Collision Course (6 page)

CHAPTER 7

D
J wasn't happy about being forced to take this detour, but he was thankful to be off the tracks. He hadn't realized how much the constant bumping and noise of the railroad ties had worn on him. Now he was flying. The miles zoomed past with an ease that let him think more clearly and relax his tense muscles. His biggest priority—besides not getting killed—was gasoline. If he was lucky, he might find an abandoned car that had some left, but that was a long shot. His best bet was finding someone to sell him some, but how would he locate a person he could trust?

A set of headlights on the horizon pulled him out of his thoughts. DJ drove down into the ditch along the road and waited for the vehicle to pass. It seemed to take forever, but the pickup finally passed him. There was no sign that anyone in the truck had noticed him. DJ waited for the taillights to disappear. Then he resumed his course.

At about two a.m., he began to get hungry. He found a place to pull off the road and opened an MRE. While he was eating, he took out his atlas and studied. There was a small town named Greendale ahead, and he could make it there before dawn if he hurried. Perhaps that would be a good place to look for some gas. He quickly finished his meal and hit the road.

It was forty-five minutes until daybreak when he reached the outskirts of the little town. He didn't know where he would hide his quad and trailer for the day, but the answer seemed to provide itself. A bridge crossed a small stream right at a sign:

DJ was able to take his Polaris about a hundred yards up the stream and hide it in a copse and underbrush. There was no place flat enough to set up his tent, so he strung the hammock up and went to sleep.

He awoke at nine thirty and sneaked down to the bridge to see if he could spot anything going on in the town. With the help of his binoculars, he could see a couple of people milling around. He decided to walk into town, but he couldn't do it in his tactical clothing. He worked his way back to his quad and changed into a pair of jeans and old work boots. He pulled on a plaid button-down over a dingy T-shirt, and put a grease-covered John Deere cap on his head. DJ would have liked to carry his rifle with him, but he knew it would draw more attention than he wanted. He slipped an inside-the-waistband holster next to his right kidney and filled it with a compact pistol. The untucked outer shirt covered it neatly, and the extra magazine in his front left pocket gave him a total of thirty-one rounds at his disposal. Grabbing one of his fuel cans, he headed into town.

Greendale looked like most small towns in rural America. Older houses were interspersed with mobile homes and the occasional newer house. DJ noticed that the windows were open in almost all of the homes, but only a few people were outside. Those who were about seemed engrossed in their tasks, and if they noticed him, they didn't give any indication that they were interested. He walked up to a small store that had two gas pumps in front. When DJ opened the screened door, a bell attached to the doorframe rang. A man was leaning on the counter next to the cash register.

“Help you?” he asked, looking DJ in the eye.

“I hope so,” DJ said with his best smile. “My vehicle ran out of gas a couple of miles up the road.”

“I see,” he said. DJ noticed that his eyes shifted to the left. “Sorry, but we've got no gas, and even if we did, the electricity is out, and there's no way to pump it.”

“You don't have just a few gallons you could sell me? I can pay top dollar.”

The man looked DJ up and down for a minute. “Nope, sorry. We don't have any.”

“Do you think anyone in town might have some?”

“I doubt it. Leastways none they'd be willing to part with,” the man said as he stood up straight. His hands stayed below the counter. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

DJ looked around. The shelves of the little store were empty except for a few nonfood items. There was nothing he needed. “Let me look around for a minute.”

“Help yourself,” the man said. “We don't have a lot left, though.”

As DJ walked up and down the aisles, a beat-up old truck pulled up and stopped in front of the gas pumps. A second later, two young men walked into the store. One of them was carrying something in his hand. DJ's security experience made him watch the hand to make sure it didn't contain a weapon. He couldn't tell for sure what it was, but it wasn't a knife or a gun. The young man started to speak to the proprietor, but the older man tipped his head toward DJ.

