Collision Course (24 page)

He sat and watched with interest. If the farmer traded with them, then perhaps he'd trade with DJ, as well.
Hell
, he thought,
if I could just fill up the quad, I could probably make it without any more gas from here
. DJ unzipped his jacket some. It wasn't hot, but the air was getting thick, and he was starting to sweat a little. Finally the men were nearing the house. They huddled up for a minute, and then one of them approached the front of the house while the other three ducked away in hiding.

The hair on the back of DJ's neck went up. Were they planning an ambush? DJ's mind went into overdrive. They could be, but it was more likely that they were just being careful. If DJ had been part of the group, he wouldn't have exposed all of them, either, although he might have sent two to the door instead of just one. Well, these guys were obviously not strategic geniuses, so they were probably honest. DJ hoped so. He wanted to see if they got some gas.

The man went to the door and knocked. A few seconds later, a light came on upstairs. DJ pulled off his night vision and got his binoculars. He could see the light moving through the windows, its glow floating ghostlike toward the front door. With the field glasses, he could make out the middle-aged man who opened the door. He held a hurricane lantern in one hand and gestured with the other in an animated fashion. DJ could see that he wasn't happy, his head shaking from side to side. Clearly the four men, and DJ, would have to look elsewhere for fuel. The farmer closed the door, and the light began to reverse its path. Once on the top floor, the light extinguished.

DJ put his night vision back in place and saw the men grouped up on the edge of the complex. The man who had knocked was obviously telling the others what had been said. Then the four spread out across the front yard. A few seconds after that, the firing began.

* * *

The color drained out of Gabe's face. He turned and bolted through the front door so rapidly, the screen door closer popped off the doorframe with a bang. Jane stood frozen for more than a minute.

She wondered if she should go after him. He hadn't been gone very long. She could drive the truck and easily catch him before he got home. On the other hand, the long walk might give him enough time to think things through. She was praying he wouldn't drink. If he did, it would be her fault.

Get married,
she thought, scoffing at herself. She didn't know why she'd said it; it had just kind of come out on its own. She should have held back, but things had seemed so good between them. The look on his face when she asked was the same one she would've seen if she'd driven a stake through his heart. She mentally kicked herself again. She should've known he wasn't ready for that.

Earlier she'd headed off a relapse by kissing him. This time, in a way, that was what had started the trouble. What could she do? She had an idea, but was it right? It didn't matter, she told herself. He was back on track, and it was her job to keep him that way. “Whatever it takes,” she whispered.

She went to her room and opened the bottom drawer of the bureau. It had been a long time since anything in it had seen the light of a flickering candle. As she pulled out the long silk garment, a wave of doubt swelled up inside her. She sat down on the bed, bringing the soft material up to her face and feeling a tear form in the corner of her eye. She made herself look deep into her motives. Was she just using him because he gave her and her son some security in these troubling times? Was that fair to him? More important, was it fair to her? Was she willing to sacrifice her principles for a little security? She forced herself to stare deeper into the abyss, past all of the justification and reasoning. Past the second-guessing and doubts, the trepidation and the fear, like a distant lighthouse, was the answer. She loved him.

Everything zoomed into view. She loved him. He was the best man she had ever known, and she loved him. Of course he'd been blown off course by the deaths of his wife and son. Who wouldn't have been? But she loved him, flaws and all, and she wanted to make sure he knew it, even if it did drive him away.

She quickly packed the nightgown and a few other things into a small bag. She wrote a quick note to Robby, in case she wasn't back by the time he woke up, and left it on the table. Grabbing her keys, she headed for the truck. The broken screen door banged the side of the house again as she hurried through it.

* * *

DJ was pissed. Who did these guys think they were? He jumped off the quad and quickly cut the fence with his multitool. Climbing back on, he mashed the throttle open and started toward the house. The fact that the four men were attacking told him there was gas at the farm and the farmer just didn't want to part with it. If they killed the occupants and took what they wanted, he could get gas after they left.

DJ brought his quad to a halt and looked toward the house. The farmer was returning fire from a window on the second floor. DJ wondered how many people were inside. One would have a hard time holding off four. With nobody watching the back of the house, it would only be a matter of time before one of the raiders slipped in and blindsided the farmer.

The farmer wasn't shooting nearly as much as the raiders.
He's either pretty smart or doesn't have much ammo,
DJ thought. One of the raiders had disappeared from DJ's view on the far side of the house. Another was creeping toward the back on the near side. Then DJ saw a bright flash out of an upstairs side window and an instant later heard the unmistakable sound of a shotgun. So there were at least two people in the house. DJ saw the raider drop to the ground and squirm. A second shot came, and the squirming stopped.

