The Hunted (26 page)

Carmen picked up her rifle and took the duffel from Shy and grabbed his wrist and started pulling him away.

When the LasoTech guy started after them, Shy turned and aimed his gun at the man's chest. When the guy didn't stop, Shy lowered the barrel slightly and shot him in both legs instead, watched him collapse to the ground writhing in pain.

“Let's go, let's go!” Carmen shouted, yanking Shy's arm again.

He turned to Addie, who was still aiming her gun at him. When he saw she was trembling, with tears streaming down her face, his heart broke for her. She dropped the gun and moved toward her dad, kneeling down and trying to lift his body into her arms.

As much as it hurt Shy to hurt Addie, he didn't feel an ounce of emotion about anything else as he and Carmen sprinted back through the tents, toward the remaining bus. There was no sense of revenge, like he'd once imagined. And no remorse. No fear. He felt nothing at all. He'd simply found himself on this path, like Shoeshine once told him, and he intended to see it through.

When they neared the bus, Shy spotted another LasoTech guy sprinting down the road toward them. The man stopped and fired at Shy and Carmen, the bullet sparking off the cement to the right of them.

A small crowd that had gathered around the bus quickly dispersed in a great commotion.

Shy pulled Carmen behind the tent where the doctors had been administering shots. He peeked his head out, and the guy fired a second time, shooting wide.

“I'll cover you!” Shy shouted at Carmen. “Run to one of those motor homes, and I'll catch up!”

Carmen stared at him.

“Go!” he said.

The second she took off running, Shy ducked out from behind the tent and fired three consecutive shots in the LasoTech guy's direction. The man dove into an SUV. Shy pulled the trigger again, but the gun clicked like it was out of bullets, so he dropped it and took off after Carmen.

As Shy caught up with her, the SUV suddenly screeched out onto the freeway. Shy turned and saw it bearing down on them. Two men inside. Even if he and Carmen went off the freeway and booked it toward the closest motor home, they'd never make it. They were too far away.

He looked at her and they both slowed down.

Then, without a word, they stopped and turned to face the oncoming vehicle together, Carmen raising her rifle, Shy gripping the duffel and swallowing.

They'd almost made it, he told himself.

There were no regrets.

As the SUV bore down on them, Shy spotted something coming up behind it.

A motorcycle.

Metallic gray.

Just as the passenger in the SUV leaned out his window, aiming a gun at Shy and Carmen, the guy on the bike fired several rounds at the truck, puncturing its two back tires and shattering the rear windshield.

The SUV swerved out of control and skidded to a stop in front of an abandoned Volkswagen van. The two LasoTech guys hopped out and started firing at the guy on the motorcycle, who lost control and fell off his bike. Both the man and his motorcycle went skidding across the freeway.

Carmen grabbed Shy by the arm and they took off again.

As they raced down the freeway, Shy looked over his shoulder. He saw the guy scrambling over to his bike for cover, saw him take aim and begin firing at the LasoTech guys again.

Shy spun back around, sucking in breaths as he continued running alongside Carmen, toward the scattered motor homes.

Shy and Carmen sat next to each other on a cushionless couch, still catching their breath, eyeing an older white woman with a buzz cut as she limped around a pile of dusty books and shoe boxes carrying two glasses of ice water. As soon as Shy got ahold of his he put the rim to his lips and started guzzling so fast he had a serious case of brain freeze. It didn't slow him down. He emptied his glass in seconds, then set it down and studied the inside of the motor home.

The place was trashed. Random papers and magazines everywhere, rolled-up rugs, dirty dishes and pizza boxes stacked to the ceiling. A couple cats were asleep against each other on a dusty treadmill. Three other cats were curled up on a partially folded beige blanket that was caked with cat hair.

The old woman was one of those hoarder people.

Not that he was judging.

She'd saved his and Carmen's asses after the shoot-out. They had tried knocking on six or seven motor home doors before hers. No one answered, even though Shy saw a few people peering out at them through their blinds. But this old lady didn't even wait for a knock. She saw them coming and flung open her door and waved them inside. Not five minutes later, while the woman was tending to the gash on the side of Carmen's face, Shy peeked through her old-people curtains and spotted the man on the gray motorcycle coasting down the street, his helmet swiveling back and forth as he looked for them.

Carmen finally finished her water, too, and set her empty glass on the newspaper-covered table, next to Shy's.

“Refill?” the woman asked.

Shy shook his head. “No, thanks, ma'am.”

“We appreciate what you just did for us,” Carmen said, touching the skin around her newly applied bandage.

The old woman waved her off, like it was nothing. “So what exactly happened back there? I heard all the commotion. And the gunshots. Did it have anything to do with those weirdos running the buses?”

Shy started to answer, but the woman held up a hand to cut him off. “You know what? It's none of my business. I'm just an old widow living out my last few days in the desert. The less I know, the better.”

Shy glanced up at the old-style framed pictures hanging on the wall by the door. In one, the woman was standing beside a heavyset old man in a cowboy hat. He pointed at it. “Was that your husband?” he asked, figuring it was best to take his mind off things for now.

“Yep. Two weeks after that picture was taken, he kicked the bucket.”