From his position in the back of the store, he could see a pump shotgun leaning in the corner behind the counter. No doubt the man had a pistol under the counter as well. DJ noticed the young man who had started to speak had an old revolver stuck in the front of his jeans. The hair on the back of DJ's neck stood up as he saw the way the three men were looking at him. He strode toward the front of the store, trying not to look as though he was in a hurry.

“I don't see anything I need,” he said as he passed the counter. “Thanks for your help.”

Glancing back over his shoulder, he was thankful that no one followed him as he'd left. He took a few more steps and checked again. It was still clear. He turned around and quietly backtracked along the side of the store, where he hoped he could hear what was being said inside.

“. . . up the road,” the store owner said.

“We just came from that direction, and we didn't see anything,” another voice said.

“Well, that's what he told me.”

“Who cares? What'll you give us for the watch?” the third voice said.

“Three.”

“Three gallons?” the third voice asked incredulously. “You got to be shitting me! That's a five-thousand-dollar watch!”

“Okay, five, but that's it.”

“All right. Let's do it.”

“Not now,” the store owner said. “I just told that guy in here that I didn't have any. Come back after dark.”

“Okay, but you better not screw us,” the second voice said threateningly.

“You know you don't have to worry about that. I'll see you about eight thirty.”

DJ edged around to the back of the store, where a set of heavy double doors stood open. Screen doors covered the openings. DJ stayed well clear of them. A minute later, he heard the old truck start up and take off. Thankfully, it went in the opposite direction from his camp.

He decided he'd go back and rest and then come back after dark with his night vision. He walked briskly back to the bridge, recognizing again that the people outside were pretending not to notice him. One thing he hadn't realized before was that several people were watching him from inside their houses as he walked by. When he got to the bridge, he checked to make sure no one could see him and then slipped down to the creek and back to his quad.

He changed back into his black clothing and climbed into his hammock, intending to read. But what had happened at the store began to anger him more and more, and he wasn't able to focus on his book. It had been obvious to him that the man behind the counter had lied to him from the very beginning. The two younger men only verified that he had gasoline and was trading it for stolen goods. Perhaps the watch belonged to one of the young men, but DJ doubted it. They'd probably stolen it from someone. Maybe it had even been Jacob's or his son's. He knew it was unlikely, but it was possible. DJ recognized the young men as predators. They would eventually run up on someone who would ruin their day, but until then, there was no telling how much death and destruction would be left in their wake.

As much as DJ hated them, he hated the older man even more. He had to know where the goods he was trading gas for were coming from. That gas should be going to help people like him. Of course, it was worth a lot more than what it had cost before the Smash, but to trade it as if it were worth its weight in gold was only giving the predators more reason to steal. The old man was the root of the problem.

If DJ had known who the sheriff was in this county, he would have contacted the man and turned the three in. But even if he did, the sheriff might have bigger fish to fry now that things had gone bad. Even worse, the sheriff might be corrupt and could even be in on the scheme. Law enforcement in small, rural counties was often on the take from what DJ had heard. If he really wanted to help out the people around here, he could take the three out when they showed up to make their exchange. He wouldn't do it, but it was entertaining to consider. He finally fell asleep thinking about all the fun ways he could punish these punks.

As the sun got low on the western horizon, DJ woke up. He fixed some dinner, ate, and then broke camp and loaded his quad. By ten after eight, it was pitch-black. DJ put on his night-vision goggles. He removed his rifle, turned the holographic gun sight to its night-vision setting, and set out for the store. When he was within fifty yards of it, he leaned up against a large fence post next to the drainage ditch running down the side of the road.

