take long to catch the attention of others. He went back into the garage and searched.
“What are you doing?” Leo shouted.
He found a reel of chain. “Leo, get the keys to the Cadillac.”
“Why?”
“Just get the keys.”
“I’m kind of stuck here,” he said. Colby got him out and Leo headed into the house and returned a moment later with the keys. Leo met him down by the gate where Colby proceeded to wrap the chain around the iron bars before hooking it beneath the vehicle and securing it.
As he was doing that, a group of youngsters rushed the gate. “You’ve got a working vehicle?”
Shit. He got up and pulled his gun. “Yeah, and I’ve got a working gun. Now get lost!” They backed up and darted into the stream of people hurrying. Colby didn’t waste any more time. He got out of the way and gave Leo the thumbs-up to reverse. “Give it all you’ve got!”
The Cadillac didn’t have much power to the engine but it would have to do.
Leo jammed the gearstick in reverse and floored it. The beautiful classic car surged backward. As the chain went taut, the tires began spinning, sending up a cloud of smoke. It squealed loudly but not for long. There was a loud crack, and one half of the gate burst inward. They weren’t looking to tear it off the hinges, just get it wide enough that they could drive out, but it came loose and Leo dragged it back, clattering across the driveway until it was clear.
From there the other half was easy to push wide.
Not wasting time, they got back into the Maserati, and Colby gunned the engine, crushing the accelerator. Like a firework, they exploded out of the garage down the driveway and swerved onto the street, almost hitting multiple pedestrians.
Using knowledge of L.A. from having lived there for the past ten years, and making quick decisions based on the number of people on a road, Colby veered onto Sunset Boulevard. He followed the winding road through Holmby Hills until he reached Interstate 405. With so many cars stalled, he’d had to go up onto the sidewalk for a large majority of the way.
Pedestrians threw up angry fists as they dove for cover, others chased them just in case they came to a standstill. To see a working vehicle on the road when most weren’t operating was beyond strange, it was confusing.
The further they got away from the heart of the city, the more the conditions improved. Some roads were clear, others clogged, but most people were inside homes, no doubt seeking shelter, waiting on word from the government or FEMA to arrive.
But that wouldn’t happen. Not yet.
It had taken days to get search and rescue, medical treatment, and survivors evacuated in Hurricane Katrina. This would be no different.
People would have to travel to FEMA camps that would be set up near cities. The National Guard would be brought in to help, in an effort to offer order and protection, and maybe they would for a time, but eventually, even that would crumble and the needs of the many would outweigh the resources on hand.
The fact was unless they could get the grid up, life would take a violent turn, a spiral down into chaos. Trying to maintain order would be like one person trying to wrangle a stadium full of bulls.
Peace and civility would be trampled underfoot.
Colby slammed on the brakes, looking at the road merging with I-405. It was chock-a-block, an endless line of vehicles with many on the hard shoulder. “We’re not getting through there,” he said, jamming the gearstick into reverse, and taking it back, and wrenching the wheel around so he could head north through Bel Air.
The ritzy enclave of residential homes buried in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains had already experienced a taste of the breakdown. Lavish mansions owned by the entertainment elite were up in smoke. The fiery blazes made the drive feel like he was guiding the car through a wall of black smoke. Several times he had to swerve at the last second to avoid colliding with vehicles.
The car bounced up the sidewalk and then careened back onto the road, fishtailing as he skirted around pedestrians coming down the street. A crowd divided as the Maserati roared and burst through them.
He swerved sharply onto a new street, empty, free of obstacles.
“Everyone okay?”
“I think I just threw up in my mouth,” Leo said.
“You must have swallowed it because you’re talking,” Colby replied, glancing at him in the rearview mirror. Leo gave him the bird.
He was just pleased he hadn’t lost control. They continued heading north past luxury hideaways and a snooty country club.
As Colby saw the silhouette of the rocky valley below, he knew he was getting close to home. While the Simi Valley was synonymous with the tragic Rodney King beating, it was also home to many a retired LAPD officer.
Nestled in the heart of Ventura County, surrounded by lakes and golf courses, was Colby’s home — it was a modest two-story, but large enough that if he ever got married he’d have enough room for a family. That wouldn’t happen now.
“The commute into the city must have been brutal,” Alicia said, noting how far out he lived. He’d moved there after landing a position with the LAPD. He was told outright: You want peace, you want some degree of safety, buy a house there or in the south. That was where most of the cops were.
Unlike New York which was full of diversity, the Simi Valley offered little of that. It was a suburban nightmare full of streets where the homes were almost identical in design. The landscape was full of man-made lakes, and pristine lawns. As they weaved their way down into the suburban cookie-cutter neighborhood, they continued to attract eyes even though the community was eerily quiet.
Having grown up surrounded by forest, Colby had wanted to purchase a home in the southernmost tip of the Simi Valley, surrounded by trees, but the pickings were slim so he’d taken a home in a quiet cul-de-sac called Buff Circle where one of his neighbors was a retired cop.
As he rolled in and pulled up in front of his home, he was pleased to see no windows were smashed and from the looks of it, it was unaffected by the madness. He killed the engine and looked over at the other two. “End of the line.”
Kane wagged his tail frantically.
Once out, Kane sniffed the ground and the hackles on his back went up. He growled a few times. “What’s the matter, boy?” Colby asked. It was unlike him, and a clear indication that something was wrong.
The dog burst toward the house. “Kane!”
TWENTY-FIVE
The danger was real. In all the years Colby had brought Kane home, he’d never done this before. He immediately recognized the telltale signs. The red flags. His dog was a dual-purpose canine trained in the detection of narcotics and explosives. Upon reaching the front door, Kane sniffed it then gave his usual passive response of sitting down. Colby brought a hand up. “Stay back!” he yelled to Alicia as she moved away from the car, following him.
As Colby got closer, he patted Kane and handed him his tug toy, giving the dog
praise whenever he’d done his job. “What have we got here, boy?” he said. Kane barked a few times. He attached the leash, and Colby made his way around the side of the home, to a window that would give him a clear shot of the front door from the inside. Although dawn was breaking over the horizon, spreading its warmth and light, Colby took out his flashlight and shone it inside. He cupped a hand over his eyes and peered through the thin white drapes. The light spread over furniture, hardwood flooring, a table, and then…
That’s when he saw the booby trap.
The door was rigged with plastic explosives.
Upon entering it would have activated and obliterated them.
He had to assume the rear door was the same way. As a K9 handler, he and Kane were often brought out for different reasons. When it wasn’t for tracking, it was to detect explosive material. Kane had been trained by one of the best, the ATF, and was capable as many dogs were of finding different compilations of explosives. He couldn’t count the number of lives Kane had saved.
And once again, he’d saved his ass.
No sooner had he seen it than a three-round burst of gunfire echoed.
“Colby!” Alicia yelled.
Tightening his grip on the leash, and withdrawing his gun from the holster, he made his way up to the front corner of the house in time to see four men, side by side, several feet apart with automatic rifles unleashing hell upon the Maserati. He didn’t recognize any of them. Alicia and Leo had their backs to it and were taking cover.
Living in a cul-de-sac, and with an older RV in the driveway, he’d swerved around, parking in front of his driveway. Both of them were on the driver’s side, closest to him, while the men were on the passenger side crossing the circle.
The thump and staccato of the high-powered guns was deafening.
Kane lunged forward, letting out a loud, savage bark. Had Colby not held on to him, he had no doubt Kane would have raced forward, attacked, and been killed in the open fire.