DJ cranked the bike up and resumed his course toward the house. It was clear that, more than likely, the occupants of the house would win. If he helped them, maybe they'd give him some gas. Besides, it was the right thing to do, he reasoned, even if there was no gas.

He drove as fast as he safely could toward the back of the complex, finally parking behind a barn, and removed his rifle from the custom scabbard. Switching on the sight to the night-vision setting, he began making his way to the back of the main house. When he came around the barn, he saw one of the raiders trying to kick in the back door. DJ raised the rifle and centered the man in the glowing sight circle. He squeezed the trigger, and the rifle barked. A second later, the kicker was lying motionless on the back steps.

DJ worked his way toward the front of the house, careful to stay well away from the building. He didn't want to be mistaken for one of the raiders. It took a couple of minutes, but soon he could see one of the attackers shooting at the house from behind the cover of a large tree. The man wasn't covered from DJ's angle, however. He raised his rifle, and a quick double tap ended the man's assault. The last raider broke cover and ran back toward the field. A shot from the rifle upstairs ended his retreat.

DJ was wondering if the people in the house knew they had help. Should he call out to them? Before he could decide, a man's voice shouted down.

“Who's there? What do you want?”

“My name is DJ Frost. I was driving by, heard the shots, saw these men attacking your house, and came to help. I don't really want anything. Maybe just a place to hole up for a day or two, if that's all right.”

“How do I know you're not one of them?”

“Well, you just saw me shoot one of them, and there's another one on the ground outside the back door. Why would I shoot them if I was with them?”

“Maybe you saw you were losing, and you turned on your own men to get what you wanted.”

This guy has his tinfoil wrapped a little tight
.

“That's not very likely,” DJ said. “Five guys with any kind of intelligent plan would have no problem taking the house.” That was probably an exaggeration, DJ knew, but he needed to convince the man that he was a good guy. “If I hadn't helped you, you might be the one dead right now. Besides that, I can prove I wasn't traveling with this scum. I have a quad parked behind your barn. There's no way five guys would fit on it.”

“That might be true, but I still don't know if I can trust you.”

DJ decided to try a little reverse psychology. “Well, there's no way I can absolutely prove I'm trustworthy. I'll just continue on my way,” he said, attempting to sound disappointed.

“Wait,” a female voice called out.

DJ could hear the two voices going back and forth for a minute. He couldn't make out the words, but it was obvious they were arguing. Finally the man called out.

“Please stay right where you are. I'm going to the barn to check out your story. If you're telling the truth, we'll be happy to let you stay for a few days. My wife has you covered, so don't try anything funny.”

“No problem,” DJ answered. He saw the light being carried down the stairs again.

“Thank you so much for you help,” the woman said. “I'm sorry my husband is so suspicious.”

“He's only being as cautious as I'd be,” DJ answered in as pleasant a voice as he could muster. “What did those men want?” he added with feigned curiosity.

“They wanted gas. Peter told them we didn't have any extra, but they didn't believe him. The only gas we have is in my car, and we need that to get back and forth to town. I never thought anyone would be willing to kill for a few gallons of gas.” The woman's voice was starting to shake. “I—I never thought I'd have to shoot someone.”

“You only did what you had to,” DJ said reassuringly.

“You seem so calm. Have you had to do this before?”

“Once.”

“How did you, you know, deal with the guilt?” she asked.

“It helps if you think of them as the animals they are. Humans don't prey on each other, no matter how bad things get. They were rabid dogs, and you only stopped them before they hurt and killed lots of people. Just remember that.”

“I will. Thanks, DJ.”

Neither spoke for a minute or two. DJ wondered where they kept the car. Maybe he could just siphon the gas he needed when the couple went back to bed. If not, he'd have to play nice for a while. It might be a day or two until he could talk them out of a couple of gallons.

“So, DJ, where are you from, and where are you headed?”

DJ figured that the silence might be awkward for her, and that was why she started the small talk.

“I'm from the big city,” he said, careful not to give out too much information, “and I'm heading over to a place in the boonies that some friends of mine own.”

“I heard it's awful in the cities,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am. It's getting really bad.”

After another awkward pause, she spoke again. “What does DJ stand for?”

“Devlin James,” he answered.

“That's a nice name.”

