The threesome kept on coming. I closed my eyes, lowered my face to the cold dirt and braced the barrel of the Ruger on my forearm. Once I’d emptied the mag and dropped these three, I could use the .38 on the other two.
Just as I slid my index finger into the firing position, someone near the truck yelled, “Where the hell you dumbasses goin’? That shit happened on the
driver’s
side!”
Silence. They all stopped.
One of them said, “Sure sounded like it came from over here!”
“Idiot. Don’tcha know sound echoes? It bounces all over the fuckin’ place in these hills!”
“But...”
“Wanna see the fuckin’ tire? It’s on the passenger’s side! That oughta be your first clue!”
“Sure sounded like a gunshot ...”
“Like I said, wanna see the tire?”
“Just sayin’...”
“Ya never heard a fuckin’ tire blow out before?”
“Still, it sounded like a gunshot ...”
“That’s why we’re gonna go check to make sure, Einstein.”
Several agonizing moments passed, and the blinding lights dimmed as the boys turned around and trotted back to the truck.
I sighed in relief. The woods on the other side of the road quickly exploded with bright silver lights dancing and jumping all over the trees and the steep hill running beyond it. As the boys disappeared in the brush, I crawled across the rough surface of the cool macadam and searched for a place to hide.
***
For the next twenty minutes, I lay in the ditch amongst high weeds just a few feet off the road, about forty feet from the open tailgate of the truck, wondering if I should climb into the loaded bed. All five young men were in the woods on the other side of the highway, trudging through the thick brush, looking for signs of anyone who might have shot out their front tire. They were making too much noise and would not be able to hear anything I did.
Even so, instinct told me to wait. I’d have a better chance of hitching a ride undetected once they’d changed the tire, got back inside the truck and started up the vehicle. I’d only have twenty seconds or so to make my move, but this would probably be my best opportunity. Otherwise, I ran the risk of someone getting too close to the truck bed when they came back. I had no idea where they kept their equipment. They might have it stowed away somewhere in the bed, amongst the trash. I knew better than take such a risk.
When they finally returned from the woods, one of them opened the metal toolbox directly behind the cab and removed an X-wrench, a jack, and a small toolbox, while another boy crawled underneath the truck to unscrew the spare tire from its housing unit. The driver got back in behind the wheel and flicked the headlights on. The fourth boy knelt in front of the flat while the fifth walked around in front of the truck, his flashlight scanning the hill as well as the woods on both sides of the road.
“Was
too
a fuckin’ gunshot,” said the boy carrying the tools to the front of the truck.
“Was not.” The other boy snatched the X-wrench from him and immediately applied it to the flat.
“Was too.”
“Not.”
“What else could it have been?”
“Fuckin’ blowout—what else?” said the boy standing in front of the truck.
“Too fuckin’ loud for a blowout.”
“Did we see anybody out there? Any sign of anyone?”
“That don’t mean...”
“Did we?”
“Thought I did, farther on up that rise...”
“That was a fuckin’
dog
. Ever see a fuckin’
dog
shoot out a tire?”
“Coulda swore I saw somethin’ else...”
“I didn’t.”
“Me either.”
”It was a fuckin’
blowout
, moron. Suck it up.”
“Slick, here, just wants to shoot somebody.”
“Dude, these tires ain’t that old. Simon took ‘em from that garage in Tarentum when he found this truck. Took ’em right off the rack. Rack was marked
new
. Know what
new
means?”
“New,” Mush Mouth said from the cab. “Means ain’t old. Not used.”
“Mush Mouth the fuckin’ professor.”
“Just ’cause a tire’s new don’t mean it ain’t gonna have a blowout. Any dumbass could figure
that
one out.”
“Sure am glad a dumbass like you pointed it out for me.”
“Quit bein’ a dick.”
The boy beneath the truck had unscrewed the spare and let it drop. He crawled out, dragged out the spare, straightened and rolled it around to the front of the truck. The other boy had unscrewed the bolts on the flat and jacked up the truck a few inches. As soon as his friend brought over the spare, the first boy pulled off the flat and pushed it over to his friend. “Dump it.”
“Where?”
“Over there in the bushes—where else?”
“In the
bushes
?”
“Afraid some cop’s gonna see us and haul our asses in? Dump the fuckin’ tire and quit bein’ a shithead!”
“Whaddya want me to do first?”
“Idiot.”
“Ain’t no cops no more,” muttered Mush Mouth.
“There are still cops, moron. They’re just either dead or doped. If they’re doped, they don’t even know they’re cops.”
“I just thought we oughta bring it back, patch it up.”
“What the hell for? Simon’s got a stack sittin’ outside the garage. Don’tcha remember? We picked ’em up coupla weeks ago.”
“Guess I forgot.” The boy rolled the flat into the ditch and let it fall in the bushes. Behind him, his friend used the jack to lower the truck, then tightened the nuts on the spare.
About a minute later, the boy circled the truck and dropped the jack and wrenches back into the toolbox. He opened the rear door behind the driver and climbed in. As soon as the others opened their doors and climbed in, I snuck up to the back of the truck and knelt beneath the lowered tailgate. Mush Mouth revved the ignition and slammed the truck into gear.
I rolled onto the tailgate. The truck began to move. I crawled into the bed and ducked beneath the loose flap of the tarp.
