It was night, of course. Daylight was just a memory. The blacktop gleamed by moonlight. The guard rail sped by, seeming to twist slightly like a snake. The brown weeds by the roadside waved in the same wind that shrieked by my car.
There weren't any other cars, not at night, not on this road. I sped by the burnt hulk of a sedan. I had passed it many times. It was a landmark. I knew every bump and dip in this road. Far, far ahead I could make out the lights of the Bridge in the distance. My exit was just beyond. I kept thinking I'd get there soon. Inside my worn suede gloves my fingers twitched. I shifted my weight sinking deeper into the leather seat that fit my frame from long hours of driving.
"I'll be home tonight," I said aloud. I held that thought before me like a charm to ward off exhaustion and frustration. I had been driving forever. The rumble of the Sceptre's engine deepened, never faltering as I took a sharp turn. The landscaping on either side of the turn rose up in scrub- and rock-covered hills that blocked my view of the straightaway ahead.
With a squeal of flayed rubber, I took the turn. There were no cars ahead, nothing behind me. I relaxed slightly. A hundred yards ahead my probing headlights fastened on a woman walking by the road. I glanced at the rearview mirror, saw only empty road. Then, they rested on her form, almost translucent in the bright highbeams. Against cycle marauders and other hunters of the night, she wore a blue silk dress, flapping in the wind. Her hair was coal, spilling over her white shoulders. There was a twinkle of sequined stockings as she walked never pausing.
For a moment, I was back in some nameless roadhouse. Old stories and rumors were passed around, and I had laughed at them, even the ones about this road. After all, I had kill packs to chase and bounties to collect. But, here and now, there was something about this woman's isolation and her offensive stride that struck me like a cold wind.
At fifty yards distance I checked my mirror again. Empty. There wasn't any light in the eastern sky. At thirty yards, I swore and jammed on the brakes. The Sceptre screeched to a halt, tires smoking, just a few feet from her. She stopped and slowly turned around. She looked straight at my smoking car. I wondered what she was seeing. With that same precise step, she walked around to my door, leaned in as I rolled down the bulletproof glass. A stray wind-teased lock of hair whipped across large blue eyes.
"Please, mister, can you give me a lift?" She gave me an address I knew only vaguely. It took a chill that racked her slim body to convince me she was real, not the result of a fatigued mind. As if in a dream, I unlocked the passenger door. I was pulling back into the right lane before she shut the door. I thought there was a light, very faint in my mirror.
"I can take you as far as the Bridge, no farther. There's a truck stop there. You'll be all right. I think you'll be in for a rough ride though." The words just spilled out. I wasn't used to a passenger.
My hitchhiker had drawn her legs up under her. She removed her shoes and sat rubbing her feet tiredly. Occasionally she trembled, from the cold I guessed. I reached out a hand to touch her shoulder but stopped. You can touch her, I thought. She won't disappear, won't melt in your grasp. But instead I gripped the wheel with both hands.
"What are you doing out here, dressed like that? You could get hit by a car, or run into a kill pack, or ... freeze." Impulsively, I shrugged out of my thick leather jacket, one hand on the wheel always. Gently I lay it over her. After a moment of doubt, she slipped into it. She favored me with a small smile.
She's just a girl, I thought, half-frozen and with an independent streak. Just a flesh-and-blood girl. It wasn't like she walked through the car door.
"This is a real leather jacket," she said in a hushed voice.
"Right. I'm a little behind the times." She was surveying me, the car and the jacket very subtly.
"It's so warm," she said snuggling into the jacket even further. For a moment, I thought she was going to coo. Then her eyes grew cold and hard.
"He said we were going someplace nice, you know? He didn't turn out nice. I took my chances walking." She ended her summary with a sigh and lay her head on top of the seat.
"He left you out here?!" She nodded tiredly. I felt my mouth twisting into a grimace. But I had worse problems. My faint light in the rearview had multiplied. I floored it, leaning forward against the sudden acceleration.
