Anarchy Found (3 page)

“Fine,” I say, pulling my legs up so I can scramble over to the passenger’s seat.

He throws his wet leather jacket in the back cab and then slides in and adjusts the seat all the way back so his long legs can stretch out. “Jesus, you’re like a little midget.”

I scowl at him.

He laughs at me, puts the truck in gear, and we take off down the road.

I stare out the window and enjoy the mountain scenery as we sit in silence. After ten minutes, I start wondering where the hell we’re going. “How far is it?”

“Just up the road a mile or so.”

But the miles come and go and we are still driving. “Come on,” I say, irritated. “Just tell me where the hell your house is so I know how long this is gonna take. I have an appointment and I’ve got to make it there today.”

“What kind of appointment?” he says as he slows to turn on a dirt road. At least we are getting closer. This must be the dirt road he was talking about.

“Never mind what kind of appointment. Just hurry up.”

“So what do you do?” He glances over at me and I’m mesmerized by his amber eyes for a second before I can look away.

I huff out a long breath and cross my arms.

“Not chatty, huh?”

I look out the window.

“You don’t like me, do you?”

“You seem like an arrogant prick.”

“How do you figure?” he asks, turning onto another dirt road.

“How do I figure?” I laugh. “Well, let’s see, number one, you were riding in the rain like you’re invincible. Number two, you were cocky even after you wrecked that bike. And number three—”

“Are you listing me?”

“What?”

“Listing me.”

“I don’t… I don’t know what that means.”

“You’re making a list. You did that earlier too. When you were trying to get me to back off.”

“I didn’t
list
you. I’m just the kind of girl who likes to keep things straight.”

“Ah,” he says, with a wink in my direction. “I get it. OCD and shit. You’re definitely a lister.”

“I’m not a lister—forget it. Just stop talking and get to your house so I can drop you off and be on my way.”

He comes to a stop in front of an arched, rusty gate built into the side of the mountain. It’s big enough to pull a tank through, but he puts the truck in park and sighs. “We’re here. Guess you’ll get your wish then, lister.”

But before I can say anything, he jumps out of the truck and slams the door.

Just ignore him, Molly. He’s baiting you on purpose. Assholes do things like that. In a few minutes he’s going to be gone and you’ll never see him again
.

Chapter Three - Molly

I scoot back over to the driver’s seat and place my hands on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. How did I get myself into this? I listen as he clunks things around in the back of the trailer, and then he backs his bike down the ramp and engages the stand.

A few more seconds—a loud clank as the ramp is maneuvered back into place—and I’ll be outta here.

Finally, he closes the doors and bangs on the back three times. He disengages the stand on the bike and wheels it forward. “Good,” I whisper to myself as I look at the clock.

Another bang makes me jump, so I look over at the window. It’s raining harder than ever now, and he’s dripping. “What?” I say, unwilling to lower the window and let that cold water in.

He points to the back cab and yells over the pounding rain, “My jacket!”

“Oh,” I say back, fingering the button to unlock the back. “Sorry,” I mumble, as he opens the door and shrugs his wet jacket on over his t-shirt.

“No, problem, lister. Thanks for the ride.” He slams the door and begins to push his bike towards the giant gate in the side of the mountain.

What the hell is going on here?

“Don’t,” I warn myself. Whatever he’s doing, wherever he’s going, it’s none of my business.

But then he brings out his phone and tabs a few things to make the gate in the mountain begin to lift up. There’s nothing beyond but a very dark tunnel.

Yeah, he’s a creeper. Probably a criminal. Most likely a deviant, and a freak, and that just goes perfectly with the fact that he’s an asshole.

I put the truck in reverse just as he disappears inside. I back up, forgetting that I have a fucking trailer hitched, and immediately make a mistake.

My foot slams down on the brake and I put the truck back in park.
Just calm down, Molly. You know how to pull a trailer. You could do this blindfolded
.

I check both mirrors, memorize the road behind me, and close my eyes.

The whole world floats away as I put the truck back in reverse and fix my mistake.

I’m Molly Masters. Daughter of Crazy Bill and sister to Wild Will, world-famous stunt riders. I grew up on a dirt bike and I can back a trailer up blindfolded.

I open my eyes, calm again.

Now back to the business at hand. Putting my dead brother’s bikes to rest. I back the trailer up a little more, then angle it into a small turnout and pull forward to head back the way I came.

I get about ten feet before the wheels start spinning. So I shift into four-wheel drive and try again. This time I get about five feet before I slip and slide a little over to the edge of the road.

Bike boy wasn’t kidding. His road is tricky.

Asshole.

I try again and again and again. I put it into two-wheel drive, four-wheel drive, get out, find some pine branches and stuff them under the wheels, get back in, try it again. And the only thing I accomplish is getting even more stuck in the mud.

