A Powerless World | Book 1 | Escape The Breakdown Page 5

  The driver of the 4 x 4 Ford had been partially ejected. Upon impact the front half of his body had punched through the windshield, coming to rest on the hood.

  Colby noted the airbags hadn’t deployed nor had the brakes operated. Confusion swirled as he groaned, closing his eyes and feeling a wave of pain radiated through his muscles.

  His first instincts were to make sure Kane was okay before checking his own body for fractures or lacerations. That dog was his world. Other than himself, Kane was the only damn thing he cared about.

  For a brief second, he’d forgotten Alicia was even there until he twisted around and saw her slumped over. Blood streaked the side of her face. She had a cut just above the left eye.

  “Hey, hey!” he said, leaning over the console and giving her shoulder a gentle shake.

  At first, she didn’t respond. So he moved her harder.

  She groaned. Her eyes blinked open before coughing hard.

  A quick scan — all her limbs looked intact.

  Good. Still alive.

  “Kane?”

  The dog let out a whimper and brought his snout up as Colby slid open the partition and ran his hand around his jowls. “All right, boy, hold on a second.”

  Colby unbuckled his seat belt and forced himself out, dropping to his knees as more pain coursed through him.

  There were shards of glass everywhere. Drivers and passengers were out of their vehicles, some rushing to his aid, while others tried to deal with other accidents.

  “You okay, sir?” someone asked. A blur off to his left. He waved the guy off.

  His hand was bleeding badly and his eyelid swelling.

  Staggering to his feet, he yanked open the rear door to find Kane still in one piece. No limping. Probably just shaken up. Colby had padded the insides well in case of an accident. “You okay, bud?” Colby spoke to him in the same way he would any partner. Years of riding together, they’d been through a few collisions, nothing as extreme as this but still, that experience had served them well.

  Through the grate of the cage, he saw Alicia sit upright. She let out a cry as she brought her cuffed hands up to her head.

  “It's whiplash,” he said. “You okay?” No answer. “Alicia?”

  “Like you give a damn,” she replied without looking at him.

  Colby closed the door and made his way to the front of the vehicle to check on the occupant of the Ford. Blood trailed off the hood, his eyes were glassy and absent of life. He didn’t need to check but it was a habit from attending multiple accidents.

  He touched the side of the guy’s neck. No pulse.

  Colby looked in the vehicle.

  Insane. He hadn’t been wearing a seat belt. His eyes tore away toward the traffic that was bumper-to-bumper, an endless array of vehicles for as far as the eye could see.

  All the lights were out in the city.

  Darkness swallowed the highway. The only illumination came from fires started by the riots. What the hell? He’d attended enough traffic incidents as an officer at night to know this wasn’t normal.

  Colby was startled at the sound of a loud boom in the distance. It was followed by tongues of fire and hot ash spitting up into the sky.

  More occupants of vehicles got out, absently staring at their phones, some asking others if theirs was dead.

  The sound of cries, whimpering mixed with an occasional scream, embodied the chaotic moment.

  Colby brought a hand up to his neck and rubbed his chest. The seat belt had saved his life but had caused one hell of a burn. He didn’t need to see the skin to know it was an angry red.

  As he tried to make sense of what had happened, Colby glanced back at Alicia before making his way back and trying to open the passenger side. The impact had shifted the metal so much that the door was jammed.

  “Can you move?” he asked through her partially open window.

  She responded by unbuckling her seat belt. He made his way around to give her a hand getting out, as her wrists were still cuffed.

  She extended her wrists, expecting him to uncuff, but that wasn’t happening. At least not at that moment. As far as he was concerned he still had a job to do and she was still a fugitive.

  As he went to pull her out, he heard a commotion behind him, six maybe seven cars back. A gun was unloaded, someone let out a harrowing scream. A commotion. A few men charged someone and a gun went off again.

  Pop, pop, pop!

  People fled vehicles in every direction, some took cover behind their cars. Colby gave a sideways glance to see the same bald man from the terminal parking staggering forward, stepping over someone he’d just shot with a handgun. He wasn’t alone either, there were two others with him, armed, wielding shotguns.

  “You’ve got to be joking.”

  Although his body was crying out for him to rest, he reached in and grabbed Alicia’s jean jacket and hauled her out like a bag of potatoes. “We need to move, now.”

  As Colby went to let Kane out, Alicia took advantage of the moment and ran.

  “Hey!” He quickly attached a leash to Kane and they hauled ass just as the bald guy unloaded a round that tore through his driver’s side mirror, barely missing his face. Colby could have released Kane on him but it was easier to return fire.

  He squeezed off two rounds back to back.

  The Russians dove for cover and he used that as his moment to catch up with Alicia. Running handcuffed wasn’t easy, she kept looking back over her shoulder as he closed the distance and clamped a hand on her back.

  She wriggled in his grasp.

  “Stop it! Do you want to do this again?”

  “I’m saving your ass. Just let me go,” she said.