"He had to leave me. I gave him no choice. Thanks for picking me up," and finally she smiled fully. I returned the smile and found myself liking her style.
"My name's Jackson," I returned awkwardly.
"Maria. Thanks, Jackson." She turned to look out the window. We flew by a pack of wrecked kill cycles, details blurred by speed. I noted her slight interest.
"Lots of marauders picked this area for ambushes," I remarked. "It got so bad no one could get to the bridge at night. After enough citizens were cubed by bandits, the city fathers hired some 'specialists' to patrol this road and go after the cycles. It worked, but most people avoid this stretch today." She nodded thoughtfully.
The lights in my rearview were more distinct. I counted three lights. That meant there were six cycles. Three would hang back, lights out, each trailing a scout using lights, copying his manuevers. Some cycle packs let two cycles dog each scout, but this leads to messy accidents.
"Cycles!" Maria gasped, looking over her shoulder.
"Volkes," I growled. I was hoping he wouldn't catch up to me. Not tonight. Maria looked at me searchingly.
"Volkes is their leader. He has it in for me. I tried to nail him -- for the reward. He took it personally. Now that I know him better, I'd kill him for nothing. He's been prowling this road for years. If he had picked you up ..."
"Okay, I get it. No need to paint a picture." I could almost hear Volkes' howls of laughter on the wind. Impossible, just my imagination. I had to concentrate on getting Maria and myself out of this. She was one young woman Volkes wouldn't get.
With a long-practiced motion, I flipped the switches that began charging the weapon systems. Status lights began switching from amber to green. When I twitched the joystick, the M2HB, "Mother Duece," swivelled easily. I hit another button and the metal shutters retracted from the trail video camera. It would be hard enough hitting with the camera -- with the rearview mirror it would be impossible.
"This may be rough. Maybe you'd be better off still walking."
"Like hell!" I spared Maria a glance. She had swivelled Mother Duece's control arm over to her seat. Experimentally, she twisted the stick, trying to get the feel.
"Do you have a targeting computer, stabilizers?" she asked.
"The car isn't exactly state-of-the-art ..." The cycles were now shadowy forms behind their headlights.
"Maria, in a second the cycles are going to hit their brights. A couple have been running dark. Don't be surprised. Just hit the bright control on the screen and start shooting."
"Right. A targeting computer would do that automatically. Maybe you should look into one?" I favored her with a rather pained smile. She smiled back.
As my Sceptre cleared a gentle curve, the other cycles snapped on their lights. The viewscreen threw light across Maria's face. Instead of flinching, she cut loose with "Mother." The tracer rounds ripped into the night. One of the cycles slipped into their path and spun out of control. Maria spared a look over her shoulder.
"What have you got mounted in the rear!?"
"M2HB," I answered, drifting steeply into a right turn. Bullets began pinging off my trunk, as the cycles found our range. "Stop shooting," I ordered and switched the lights off. Coming out of the turn, several of the street lights were dark. It might give us an edge.
Flame blossomed from one of the cycles as I drifted hard right. A tight group of mini-rockets shot by the door, one found my rear bumper. The explosion webbed my rear window with cracks. I fought to keep the Sceptre on the road.
"Good driving," Maria shouted over the ringing in my ears. Mother Duece blasted again and another cycle spun out. Its explosion lit up the road. I was dimly awate of it, concentrating on avoiding a debris pile ahead. As I cleared it, I slammed on the brakes. More bullets spanged off my trunk, off the roof. Two gauged craters in the battered window.
"What are you doing? They have rockets!" Maria yelled.
"They only have a six pack on one cycle. They shot their load. Now they're going to try for our tires with their pea-shooters."
"Gee, you know Volkes pretty well. How many times did you run into them?"
Too many, I wanted to say. But there was more debris ahead and I had to swerve hard to clear it. Maria got another cycle, I didn't see it, just heard the blast and saw dark clouds in my sideview mirror. The three surviving cycles tore through the smoke. One rider struck a pothole. He drifted into the guardrail trailing sparks then spun along the ground. Its light strobed wildly.