“Oh,” Shy said, taken aback. He glanced at Carmen. “Sorry for your loss, ma'am.”

“Don't be,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “He lived a long, long life. Too long, if you ask some people.”

Shy heard a helicopter passing over the motor home. LasoTech was already out looking for them. He was sure of it. He had the urge to peek through the window again, but something told him to stay put this time, to be patient.

“Here's a better question,” the old woman said. “Where are you two going from here? I mean, you're welcome to stay awhile, if that's what you need, but something tells me you're on the move.”

“We're heading east,” Carmen said.

“Lemme guess,” the woman said. “The Avondale border?”

Shy and Carmen both nodded.

The old woman sucked her teeth. “It's a long walk, I'm afraid. About another hundred or so miles.”

Carmen looked at Shy. To his surprise, her eyes were droopy, like she was fighting sleep. But extreme stress could do that to you, he was learning. Push you off to la-la land only seconds after a gunfight.

“Follow me,” the woman said, standing up. “I want to show you something.” She limped around the empty birdcage sitting on the floor and headed toward the hall.

Shy nudged Carmen. “What are the chances she's got a wood chipper in there?”

“Shut up, Sancho. She's nice.” Carmen got up from the cushionless couch and followed the woman. Shy glanced at the curtains again. Then he got up, too.

A few seconds later, all three of them were standing in front of a pristine dirt bike. Shy was beyond confused. The motor home was in complete disarray, yet the motorcycle was spotless.

“Either of you know how to ride a dirt bike?” the woman asked.

“I do,” Shy said.

“You
do
?” Carmen asked.

Shy nodded. At least, he
thought
he remembered the CliffsNotes tutorial his old man had given him at the Sony lots.

“Well, I want you to take this with you to Avondale,” the woman said. “Put it to good use.”

“Wait,” Carmen said. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I'm serious,” the woman said. “I was going to ship it off to my bastard grandson, but who knows what kind of criminal activity
he'd
use it for.”

Shy couldn't believe she'd actually give the bike to them after five minutes together. He looked at the bike and then looked at the woman. “Was it your husband's?”

The old woman laughed. “No, it wasn't my husband's. It's
mine.
I used to zip all over this godforsaken place. My favorite time was right after it rained. Spraying mud into people's yards. Of course, that was before my stupid hip went out. Now I just come in here every once in a while to polish it.”

As the woman and Carmen continued talking about the motorcycle, Shy went to the bedroom window and peeked through the blinds. He didn't see a helicopter anywhere. Or an SUV. Or a motorcycle. Didn't hear anything, either. He felt bad taking something that obviously meant a lot to the old lady. But it would definitely beat walking the rest of the way under the desert sun.

His mind flashed on Mr. Miller when he shot him. Addie's face when he and Carmen fled the scene. He could still feel his finger on the trigger even though the rifle was back on the freeway somewhere. He reached into the duffel and pulled out the manila envelope. He unfolded the single handwritten page Addie had given him. And there it was in the comb-over man's familiar scribble, the rest of the vaccine formula.

Shy shoved everything back into the duffel and turned to the old woman. “We can't thank you enough, ma'am. Seriously, we owe you big-time.”

“You don't owe me jack shit,” the woman said. “Now go on, get out of here. Before I make you clean my kitchen.”

Ten minutes later, Shy and Carmen were speeding east along the 10 Freeway. Shy squinted into the wind, concentrating on the feel of Carmen's hands around his middle. Her breath on his neck. He was shocked that he'd somehow soaked in most of what his old man taught him about operating a motorcycle. It had taken a couple of minutes to get used to, but now he was flying down the two-lane freeway, shifting effortlessly, operating the clutch, maneuvering around the occasional stalled car or buckle in the freeway. The handlebars were set sort of high, which made him feel like one of those Mexican Harley
vatos
from back home.

“A hundred miles at this speed?” Shy called back to Carmen. “We should be there in two hours, max!”

“What?” Carmen shouted back. Shy was realizing how impossible it was to communicate over the rushing wind. And the old woman must have done something to the muffler because the roar of the dirt bike's exhaust was mind-numbingly loud.

“I said we should be there in
two hours
!” he tried again.

Carmen only shook her head this time. She couldn't hear a word he was saying.

Shy concentrated on the road instead.

He thought about what had happened back by the tents again. Carmen getting clubbed with the butt of a gun. Addie defying her dad and cracking the other guy with the rifle. The look on Mr. Miller's face when Shy stepped up and fired those two bullets. Shy wondered if what he did made him a bad person. What if he was more like Mr. Miller than he wanted to admit?

If only Shoeshine was still around so Shy could ask his opinion. He tried to imagine the riddle he'd get in response. Man, what Shy would give for one of those riddles right about now. Then Shoeshine would probably go off and write about Shy's question in his journal.

But Shoeshine was gone.

Shy would have to come up with his own riddles from now on.

After a while he cleared his mind, which was surprisingly easy to do while racing down the freeway on a dirt bike. There really was a freedom to being on the open road, like people said.