  “Right now, I’m knee-deep in the same shit as you, and until I get some answers…” A round zipped past him. Close. Too close. Colby pushed her between the cars. “You are staying with me,” he said. She flailed in his grip. “Now would you stop fighting me? I’m trying to help you.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  Another round erupted, shattering the back windshield of a car. Both of them darted through the maze of vehicles. Many passengers were still inside, others were out, seeking cover, or had already abandoned their vehicle and joined a line of occupants who had opted to go for help.

  A few screams rippled through the dry air.

  There were no emergency vehicles.

  No sirens. No blaring horns.

  The only other noise that could be heard was family members shouting to one another to get down.

  They all did except one old-timer who decided to play hero.

  He pounced from behind a truck and opened fire on the Russians only to end up wounded. As they walked past his slumped body, still alive, one of them blew his face off with another round.

  Kane barked a few times, causing the men to shift position.

  “Quiet!” A firm tug on the leash and that was all it took. They stayed low and kept moving. Colby would pop up from time to time, trying to get a bead on their whereabouts through the glass. It was dark but he could see their silhouettes. They were a good five, maybe six cars behind them, walking calmly north down the line of the two-lane road.

  A freeway-style concrete median separated the other two lanes going south.

  Attacking them in the open was a brazen move but even if the police wanted to help, with no communication or vehicles they couldn’t. It also probably didn’t help that they were already stretched to the limit by the thousands that had gone out to protest and riot that evening.

  No, he and Alicia were alone. No help was coming.

  The Russians glanced into each vehicle they passed, assuming they might get inside one and hide.

  All of the roads were clogged. Had they not had the cover of darkness, and a slew of vehicles, there was a good chance they would have been spotted.

  “Come on now, all we want is the woman,” one of them said in a thick Russian accent.

  On either side of the north to south arte
ry that ran between El Segundo and the Sunset Strip in West Hollywood, there were grassy slopes. The east slope went up to a graffiti-covered sound barrier, at least in the section of the boulevard they were on. Even if they wanted to make a run for that, Kane wouldn’t be able to get over it. And, an attempt to cross the median would have been suicide.

  As it stood, they were moving along the eastern side of the vehicles heading north, moving in and out of the maze of metal each time Colby saw one of the men take a turn moving to the outside to check the hard shoulder.

  “Take the cuffs off. I can help you,” she whispered.

  “You can help by keeping quiet,” he replied, eyeing the men.

  “All they want is me. You won’t get far with your dog.”

  Under the strange circumstances that he found himself in, he’d considered letting her go. It would have been a first, and it would have been easier that way but then he wouldn’t have gotten paid. He always got paid.

  But helping her now was more than that. Despite what she believed, the situation they found themselves in had less to do with money and more to do with an event that mirrored one from over ten years ago. A decision that he still regretted. He struggled then, so there was no way he was having her death on his conscience now. “No, we keep moving.”

  Drivers, family members, passengers were out of their vehicles, providing additional concealment, but it wouldn’t last.

  An amped-up Rottweiler inside a truck started barking furiously as they passed it, instantly giving away their location.

  The men reacted fast, one of them slipping to the outside while the other two remained in the middle.

  They’d taken cover at the front of the 4 X 4 with the Rottweiler inside. With their backs pressed against the warm grille, Alicia put out her cuffed hands. “I can help. Please.”

  A few seconds of contemplation.

  They didn’t have much time.

  This wasn’t just about her safety, it was his own, and Kane’s.

  A glance back and he could see the men bearing down on them.

  Colby reached into his jacket and handed her his Taser. It put out 50,000 volts. One squeeze of the trigger and it offered a five-second burst.

  “Keep holding the trigger for a continual release of electricity. It fires just like a gun.”

  “I know.”

  He raised an eyebrow as he handed it to her.

  He wasn’t convinced that releasing the cuffs at this point was the right thing but he decided to unlock them. Alicia rubbed her wrists. As she reached for the stun gun. Colby held it a second longer. “Don’t make me regret this.” She gave a nod. “Take the one on your side, Kane will handle one, I’ll take out the other. Wait until I give the signal.”

  Colby’s pulse sped up, adrenaline racing around his body.

  He didn’t need to say anything to Kane, the dog was always ready. Shotgun or not, it was a risk they would have to take. He just needed a moment of distraction, enough to take out one before turning his gun on the next.

  They were nearly upon them.

  “Fass, fass!” He said in Kane’s ear.

  When he said it twice the dog knew to attack not merely capture.

  He elbowed Alicia and bounced up.

  Colby fired a round, completely focused on the two men as Kane burst forth.

  The suddenness caught them off guard. The man’s head jerked back as the bullet lanced through his skull.

  There was no time to check if Alicia had followed through, as he’d already turned the gun on the second guy who didn’t even have time to unload a round before Kane was on his arm and had knocked him back onto the hood of a car. Colby aimed and fired.

  Kane continued to chew at his arm as Colby turned to find the third guy on the ground, flopping around with volts flowing through him.

  He scooped up the one guy’s shotgun, gave the command for Kane to release, and then backed away.

  It had worked.

  At least he thought so.