I hate my life. My life sucks because…

1. I’m stuck in the mud.
   
2. I’m sad.
   
3. My brother is dead.
   
4. My father is dead.
   
5. My mother is insane.
   
6. I will never make this appointment.
   
7. This will not be the first day of the rest of my life.
   
8. I might die out here in the mountains.
   
9. My only hope is some crazy asshole who lives in a tunnel.
   

I sit there for several seconds trying to think of a number ten because my particular brand of OCD likes to round things when it has a chance. And ten is a perfect list, right? But I’m grateful and hopeful about the new job. So I’m out of bad stuff to complain about.

I feel better though. So I get out and follow bike boy’s tracks into the darkness.

Little red lights line the tunnel. It sorta reminds me of an airport runway. The mud turns to concrete about twenty feet in and there’s a small light up ahead. I’m really not sure what to expect, so I get my gun out just in case.

A few paces on and the tunnel turns sharply to the left where the light is brighter. I can hear yelling. Bike boy is yelling.

Someone is talking back to him, but he’s laughing too. I let out my breath and relax a little as I creep forward into the chamber. The first thing I see is the wrecked bike mounted on a red mechanic’s lift. Then toolboxes, some weird contraption that looks like a… robot, rolling around? A computer, then another, and another. A whole wall of computers, actually. Food wrappers and half-empty protein shake containers. Parts. A black muscle car. A long table lined with shit that looks like pieces from a chemistry lab. And a massive aquarium-sized tank holding luminescent jellyfish.

All this time bike boy is yelling and waving those black-gloved hands in the air, splashing a protein drink all over the floor.

“What the fuck, Case? I told you not to mess with my bike, you asshole.”

“I didn’t touch your bike, Lincoln.”

“Stay the fuck out of my business. I crashed the goddamned bike and had to hitch a ride home and Sheila is somehow offline. Offline! You motherfucker!”

“Calm down,” Case says. “She’s not gonna miss anything being offline for a few minutes. In fact, if I were you I’d be asking how it’s possible she got knocked off so easy. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?” It comes from a giant face on a wall-sized flat screen mounted on the side of a… cave? What the fuck? “And you lost your right to work alone months ago, so don’t get all self-righteous about me being around today.”

“What’s that supposed to—“

“Hey, asshole,” the guy on the screen says over bike boy’s tantrum, cutting him off.

“I didn’t need this complication—” Bike boy stops talking. Because the guy on the screen is waggling his eyebrows at me. “What the fuck are you doing?” bike boy asks. “Stop making stupid faces—”

“We have
com-pan-eee
.” The guy on the giant screen nods his head at me.

Bike boy whirls around, shoots me a dirty look, and then growls, “I’ll call you back,” as the giant screen goes black.

We stare at each other for a few moments, our eyes locked. “Oh, my—”

“You’re still here,” he says over me.

“—God.” I look around one more time.

1. Cave filled with…
   
2. Super bike.
   
3. Souped-up muscle car.
   
4. Giant flatscreen phone chat.
   
5. Computers everywhere.
   
6. Robot?
   
7. Some kind of science lab.
   

A few loud beeps interrupt my list. “Online,” a female voice says from the ceiling. A pause, and then, “There has been a breach and we have a visitor.” A hologram in the form of a woman appears in the middle of the cave and I can only assume this is…


8. Sheila, apparently back online.
   

I look around a little more and spy… not a cape, thank God, but a… a…


9. Helicopter, parked at the far end of the enormous cavern.
   

And then I get the perfect list after all, because I see…


10. Guns.
    

No, they are more than mere guns. I know my way around a gun and these are—

“What the fuck are you doing here, gun girl? I thought we parted back in the forest.”

“Oh, my God,” I repeat. “You’re Batman.”

Chapter Four - Lincoln

I force a smile as I set my protein shake down, but inside I’m pissed as hell. She is not supposed to be here. “How the fuck did you get in?”

She’s shaking her head, gun in hand, and backing up the way she came. But I can’t just let her walk out. Not after she’s seen all
this
. Not after she’s seen
me
. Jesus Christ, she might be able to identify me. I really need to do something.

“The gate in front of the tunnel was open and I just followed your cave running lights.”

“
That’s
what happens when Sheila goes down.” I curse under my breath at Case.

“And I can tell by your reaction”—gun girl is still backing up—“that you’re not one of the good guys, are you?”

“Good guys?” This actually makes me laugh. “There’s such a thing?” I lunge at her, trying to cut her off before she backs herself into the entrance, but she dodges me and skirts to the right, kicking over an oilcan as she moves. “Why are you running, gun girl?”

“Why are you chasing me, bike boy?”

“Not Batman then, huh?”

She shakes her head, her eyes are darting around like she’s looking for an escape route.

“Sheila,” I call out. When I look over, Sheila’s got a little smirk on her face. Like she’s feeling vindicated about this whole fuckup.