Lone star standoff, p.6
Lone Star Standoff, page 6
Okay — perhaps Nathan’s ideal escape would never have happened anyway.
Robin said, “I’m trying to find something ahead that we can use, but the land is very flat and straight.”
“They’re not trying to push me off the road. Not yet. That’s good.”
Nathan said, “None of this is good. But they haven’t started shooting at us yet, either. That suggests they’ve been ordered to bring us in alive.”
“To whom?”
“Larkin? Russo? I can’t imagine who else would be involved with us. These guys are certainly not Homeland Security.”
“We can’t simply keep driving this way. I could slow down, force my way over to the shoulder.”
“Keep going forward, for now. I can guarantee one thing — we don’t want to stop for these guys. Nothing good will come of that.”
“Then what are we going to do? If nothing else, eventually, we’ll run out of gas.”
Nathan looked out each window. On the left, a black sedan held steady. On the right, a silver Charger rumbled along. And behind — the headlights burned too bright to tell.
Opening the evidence bag with Maggie, Nathan loaded a fresh magazine. “You may want to hold your ears. This is going to be loud.”
Protecting his own with his left hand and right shoulder, Nathan pointed Maggie at the back window and shot. The safety glass shattered into thousands of tiny pebbles. As they flew outward, they smacked into the car behind them like a hailstorm. With a shake to clear his head, Nathan opened fire.
Four shots. One hit the windshield, one popped out the left headlight, and two missed. Though Nathan always sought to improve his precision, he was pleased with the results considering he shot out of a moving vehicle.
“They didn’t like that,” Robin said, as the sedan and the Charger pushed in from either side. “And clearly they’re in communication with each other.”
Each time Nathan attempted to take aim, one of the sidecars banged into them, disrupting any chance he had at a good shot. The third time he tried, they jolted the car hard enough that he dropped Maggie. It bounced out the back window. Nathan lunged for it, snatching it as it jittered atop beads of safety glass. He turned back and slumped low in the seat.
“How far are we from the nearest overpass?” he asked.
Robin said, “Do you want us going over or under?”
“Over.”
“About two miles.”
“Altman, I know you’ve got the sniper skills. How are you at shooting while moving?”
“Better than I am at driving.”
“When we reach that overpass, you need to turn the steering wheel as hard as you can to the right. Ride the slope of the ground straight down to the other road. You understand?”
With uncertainty trembling in her voice, Altman said, “Did you not hear me say that I’m no stunt driver?”
“We need to do this. Otherwise, they’ll kill us.”
“But you’re an Immortal.”
“You’re not. Get ready.”
“I’m not sure if I can actually —”
“There it is.”
Altman straightened in her seat and gripped the wheel tight. Nathan grabbed the seatbelt and buckled in. As they reached the end of the overpass, he said, “Now!”
Altman wrenched the wheel, and the tires screeched as the car slammed into the one next to them. The Charger scraped into the overpass wall. Metal whined and sparks flew. Altman pressed hard on the gas, pinching their enemy tighter.
“Don’t stop,” Nathan said. “Floor the pedal.”
At the last moment, they broke free of the Charger. Half-driving, half-sliding down the embankment, Altman and Robin shrieked as they bounced along the uneven surface.
When they hit the pavement, Altman slammed the brakes. The tires lost rubber against the road, and they came to a stop underneath the overpass. Nathan popped the seatbelt, shoved the door open and rushed toward the driver’s side. As he reached the door, he saw Altman had climbed over the seat and flopped into the back. He jumped in and set the car in motion.
All three of their enemies had swung back and now drove down the embankment. Two of them — the sedan and the Charger managed to bang their way onto the road. The third car lost control and rolled to the bottom, ending upside down, tires spinning in the air.
In the rearview mirror, Nathan saw the two approaching cars. The sedan had lost its front bumper, and the Charger’s windshield, bumper and side had been torn to shreds. He caught Altman’s stunned eyes staring at him.
“Anytime you want to start shooting would be appreciated,” he said with a wink.
He roared down the street, thankful that at such a late hour only a few cars roamed around. They were easy to avoid. As he weaved left and right to block either pursuer from passing, he heard Robin say, “Pull down the backseat. You’ll find an automatic weapon in there.”
“You could’ve told me that when I was back there,” Nathan said.
“Sheesh. Sorry. I know you’re used to being shot at all the time and being in car chases, but it only happens to me once every few years. I don’t think about every little permutation like you do.”
From the trunk access, Altman pulled out an M16 with a grenade launcher attachment mounted below. Loading it up, she said, “Quite nice. But if these are Larkin or Russo’s men, won’t killing them be pointless? They’ll be Immortals.”
“If they’re Immortals, then they’ll survive the bullets,” Nathan said. “That doesn’t mean they can outrun a car. So destroy their cars.”
“Right.” Altman whipped over the backseat and opened fire. The M16’s warcry blended with the roar of the car’s engine. Nathan felt vibrations through the steering wheel, but he couldn’t tell if they came from the large weapon or if the car bucked at the limits of its capabilities.
In the rearview mirror, he caught sight of the sedan riddled with bullet holes. Sparks flew off as Altman rode the automatic. The windshield shattered.