Soon he and Carmen would be in Avondale, standing in front of the border, holding a duffel bag that contained syringes full of a Romero Disease vaccine and the comb-over man's
letter—including
the last page. But for the first time since they'd landed in Venice Beach, Shy wasn't in such a hurry to get where he was going. For now he just wanted to concentrate on this moment with Carmen. Her hands linked around his waist. The warm feel of her chest against his back.

He glanced back and nodded to her, and when he saw the bandage near her right temple a strange feeling swelled in his chest. A feeling he couldn't put into words.

“Your head okay?” he shouted.

“What?” she shouted back.

He looked forward and laughed a little. And then he thought of something else. He turned to her again and shouted: “Know what's crazy, Carm?”

She shrugged. She still couldn't hear.

“I think I love you!” he shouted. “And I think it's been this way from the second we first met!”

“I can't hear a word you're saying!” Carmen shouted back. At least he was pretty sure that's what she said. His ear was only inches from her mouth.

“And no matter what happens with your punk lawyer boyfriend,” Shy continued shouting, “I'm gonna keep on loving you! Even if you go on to have mad punk lawyer kids! Nothing's ever gonna change what I feel!”

Carmen didn't even shout back this time. She just shrugged and shook her head.

Shy faced forward again, smiling into the wind.

It felt good to finally get the truth off his chest.

About an hour into their ride, Shy looked at his side mirror and his breath caught. There was a motorcycle coming up quickly behind them. It took a few seconds before he was able to make out that it was the metallic gray one from earlier. The driver wasn't pointing any kind of weapon at them, though. In fact, he seemed to be waving them to the side of the freeway.

There was no way in hell Shy was pulling over. He sped up instead, looking all over for a good place to pull off the freeway and try to lose the guy. But there was nothing on either side of the freeway except wide-open desert, as far as the eye could see.

Shy kept watching the motorcycle in the side mirror.

Carmen started looking back, too.

But the more Shy thought about it, the less worried he felt. Back near the buses, the biker had been shooting at the SUV, not Shy and Carmen. And Shy remembered the biker who'd shot out the tires of the Hummer at the gas station. He was on a gray motorcycle, too. It had to be the same guy.

There was no way Shy's tricked-out dirt bike was going to outrun a street bike anyway, so he slowed down a little, allowing the guy to catch up. In a minute or so they were riding side by side. The man kept waving for Shy to pull to the side, and Shy kept shaking his head. “What do you want?” he shouted.

“Pull to the side!” the man barked through his helmet.

At this slower speed, the muffler wasn't quite as loud. Nor was the wind. Shy could actually hear himself think again. And an odd suspicion started creeping into his brain.

Carmen was gripping Shy a little tighter, staring at the man beside them. He was wearing a dented and badly scuffed helmet with a reflective visor. Ripped-up jeans and a blue hooded sweatshirt.

“Who are you?” Carmen shouted at the man.

The driver lifted up his shiny visor and pointed at his face. Shy saw a familiar scraggly-looking beard peppered with gray. And he saw that half the man's face was badly burned. Shy nearly drove the dirt bike right off the road.

He was right. It was his old man.

He couldn't believe it.

“Pull over!” his dad shouted at Shy and Carmen again. The man reached up to undo the strap under his chin, maintaining pace with the dirt bike, and yanked off his helmet.

Shy had no idea what to think or feel. All he could think to do was keep driving.

“What are
you
doing out here?” Carmen shouted, clearly recognizing Shy's dad now, too.

“What do you think?” the man shouted. “I'm watching my son's back! Like I said before, this is my second chance! And I'm not letting it go!”

A strange feeling began bubbling up inside Shy as he shifted his gaze from his dad to the road. It wasn't pride, so much. Or happiness. It was more like a sense of security. A recognition of loyalty. He recalled all the different times they'd seen a random motorcycle along their journey. And he remembered the look he and his dad had shared just before Shy left the Sony lots. His dad must have jacked the SUV from the LasoTech guy waiting outside and followed them into the desert.

His dad shouted something Shy couldn't quite make out, so he slowed down a little more and yelled, “What?”

“Can't say I never taught you anything now!” His dad pointed at the dirt bike. “Looks like you've been riding your entire life!”

Carmen squeezed Shy's middle.

Even
she
sensed the weight of what was happening.

Shy concentrated on the road for a stretch, but there was one thing that still confused him. He turned back to his dad, shouting: “Why'd you wait till now to catch up?”

“That man you were with before!” his dad shouted. “He said to hang back until he was out of the picture!”

“You talked to Shoeshine?” Shy shouted. “When?”

“In the mountains! Outside that beat-up resort place you were at!”

Shy remembered hearing a motorcycle by the front gate when Mario was giving them a tour. And then he remembered something else. One of the last things Shoeshine had told Shy near the Intaglios. “You can't even see it, can you? You have no idea who else you're leading.” Maybe he was talking about Shy's dad.

All these years Shy had held a grudge against his dad. Especially after the year he'd lived with him in LA. But the fact that he'd followed Shy all the way into the desert, and tried to protect him…maybe Shy had it wrong.

Or maybe the earthquakes really
had
changed him.

Shy motioned for his dad to follow him and Carmen, and then he sped up a little, ready for whatever came next.