***
As the truck gained speed, I crawled beneath an old wooden table and a large rolled-up rug reeking of cigarettes, booze, and vomit. There was also a box filled with pots and pans shoved near the front, against the toolbox. A stack of old magazines two feet thick, bound with heavy twine, sat next to the wheel well on the driver’s side. I dragged it closer and gently tipped it over. When it was where I wanted it, I sat directly behind it, facing the tailgate. If I was caught in heavy fire, the sturdy bundle would provide me with protection. Other than heavy armor-piercing stuff, I couldn’t think of any round capable of penetrating a solid mass of paper twenty-four inches thick.
The truck began climbing the narrow, winding hill leading to Cherry Hill Road a couple of miles north. This area had always been sparsely populated, the houses few and far between and set far back from the winding country road. From the darkness of the tarp-covered bed, I couldn’t see much of anything, but the slight reek of decay lingered along the stretch.
About fifteen minutes later, the truck began slowing down. The driver turned left, onto another bumpy road, which would take us even deeper into the woods. This road went on forever, giving the impression it had been cut into the side of a mountain and neglected ever since. The truck stumbled across potholes, dips, tossed debris and crumbling macadam. All I could see was the darkness we left behind, where the homes and other buildings had become block-like shapes of blackness interrupting the soft gray darkness of approaching night.
As we went down the deserted road, I saw no lights or other signs of life. Several dark masses lay in the road as we went past. Carcasses of small animals, as well as dead leaves, tossed bottles, and other pieces of garbage littered our path.
We went around a bend and passed several groups of trees. The truck slowed down. I shoved the Ruger into its shoulder holster, crawled out onto the tailgate and risked a peek just beyond the flapping edge of the tarp.
Distant flickering lights blinked beyond the pine trees. Situated at the end of a long, winding drive, a huge two-story building sat about half a mile from the main road, concealed partially by the trees and other heavy growth.
The truck slowed again and began turning.
I had to make a quick decision. I didn’t know if this turnoff actually brought us to our destination. For all I knew, this road could go past the property for another long stretch before becoming a different road. If I jumped off too soon, I’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere and wouldn’t have a clue how or where to follow them.
If the house was actually their destination, I’d face a much more dangerous dilemma. I couldn’t be in the truck when they stopped and parked. I’d have no chance of getting out without being seen, and would be sitting right there if they decided right then to pull off the tarp. I’d be able to kill several of them, but since I didn’t know the setup, I’d probably get Fields killed and would also die shortly afterward.
The flickering lights I’d seen through the pines could suggest that they’d reached the end of their journey. If Simon was in charge of all this, he’d prefer living in luxury. In this dark new world of base survival, enjoying life in a mansion would be the perfect choice.
The truck continued slowing down.
This is it!
I didn’t know if that was my own voice convincing me or my gut instinct directing me. I only knew that I was reasonably certain this brood lived here. If I was right, Fields was being held here.
The truck turned onto the road that approached the hill leading to the mansion. As we neared the big metal mailbox at the corner, someone said, “Wanna stop and check for mail?”
A chuckle.
“Dumbass ... ya say that every fuckin’ time we come back here.”
“Wouldn’t it be funny if there
was
mail?”
“Yeah, dude. Hilarious.”
As soon as the truck’s front tires tapped the brim of the private road, I slipped off the tailgate and landed in a crouch on the gravel. The truck continued down the road. I rolled across the gravel until I’d reached the ditch, and disappeared in a thicket of underbrush.
I waited a full minute, the Ruger aimed straight ahead. I visualized the truck stopping, the doors flying open, the boys jumping out and coming my way, their flashlights splashing the road as they searched for signs of whatever the driver had seen roll across the driveway.
My worries quickly evaporated. The truck continued down the road.
When the big vehicle was a safe distance away, I crawled out of the underbrush and lay on my belly in the ditch, watching the taillights intensify as the truck stopped in front of the huge detached garage beside the mansion.
My nerves quivered as I waited for the taillights to dim. About fifteen seconds later, they turned dark, and the distant sounds of doors slamming shut echoed down the drive. Flashlights hopped and skipped jerkily against the darkness as the boys made their way for the mansion.
***
With my penlight marking my path, I was careful to keep the tiny beam close in front of me. Mindful of the thick, uneven underbrush, I used the light to avoid deadfalls and relied on my night vision to veer around low branches and dangling vines.
The woods grew thick with towering pines. I focused on the small white halo leading me, and after trudging through several acres of thick, overgrown woods, I reached the tree line that ended approximately forty yards from the front yard of the property.
Exhausted from my efforts, I switched off the penlight, crouched behind a stump and surveyed the scene.
The place looked like it belonged to a car dealer. At least two dozen cars, pickups, vans, RVs and ATVs sat on the other side of the drive, in front of and beside the four-car garage. The beat-up pickup remained behind the compact that had been following Fields and me earlier that morning. The sight of it caused the muscles in my back to bunch up. My head and neck grew warm, and my finger unconsciously tapped the trigger of the Ruger.
I took a couple of deep breaths to clear my head. The tension gradually eased up, and I resumed my study of the premises.
Two home generator units sat at the corner of the house, humming softly. Three refrigerators, two washing machines, a dryer, an upright freezer, and a freezer chest huddled closely to one another on a slab. I couldn’t see the backyard from my vantage point, but there was evidence of a swimming pool, chain-link fence, and more than a dozen bicycles perched on stands behind the side gate.
I crept over to the next tree and saw the dark outline of a smaller two-story building situated directly behind the mansion. It sat in a grove of trees down a short hill, about two hundred feet from the main house. Bushes and shrubbery surrounded the building. A couple of lights flickered in the windows on the ground floor.
It looked like a guest house. I wondered if they were keeping Fields in that building.