The sedan tried to sneak up on the left. Nathan jerked the car over which gave Altman a different angle of attack. Switching to semi-automatic, she let loose several short bursts of fire and blew out the front tire. The nose of the car dropped into the pavement, spitting a shower of sparks as the driver lost control. The sedan crashed into the back of a parked SUV.
“Good job,” Nathan said. “One to go.”
Pointing ahead, Robin said, “Next right. Take it.”
Nathan did not bother asking where she guided him, he simply hit the brakes as he spun the wheel. With expert timing, he accelerated as the tail of the car swung around. Not a perfect ninety degree turn, but darn close — and far more difficult for the Charger to follow.
From the back, Altman said, “A little warning next time.”
Nathan checked the mirror. Altman had blood running from a small cut in her forehead. Beyond her, he saw the Charger. It had missed the turn, but recovered fast enough that it was still in pursuit.
Robin directed Nathan into a developed neighborhood. The winding streets had not been designed for speeds above forty-five — and even then, the limit had been posted at thirty-five. Nathan pushed sixty.
“In a bit, this road is going to end,” Robin said. “You’ve got about half-a-mile to go, then make a left.”
Nathan whipped around a curve, unable to stop from scraping along a row of parked cars. There were going to be some ticked off suburbanites in the morning. “What’s in half-a-mile?”
“Construction site. Looks like they’re putting in some office buildings. I figured you could use that to our advantage.”
“A construction site? Are you crazy?”
“What? In the movies, that’s always a good plan. It’s going to be tough for them to follow us.”
“It’s going to be tough for us, too.”
“I have faith in you.”
Nathan wanted to argue further, but the rough, unpaved road required his attention. Spewing dust in the air helped obscure them and certainly made things more dangerous for the Charger — clouds of dust in the headlights and surrounded by the darkness of night. Nathan turned hard left and then hard right, serpentining around piles of wood, stacks of metal pipes, and mounds of dirt. After each turn, he snatched a glance to see if the Charger smashed into any of these obstacles, but with a skilled hand and a good eye, the driver managed to avoid disaster.
“Watch out!” Robin braced against the dashboard.
Nathan had thought the dark shape rapidly approaching was another supply mound but it turned out to be a raised section of ground that led to a large concrete flat with several metal posts framing the start of the first floor. Too late to turn, Nathan thumped over the lip and danced across the concrete — the deep scraping underneath reverberating through the car. Twice they hit a metal post, the impact shoving them in one direction or another like sadistic bumper cars.
A high-pitched noise escaped Robin’s lips. Nathan wanted to check on her, wanted to peek back at Altman, but he couldn’t take the time without smashing into something metal and killing them all. Up ahead, he spotted the end of the concrete. He sped up.
They shot off the edge and whacked into the dirt. The front bumper fell clean off as they mowed through a wall of grass and vines. Bursting across the back lawn of somebody’s home, Nathan swerved his way toward the driveway and then the street.
Feeling the wheels grip pavement eased his pounding heart. He chanced a look behind — the Charger squealed onto the road, banged up but running still.
“Get me onto some safer roads,” Nathan said.
Robin nodded vigorously. “No more construction sites. Never again.”
Altman shoved in a fresh magazine. “Slow down. Stop trying to get away.”
“Now you want to get caught?” Nathan said. “They’re not going to take you to Russo.”
“Trust me.”
Nathan debated the move in his head and decided to listen. Besides, he could see the gas gauge dropping — probably damaged the tank or gas line when they ripped up the underside. Taking his foot of the pedal, they coasted. The Charger roared forward like a hungry bear convinced its meal had finally tired.
“Hold as steady as you can,” Altman said, keeping her head low.
Nathan focused on the road and held a slower but unwavering speed. They jolted as the Charger nudged their back. As Nathan adjusted his grip on the wheel, he heard Altman open fire. Smart. She had waited for the car to be tapped which meant the Charger was so close she could whip over the backseat and see the driver. One controlled burst of gunfire, and the Charger veered off. Only for a moment. As it came hawking back, however, Altman was ready.
“Fire in the hole,” she yelled, and she used the grenade launcher.
The night turned orange around them. With a loud crack, a concussive wave bumped the car, but Nathan kept control of the wheel. He caught sight of a flaming wreck receding into the distance. It T-boned a parked Mini-Cooper.
“What the hell was that?” Altman said.
With a bashful shrug, Robin said, “Maybe a little more than a grenade.”
“Nicely done,” he said, pressing the gas pedal with less violence than before. “Both of you.”
Altman said, “I decided that if I killed an Immortal, it was a rather minimal problem. But I wasn’t expecting a bloody bomb. It did do the trick, though.”
Trying not to read too much into those words, Nathan drove them out of the neighborhood and onto the main streets of the town. “We need a new car.”
“Already on it,” Robin said.
In a matter of minutes, Robin had located a beaten sedan — another one — that had been parked under a tree on a side road with no security cameras within miles. No streetlamps, either. They boosted the car, leaving behind their wrecked vehicle and an envelope with five hundred dollars.
Back on the highway heading south, Nathan said, “Is Clockwork still in Oklahoma? Seems like that’s our best bet.”