“I never liked my first name. The kids in school used to tease me about it. That's why I go by DJ.”

“Well, then, DJ it is,” she said in a cheerful tone.

About that time, DJ saw the light coming to the front door. It opened and the man stepped out on the front porch holding the lantern up high, making himself visible. “Your quad is right where you said it was. I appreciate your help, and we'd be glad to put you up for a day or two.”

It's a good thing I'm one of the good guys,
DJ thought.
Otherwise I could have easily killed this guy
. “Thanks,” he said in his friendliest voice. “I'm only happy I was passing by.”

* * *

Jane knocked on the door, fearful of what she would find. It seemed like an eternity until the door opened. He stood there, straight and rigid. Most important, he didn't have a glass in his hand.

“I'm so sorry, Gabe. I'm so stupid for just blurting that out. I don't know why I said it. I just wanted you to know—”

She was surprised that his arms were around her and his mouth pressed against hers before she even saw him move. They'd been making out for a while now, and she had really enjoyed the closeness, but this was a kiss on a whole other level. It was warmer, softer, and more passionate than anything they'd shared up to this point. Was it just because she'd come to grips with her feelings? She pushed the thought aside and just enjoyed the moment, hoping this was a good omen for them. At the very least, it put off the risky confession she had to make.

Before she was ready to stop, his hands clasped her upper arms, and he gently pushed her back. Why had he stopped? She looked in his eyes for the answer. They were different. The cold, steely gray had turned soft and warm. What was it? It looked like happiness. Could that be right? Her mind began to race through the countless possibilities.

“Okay,” he said quietly, before she could even begin to sort the probable from the improbable.

“Okay?” she asked, confusion in her voice and on her face.

He nodded gently. “Yes, okay. Let's get married,” he whispered with a smile.

CHAPTER 26

“D
o you mean it?” Jane said.

Gabe's head tipped slightly to one side, and his eyes opened wider.

“Of course you mean it,” she stammered. “I just mean, are you ready for this?”

“When you asked me what I thought about it earlier, I didn't think I was, but on the walk home, I realized I've been happy for the first time since Hannah and Michael died. I think I was feeling guilty about that, and that's why I haven't wanted to admit it to myself, but there's no reason to feel guilty about being happy. I want to be with you. I want you and Robby to be a part of my life. I really do want to marry you, if you'll have me.”

“Of course I'll have you.” She stood on her toes and gave him a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I can spend the night here if you want me to,” she whispered in his ear.

“I do want you to,” he said, “but let's wait until we're married.” He gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“I don't know if I want to wait that long.”

“Me, either. That's why I thought we might get married next Saturday. We can talk to the preacher about it after church tomorrow.”

“Oh, Gabe!” She threw her arms around his neck.

* * *

“If you need another blanket later tonight, they're in the chest at the foot of the bed,” the woman said.

“Thanks, Margaret,” DJ said.

“And the bathroom's right down the hall on your left. If you need to flush, there's a five-gallon bucket of water in there,” Peter said.

“Okay,” DJ said. “Thanks again for putting me up.”

“Well, we really do appreciate you helping us out. I think we would've stopped those bastards, but you never know.”

“You were using tactics,” DJ said, trying to sound authoritative, “and you have good fire discipline, too, I noticed.”

“Learned that in the army a long time ago,” Peter said.

“You see any action?”

“No. I was too young for Korea and too old for Vietnam. How about you? Looking at your gear, you must have some military experience.”

“No,” DJ said, “I'm in law enforcement.”

“You're a cop?” Margaret said.

“Yes.”

“That explains why you were so cool,” she said. “I was a nervous wreck. The blasts of the guns and sounds of the bullets smacking the house were way different from what you hear on TV.”

“That's very true, but you did fine, Margaret.”

“Thanks, DJ, and thanks again for rescuing us.”

“No problem. Good night.”

“Good night,” the couple chimed in unison.

DJ heard them climb the stairs and shuffle around for a while. When it had been quiet for forty-five minutes, he slipped out of bed and pulled his boots on. The old wooden screen frame was held in place with a simple latch. DJ had no problem removing it and slipping it in through the window. Climbing out the window, he pulled his night vision into place.

He looked up at the second story of the house, and all appeared to be still. He walked behind the house to the detached garage. His quad was in here, and so was Margaret's car. The garage door was locked from the inside, but luckily he'd been the last one out of the regular door on the side when Peter had let him put the four-wheeler inside. DJ had feigned locking the door. He'd left everything except his rifle, pistol, and a small duffel bag on the quad. They were with him now. His plan was to siphon enough gas out of Margaret's car to fill the quad and his last good jerry can, then leave.