A wrecked van came out of the blackness, sprawled across two lanes. I jerked the wheel hard to the left, straightened it. I was too slow. The Sceptre slammed hard into the guard rail, hard enough to stun Maria. I felt the front wheels crunch into debris sending shards of it into the underbody. I turned the wheel to the right, trying to regain the center lane. A piece of something was jammed into the suspension. We barely drifted right. Maria shook herself trying to clear her head.
Far ahead I could make out the lights of the truck stop, the last truck stop before my exit. Behind, I could see the lights of the remaining cycles whip around the derelict van with room to spare. I tried to drift right again with no success. Another volley of slugs hit. There was a dull thud followed by a grinding sound as the rear bumper began to drag. Maria was still blinking dully. I tried reaching "Mother's" controls, couldn't.
The truck stop was close, and very far. I felt like smashing my fist through the dashboard. But I had one trick left. Volkes wasn't going to beat me, or even tie me tonight. My foot came down on the brake like a piston. I twisted the wheel left, hard. The Sceptre screeched into a bootlegger.
The cycles closed in fast. Volkes knew what I was planning. A few bullets hit my car's hood as it swerved around to point at the cycles. My thumb snapped the safety off the steering wheel control, hit the button and fired the forward .50's.
The bullets turned one cycle into scrap instantly. Both rider and cycle were engulfed in the fireball. The flames singed the last cycle but didn't stop it.
Volkes.
Bits of flaming debris from the other cycle stuck to his cycle, his ragged flak jacket. His long hair, singed by the explosion, trailed smoke. One good eye burned into my brain. He might have been yelling something; I couldn't tell with so much of his face gone. One wiry arm gripped the cycle's handlebar, the other a LAW.
Then he was jerking as the bullets hit him. The LAW went spinning into the dark. The cycle wobbled and fell, pitching him forward. More bullets struck him. He hit the pavement wetly.
I sat there a moment regarding him. Then I shut off the guns. The night suddenly pressed in on my car again. The quiet seemed almost holy, not to be violated.
I had made it past Volkes. Hell, I went through Volkes. I looked at Maria staring at the wrecked cycles. Her black hair almost merged with the dark sky. I knew I should thank her but didn't know the words.
"I almost didn't pick you up," I said softly.
"I almost didn't get in the car," she answered shrugging. Then implusively she was warm and snug in my arms.
There was light in the east when I completed repairs. At a leisurely 35, my battered car rolled toward the truck stop. I pulled up to the main entrance and stopped.
"Sorry I can't take you all the way home," I said. Puzzlement showed on her face.
"Well ... can I buy you a cup of coffee," she asked, twisting a cuff on my old jacket. I noticed now that my jacket was far too big on her.
"Sorry. I can't stop now." With a resigned sigh, she leaned over and kissed my cold lips. Then she got out and stood watching as I pulled out.
"You're an angel, Jackson," she yelled. Hardly, I thought. I saw that several of the truck stop workers had come out. They ran over to her as I floored it. She'd get home safely.
This time I was going to make my exit in plenty of time. I never would have made it without Maria. I could picture her telling the stop's crew about her wild ride with Jackson. I could picture their faces going white when she told them how she shot it out with Volkes.
Then they would tell her about Volkes and me. About that night I was too late to save another girl. I riddled Volkes with bullets that night, but he managed to fire his LAW somehow. I didn't get out of the way that night.
That girl's maimed body had bothered me for twenty years now. Twenty years of nights. Twenty years on this darned road, Volkes shooting me up some nights, me getting him others. Twenty years of Limbo, knowing the sun shined for some people. The one's who triumphed.
Then my exit came into view. It wasn't on any maps, I knew that. I turned into it just as the sun was rising. Too bad I couldn't stop for a while with Maria. It had been a long time since I had a good cup of coffee.
Return to Table of Contents.
Return to Driving Tigers Magazine Home
Page.
Send e-mail to the
Editor-In-Chief.
Note: The author is not on-line. All comments will be
forwarded.