Unless someone stepped on him, he would be almost impossible to see. He was dressed in all black, and his balaclava covered his face with only the smallest openings for his eyes. He got comfortable and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. The pickup pulled up at eight thirty-two. The proprietor of the store came out with a flashlight and said something to the passenger, who got out and followed the older man into the store. The driver exited and pulled a gas can out of the bed of his truck. A moment later, the owner and the other man came out of the store carrying something. DJ watched the three of them walk a few feet toward him and set down their payloads. The owner reached down and removed a cover to his underground tank. He then threaded a long hose into the hole as the driver unscrewed the top of the gas can. A moment later, the old man was turning the handle of a manual pump. DJ picked his rifle up into shooting position and aimed at the old man. He moved the rifle from man to man until he had obtained a good sight picture of each one. He wondered what the men would think if they knew someone had a rifle on them at that moment. How would the other two react if he shot one of them? They would probably crap their pants. DJ's face was almost split in two by the wide grin under his balaclava. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

It didn't take long to fill the can, and when they were through, the three men spoke very briefly and parted ways. When the truck left, it shined its lights right on DJ, but the men didn't notice him. He watched as the store owner carried the pump and hose back inside and then came back out with a shotgun. He secured the door with two padlocks before noisily walking across the gravel parking lot. DJ's heart began to beat louder and louder as the man got closer. He flipped the safety off and gripped his weapon tighter. The man walked within twenty feet of DJ, but he kept his light directly in front of his feet. He crossed the road to a house that sat diagonally from the front of the store. He opened the front door and called in, then sat in a chair on the porch. The vantage point was almost perfect to guard the business.

A minute later, a woman brought out a tray to the storeowner and he began to eat as she went back inside. DJ watched as the man finished his dinner with the aid of the flashlight. He finally set the tray to the side and doused the light. DJ could still see him through the goggles as if it were daytime. He saw the man pick up the shotgun and rest it across his lap. DJ scooted to a more comfortable position and continued watching.

It took a long time, but the man's head began to nod down and then jerk up suddenly. As time passed, his head would stay down longer and longer until finally it nodded down for good. DJ moved his legs slightly as he watched to make sure the storeowner wasn't going to wake up. After half an hour, he carefully stood and walked back to his camp. Once there, he got the two empty gas cans and a small pair of high-quality bolt cutters out of the trailer. With the aid of the night-vision goggles, he was able to get back to the store undetected.

The owner was still slumped over in his chair across the street. It was so dark that DJ doubted the man would be able to see him even if he did wake up. He put the cans down next to the tank cover and walked to the back of the store. These doors were padlocked top and bottom just like the front doors. DJ took the bolt cutters and put them on the top lock. As quietly as he could, he pushed the handles together. With some effort, the lock gave way. It made a metallic snapping noise as it broke.

DJ peeked around the corner. The owner was still sleeping. DJ felt that if he had attacked the locks on the front, the man might have heard. He returned to the back doors and cut the bottom lock off. He entered the store and found the manual pump. It was a little unwieldy for one person, but he was able to get it out to the tank. He removed the cover, stuck the long hose down into the tank, and began to pump the gas into his cans.

When he was changing from the first can to the second, the short hose hit the empty can on the side, sounding like a bass drum. DJ froze and looked across the street. His heart skipped a beat when the man moved, but he only shifted in his chair, never looking up. DJ finished filling the second can. He capped both of them and then carried them behind the store. He returned to get the pump and lugged it back into the building. Walking up to the cash register, he found a pen and a notepad. He scribbled down: “For ten gallons of gas and two padlocks.” Then he set the hundred-dollar bill Jacob had given him on the counter and put the note on top. He walked out the back and closed the doors. Picking up the bolt cutters, he made his way back to camp and started his ride.

This was the most dangerous part of his plan. He had to get the bike past the sleeping guard and load the gas without waking the man up. He drove slowly, the engine on his quad at little more than an idle. Watching each house as he passed it, he saw no sign that anyone was aware of his presence, but his heart was beating in trepidation nonetheless. As he got within sight of the man on the porch, he stopped and watched him for a couple of minutes. Satisfied that he was still sleeping soundly, DJ pulled the big bike behind the store and quietly loaded the gas onto his trailer. He now had plenty of gas to make it to his hideaway. He smiled as he climbed back on the quad and pulled onto the road.