DJ turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. Walking to his vehicle, he laid down his rifle and bag and removed his last good fuel can and the siphon hose. He walked to the other side of the car and opened the fuel door.

“Damn it,” he whispered under his breath. A locking fuel cap was covering the tank. He could try to remove it, or he could just punch the tank as he'd done on the truck, but that might make too much noise.
I'll have to wait until the old couple is away or find a way to get the keys,
he thought. He exited the garage, really locking the door this time, and made his way back through the guest room window.

* * *

Gabe had heard a few hellfire and brimstone preachers in his life, but all of those paled in comparison to Reverend Washington. The preacher's voice trembled with passion as he spoke. “And the Good Book says in Proverbs 22:3 that ‘A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished.' Can I get an amen?”

“Amen!” the crowded sanctuary boomed.

“Brethren, God is admonishing us to be prudent and wise. He says we must foresee the evil that might come our way. Some of us would rather look the other way and hope that evil passes us by. That is the easy thing to do. It is the simple thing to do. But if evil does not pass us by, and we are unprepared, then we will be punished according to the Word of God!” The preacher's fist smacked the pulpit with a resounding report.

Reverend Washington went on to talk about David and how he'd protected the sheep from predators with his sling. He preached about the watchman in Ezekiel 33 and how if someone ignored his warning, his blood was on his own hands. He read a few more passages from different books of the Bible and related their meanings to the congregation.

Gabe smiled at the wisdom of the white-haired orator. He'd found biblical support for all of the things Paul had suggested last night, and with most of the neighborhood here in the church, Gabe was sure the defensive plan would pass the next time they voted on it.The bed wasn't as comfortable as the one at Crystal's had been, but it was sure better than sleeping on the ground. The smell of coffee tempted his palate as he rose, dressed, and headed down the stairs.

“Good morning,” Margaret said. “How did you sleep?”

“Pretty well, Margaret,” DJ said. “How about you?”

“Not too good. I guess I had too much adrenaline pumping to sleep much.”

“Yeah, that happens. Where's Peter?”

“He's wrapping up the bodies of those guys who attacked us and putting them in the barn. He plans to go to town after breakfast to get the police to come pick up the bodies.”

“He should just dig a hole with the tractor, dump them in, and cover them up. Then, if anybody comes looking for them, you two should say you don't know anything.”

“We couldn't do that. Those boys might have families. I feel bad about killing them, but they would have killed us for the gas in the car. I can't believe they died for a few gallons of fuel,” she said as she put her hands over her head and face. She began to sob.

DJ could see that the reality of what had happened last night was just starting to dawn on her. He wondered if Peter knew what he was doing, going to the police. More than likely, the police would come get the bodies and not press charges on the old couple, but DJ couldn't take that chance. If he couldn't change Peter's mind, he'd have to leave. If the cops came and started asking questions, who knew what might happen? DJ figured he'd better get some gas and get out of there.

“There, there,” he said as he patted the older woman on the back. “Everything's going to be okay.”

The woman sniffed a couple of times and painted on a smile. “Thanks, Dev . . . I mean, DJ. You really are an angel.”

DJ smiled at the compliment. “I'm going to go out and see if Peter needs any help while you fix breakfast.”

“Okay.”

As he walked outside, he saw a tractor with a front-end loader on it parked next to the barn. DJ made his way there, getting his first view of the complex in the daylight. Behind the barn was a very large fuel tank. It looked as if it might hold three or four hundred gallons of gas. He wondered if it was empty. If it was even half-full, there was plenty of gas for Peter to give him five gallons or so. In fact, DJ wondered why Peter would even risk a gunfight by turning down the guys last night if he had any extra fuel.

“Peter,” he called as he approached the barn.

“In here,” the answer came.

DJ entered the barn and saw Peter pulling the fourth body, wrapped neatly in a sheet, next to the other three. “I came to help, but I see I'm too late.”

“Thanks,” the man said. His brow was deeply furrowed as he looked at the four carefully placed bodies.

DJ could see that Peter wasn't in much of a talking mood, but he couldn't wait. “Peter, Margaret told me you were going to the police this morning to report what happened.”

“Yes,” the man said, looking up. “I'd really appreciate it if you'd go with me.”

“Are you sure involving the police is the right thing to do?” DJ said.