  What they hadn’t seen was a fourth guy who’d kept back at a distance, covering his Russian pals’ backs.

  As Colby came around the truck, unaware, ready to unload a round into the flailing third guy, a roaring truck came barreling down the hard shoulder.

  Bright spotlights speared the darkened evening, revealing the fourth gunman who was about to unload. The truck burst up behind him and slammed into him, sending him forward before stream rolling over him.

  The truck swerved, a door popped open, and a woman’s voice called out. “Get in!”

  Colby squinted into the glare of bright lights. “Daisy?”

  “Consider this your lucky day, asshole!” Alicia said, kicking the third guy in the face, knocking him out cold.

  FIVE

  JESSIE

  Garberville, California

  Day of Event, An hour earlier…

  Only four days clear of Humboldt County Correctional Facility and he was already gunning for a fistfight. Jessie Riker had just completed a streak of 36 months for the possession of an assault rifle and a slew of ammunition. He chuckled at the term assault rifle. The government were a bunch of pussies slapping that word on any rifle they could.

  To be fair it was a WASR-10 loaded with a 30-round magazine, and admittedly, he did have dark intentions when one of the deputies from Garberville arrested him. He was on his way to settle a score. But that wasn’t what landed him the lengthy sentence, it was his previous conviction for a felony. Apparently, he wasn’t supposed to be in possession of a firearm. He chuckled at the thought. Telling that to anyone around these parts was like instructing a man to walk into an alligator-infested river.

  As the oldest in the Riker family, he prided himself on setting a good example for his younger siblings, and what better way than getting his knuckles bloodied.

  He had a long history of fist fighting and could count on one hand how many fights he’d lost. If there was one thing he was good at, it was knocking people out. And that’s what he’d planned that evening. Since they’d found their father’s body dumped in the middle of a single-lane dirt road up on the mountain, just on the outskirts of Alderpoint, he’d had his ear to the ground trying to figure out who was responsible. His family had a good idea but jumping the gun could lead to an all-out war and the last time the Rikers and Stricklands had gone toe-to-toe, it had been bloody.

  The trouble was, getting anyone to confess was hard in a county where more people were missing than any other in California. People were scared to say anything and the cops, well, they were just a joke, pandering to the upper and middle class. Miriam, his sister, had gone to the law, tried to do things the right way, but like everything it just got brushed under the carpet, and even more so when they heard the names, Strickland and Riker. The two names were synonymous with trouble. Although for a time they had remained at peace with one another, in the sense no one had died in the past ten years, that didn’t mean they didn’t get into it with locals in the town, or the cops.

  So with little hope of the law helping, he figured he’d take matters into his own hands.

  It had taken less than six hours to get a name.

  While most locals were tight-lipped out of fear of retribution, there were always a few willing to give up information in exchange for a few pounds of weed. On his third day out of the lockup, he had a lead. It wasn’t much but it was confirmed by one other person. They now had the reason why their father had died, though they still didn’t know who had done it. But it was a start.

  That evening he and three of his brothers had headed out, prowling the streets searching for the guy, fully intent on getting answers.

  With the pandemic still in full swing, all restaurants and bars had been closed, otherwise he was sure he would have found him drinking in one of the watering holes.

  Fortunately, with locals wanting to see in the new year and tight restrictions, the county had opted to allow a safe-distance gathering over at French’s Camp, a famous spot along the river tha
t was used for the annual music festival called Reggae on the River. It was a smorgasbord of arts, culture, music, and food spread out over three days. It drew in crowds every year, those looking to camp, get drunk and unwind.

  As talk swirled of a complete lockdown, the county had felt it was still safe enough to move ahead with a fireworks display, as long as people kept their distance and stayed in their respective small groups. It was a way to see in the new year outside while enjoying live music. And it was there that he’d spotted Trent Ward drinking beer with a group, none of them Stricklands.

  Unlike them, Trent came from a small family.

  Not fitting in, he’d tried to run with their family. He’d helped out as one of the many trimmers. Except Trent thought he’d be getting high all day instead of doing any work so they’d fired his ass and sent him packing. Of course, he’d taken exception with the way his father had handled matters and had turned to the Stricklands, figuring he could work for them. Knowing his background, the months he’d spent working for his father, they’d refused to have him as they were paranoid that anyone associating with the Rikers was either trying to spy on their operation or sabotage it.

  That didn’t stop him from talking and tossing their names around.

  “Yeah, I work for them,” he’d say.

  He knew if locals thought he was running with either of them, no one would touch him. The weight that both family names carried in the county preceded them. To those in the know, screwing with anyone associated with them was like opening a Pandora’s box. There was no telling what would happen.

  Jessie sat in the passenger side of the idling 4 X 4, loading ammo into a Smith & Wesson Model 66 revolver. Dylan was driving. Zeke and Lincoln were in the back passing a joint around. “A bit risky, don’t you think?” Zeke said, exhaling smoke out his nose.

  “I’m not going to unload it here. It’s just in case.”

  Lincoln chimed in. “I mean if we get stopped by cops. They’ll send you back, Jess.”