Robin shook her head. “Not after all of this. I’m sure by now Clockwork has destroyed any hardware he couldn’t take with him and possibly torched the apartment he had used. Sorry, but that option is gone.”
“Then we have to start over.”
“Nope. Octavia’s tracker is still pinging. She’s in Texas.”
Nathan took a turn at shaking his head. “We’ve got to teach you about burying the lead. In fact, we’ve got quite a few hours driving ahead of us. So, sit back, relax, and let me be the one who knows something for a change.”
“Relax? How can we relax? You really think that there won’t be more of these goons coming after us?”
“I’m not sure. That entire attack seemed sloppy to me. I can’t figure out what they were trying to accomplish.”
“Stopping us, killing us — those are the most likely candidates.”
Altman said, “No, Nathan’s right. If they had wanted to kill us, they could have shot us through the windows or forced an accident or any number of better methods. If they wanted merely to stop us, they could have intercepted us before we got driving or followed us and made their move after we parked somewhere. Far easier and less dangerous than attacking on the road.”
Closing her laptop, Robin said, “Nothing you two are saying is making me feel any better.”
“In that case,” Nathan said, “I recommend closing your eyes and trying to sleep. You probably won’t get much opportunity when we hit Texas.”
CHAPTER NINE
Four hours later, they crossed from Oklahoma into Texas closing in on Wichita Falls. Altman had taken over the drive while Nathan rested on the backseat. The glow of Robin’s laptop went dark, and within ten minutes, her gentle snores filled the silent rumble of the car.
On the radio, after Tom Petty finished refusing to back down, a quick news report made no mention of them. There was, however, a discussion of Hurricane Gretchen which had been building up over the Gulf of Mexico. Originally expected to hit Louisiana, the storm now headed for the Texas coastline.
“Are you asleep?” Altman asked in a soft voice as she shut off the radio.
Nathan rose while scratching the side of his head. “What’s up?”
“I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on Immortal behavior.”
He tried not to roll his eyes. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
“Why? All of it, I mean. Why do it at all? When humans act horrible, there’s usually some sense to it. Bad logic, to be sure — my god is better than your god, we have to kill them before they even think about killing us, Mum treated me badly and now I must hurt anybody that reminds me of Mum — but, at least, it can be some sort of rationale. With Immortals, I simply fail to grasp why Russo would do what he does. He can live forever. I should think that negates the need for so much of what I see him and other Immortals doing.”
Rubbing his face, Nathan said, “I’ve been thinking about that one a lot myself. I’m not sure I have a good answer for you.”
“But you do it, too. Why bother getting involved in all of this? For me, I have a reason. Even before my sister met Russo, I had a reason to join MI-5, to train as an agent, to do all the dangerous things I’ve done. If nothing else, I wanted to stop the bad guys from hurting people. But an Immortal will outlast all of that. Why fight at all? Why not go live in some peaceful part of the world and simply enjoy the beauty of the Earth, find love and harmony, or something like that? Or why not put your mind to use and try to cure cancer or HIV or Ebola?”
“I can’t speak for all Immortals, but I didn’t choose any of this. When I became an Immortal, I was brought into Larkin’s world at the start. Everything I’m doing is to get free of that. After I’m done, maybe I will go live on top of a mountain and seek out nirvana.”
“I doubt that.”
Nathan allowed the corner of his mouth to rise. “You’re probably right.”
“Then why? It simply baffles me.”
“The Immortals I’ve met have told me lots of tales to explain things, and I suspect that much of it is just excuses for bad behavior. But there’s also this idea that we Immortals are some sort of balance to humanity. Some kind of thing meant to keep you in check. At least, that’s what I think the idea is.”
Altman let those words settle. “That doesn’t seem logical. I mean if that were the truth, then how does that account for Dendra and the Cardinal? How does that explain Russo’s abuse of his ability?”
“It doesn’t. But that’s the funny thing about beliefs — they don’t have to follow logic for people to believe.”
“Are you saying Immortals have a religion?”
“I’m saying that all of the Immortals I have come across, however different they might be, they all share one common thing — none of them knows how or why any of this happens. They are in the dark about their purpose in life every bit as much as you are or any other human. And like humans, the Immortals will make up reasons — ideas that confirm their biases, justify their actions, and in the end, fill them with a sense of meaning.”
“Sounds a lot like a religion.”
“The big difference is that Immortals are, well, immortal. Most of the big religions are sold on the idea of securing your place in the afterlife or securing your future life when you’re reborn. But for us, there is no afterlife. At least, not one any of us wants to see. I’m not saying all Immortals are atheists, but I do think we develop a different way of seeing the world. It’s like being a woman or being black.”
“Watch where you’re going with this one.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Your response is part of what I’m talking about. Your reality as a black woman is vastly different from what my reality was when I was human. When you’re walking alone and see a man walking nearby, you can’t help but get into a defensive, guarded mode of thought. Every woman sees threats in men who are strangers. But as a man, I never noticed anything like that. We had different realities. Same goes for black people and white people. Gay and straight. Wealthy and poor. It goes on and on. The world is not one single reality. It never has been.”