“Of course it is. I'm a little surprised to hear a cop ask that question, DJ.”

“Well, things are different now. Who knows how the police will react? One of those boys could even be a cop's son or something,” DJ said, recalling his encounter with the deputy at Crystal's house.

“Well, I know the sheriff, so we won't have any problems, especially if you back up my story. We can do some shopping in town if you need anything. No sense wasting the gas.”

“Speaking of gas, I noticed a huge tank behind the barn. Isn't there any gas in that?”

“It's a diesel tank for the tractors. It's almost full, but little good it does unless we drive one of the tractors to town,” Peter said.

“I see. You don't have a truck that runs on diesel?”

“Yes, I have a Dodge one-ton, but as my farmer's luck would have it, it's broken.”

“What's wrong with it?” DJ said.

“The injection pump went out just as things started to go south. I had it towed to the shop, and they ordered a new one, but who knows when or if it'll ever come in? Come on, let's go eat, and then we can go to town.”

The two men walked out of the barn and back toward the house. DJ was thinking about what to do. If Peter really did know the sheriff, and there was no reason to think he was lying, then everything might end up all right. He could possibly even buy the gas he needed to get to the retreat. On the other hand . . . he just couldn't risk it.

“Listen, Peter, I just can't go with you. The sheriff knows you, but he doesn't know me. I can't risk him holding me until he finds out who I am. I mean, with the way communications are now, there's no telling how long that might be.”

“I'm sure you don't have anything to worry about, DJ. The sheriff is a real stand-up guy, and with you being a cop, too, we'll be in and out in no time.”

“I'm sure you're right, Peter, but like I said, things are different now. The feds might be in charge, and they might not be stand-up guys. I think it's best if I go ahead and leave before you go.”

“Well,” Peter said, “I can see why you might be reluctant. I guess I owe you enough without making you go with me. Come on in and eat breakfast, and we can leave at the same time. It'll be at least a couple of hours before I get back. That should give you a good head start.”

“Thanks,” DJ said with a big smile. He took a deep breath. “Say, Peter, talking about owing me, do you think you could see your way to selling me a couple of gallons of gas? I was refiguring last night, and I don't have quite enough to make it like I thought I did.”

“Sorry, DJ, but I just can't. All we have is what's in the car.”

“I can pay you top dollar, and you can get more when you go to see the sheriff.”

“Last time I was in town, I was able to buy five gallons, but they didn't know if they'd have any after that. That was about a week and a half ago. If you wanted to go to town, we could see if they still have any.”

“No,” DJ said, his teeth clenched, “I told you I can't take that chance.”

“Well, if you want to wait for me to come back, I can try to get you some, but there are no guarantees,” Peter stated flatly as the men approached the back door of the house.

“Look, Peter,” DJ said as he placed himself between the farmer and the house, “I really must insist.”

“No, you look. I'm trying to be civil here, but you're making it difficult. I'll help you with some food or anything else I can, but gasoline is out of the question. Just drop it, and let's eat.”

Peter stepped to the side to walk around his guest, but DJ was younger and faster. He sidestepped in front of Peter and pulled the big black .45 out of the drop-leg holster and leveled it at the older man. “I didn't want it to come to this, but I have to have a couple of gallons of gas. Now give me the key to the cap on the Buick.”

Peter's eyes had flames in them, but he slowly put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his keys. “You fucking bastard. I can't believe you'd do this. You're no better than those pieces of shit from last night. I shouldn't have listened to Margaret.”

DJ smiled at the insults. He couldn't care less what this bumpkin thought of him. He was just happy he'd get his gas. Of course, he wouldn't just take two gallons now. He stepped forward and reached out for the keys. As his hand closed around them, the big pistol barked. A red spot appeared on Peter's shirt, and the man took a couple of unsteady steps backward and then fell to the ground.

DJ stared in shock. What had made his pistol fire? He walked forward and looked down at the injured man. His mouth was moving, but the sounds coming out were too weak to be distinguishable. His eyes smoldered with hate as he looked up at DJ, but DJ's mind was too busy searching for an answer to notice.

It took a second, but DJ figured out that it had been a sympathetic response. He inwardly chuckled at the irony of the term. He would bet that Peter wouldn't think it was too sympathetic. DJ had read about sympathetic responses before. It happened most often when a cop was cuffing a suspect. When one hand squeezed the handcuffs closed, the other hand sympathetically squeezed, as well. If the cop had his firearm pointed at the suspect, well, this was what happened.