The Survival Code, page 17
Floyd’s Fuel.
The windows of the minimart attached to the station are almost completely covered with ads for different kinds of beer. The lights are on inside, but it’s impossible to tell who or what might be in there. The place is generally in a state of disrepair. White paint peels off the walls in long strips. The concrete surrounding the gas pumps is cracked, and there are gouges in the parking lot asphalt.
There’s a low billboard for Burma-Shave where the weathered image of a clean-shaven man smiles down on us on one side of the parking lot, about fifteen feet or so from the minimart. Navarro parks the truck in front of it.
Navarro points to the billboard. “My truck is on the opposite side. Everything in here needs to go in there. Except we leave a few cans of the fuel.”
He plans to destroy the truck.
Um. Yay.
I shrug into my jacket and slide out of my seat. Navarro is clearly trying to take charge, and I’m not sure if I should let him. But this stuff is also Dr. Doomsday 101. Getting rid of the old truck is necessary.
I meet Navarro at the back of the camper, and he opens the door.
Charles jumps out and runs by me. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Making a grab for the collar of his jacket, I hiss, “No. Charles. Wait. Why didn’t you go in the room before we left?”
“Let him go,” Navarro says, shining his flashlight into the camper, where MacKenna and Toby are arguing in whispers.
I turn and watch Charles trot across the parking lot and open the door to the minimart, spilling bright light into the darkening parking lot. “I should go after him.”
Navarro grabs my arm. “It’s safer for him to go alone. His picture wasn’t on the news and anyway, people are less suspicious of little kids.” He gets into the camper, opens the first set of cabinets and passes me one of the yellow jerry cans full of gas.
It might be safer, but it’s not safe. I watch Charles go.
Navarro takes two gas cans for himself as he addresses Toby. “You guys unload the bins from the cabinets while we start hauling stuff over.”
MacKenna stays put. “You’re not listening. I said—”
“We’re on a schedule here,” Navarro says with a curt nod. “Sheriff Dan lives in Smurr. Best-case scenario is we have ten or fifteen minutes before he shows up. Worst-case is that an officer on patrol shows up at the motel even sooner than that.”
Toby comes over to where Navarro is standing in front of the cabinet. A little bit of my internal panic registers in the high pitch of his voice. “Look. My sister’s right. We need to slow down, talk this over. Talk about if we might be able to help my dad. I believe in the power of the truth and in justice. Maybe we have other options here.”
“Other options?” MacKenna repeats, turning her anger toward him. “We need to rescue Dad. Now.”
“There’s no rescuing Jay Novak.” Navarro has his back to me. “You want to stay here?” He drops the gas cans and his voice is hard. “You want to go turn yourself in? I don’t care. I’m here to do one thing. Make sure that Dr. Marshall’s children make it across the border in one piece. Dealing with the two of you adds a layer of complexity to this that I just don’t need. Or want.” His ramrod posture is pretty intense.
MacKenna leans around him. Even in the semidarkness of the flashlight, I can read the horror and betrayal that define every feature of her face.
I stare at the door to the minimart, trying to figure out how long Charles has been in there. Trying to make myself breathe normally.
“Jinx!” MacKenna says. “Are you gonna stand there looking stupid?”
“Let’s get to somewhere safe and then...and then...” I stammer.
“You mean somewhere you are safe?” she says through clenched teeth. “What about my dad?”
“We agreed that we’d try to find my dad. If anyone—”
“No, we didn’t agree,” MacKenna says. “We agreed to leave the house when the police came to search it. We agreed to find Toby, and that’s the last time we’ve agreed on anything. We both know that Marshall probably can’t help and, even if he can, he probably won’t. We need to agree to stop somewhere and think about what is really going on, because none of this makes any sense. Of all the advice Stephanie could have given us, why did she send us on a wild-goose chase after Dr. Doomsday?”
“I don’t know, Mac,” Toby says. His gaze darts from MacKenna to the minimart and back to me. His face scrunches up like he’s trying to solve a math problem that has no known solution. “Dr. Marshall is a computer expert, and the only evidence we have that might help Dad is—”
“Enough of this,” Navarro says. He picks up the cans and hops out of the camper. I take one more look at MacKenna before I follow him. We have to do something, and what I’m going to do is struggle with a gas can, I guess. I’m not sure how much the can weighs, but it feels like about a zillion pounds. I have to stop once to rest.
Meanwhile, Navarro carries one in each arm with ease.
He leads me behind the billboard and shines his flashlight over a Chevy pickup that’s very similar to the one we’ve been driving, except this one is a sandy, desert brown. It’s got a slightly smaller but similar camper on the back. I have to hunch over to climb inside.
I get my own flashlight out of my jacket pocket and point it all over. This gives me a chance to catch my breath and check out the truck. Navarro’s camper is cleaner and more nicely decorated than Dad’s. He’s even got cute little curtains on the windows.
“It came with those,” he says as I run my light over the ruffles.
I don’t answer. I don’t want him to see how wiped I am.
He leans into the cab, inserts the keys into the ignition and turns on the dome light, which makes it a little easier to see.
We put the gas cans away. As I climb down out of the new camper, a truck engine rumbles to a start.
Navarro left the keys in the other truck.
We run back around the billboard in time to almost be crushed by Dad’s truck, squealing forward with MacKenna behind the wheel. Toby is nowhere in sight. He must still be in the camper.
She slows down long enough to roll down the window and call out, “Families help each other but all you want to do is help yourselves. I can’t lose my dad too. I’m gonna see what I can do to help and I don’t give a damn what you have to say about it.”
My heart drops into my stomach at these words.
While Navarro and I stand there with our mouths open, she circles the minimart and speeds out of the parking lot, up the main street in the direction of town.
Toby’s form is in the back, and I can hear him arguing with her through the window as they drive away. Without Navarro, I don’t even know how they’d find Jay Novak, let alone rescue him. But MacKenna is desperate.
And desperate people...well...they can be unpredictable.
I’m more scared than I’ve ever been. The only thing keeping me upright is that I’m becoming stiff and numb. This is not a drill, and the conditions aren’t controlled or ideal. Dad always says to be prepared for anything, but this was not anything I was prepared to prepare for. We have only three cans of the gas. Between my brother and me, we’ve got around eighty dollars of the emergency money. We don’t have the food or the phones or my brother’s meds.
MacKenna and Toby left us.
And Charles is still in the store.
I’m going to lose my brother.
I’m going to lose everything.
MacKenna will probably destroy the laptop as soon as she can.
I’m waiting and hoping and praying for Navarro to say something.
He doesn’t.
He stares in the direction of the vanishing truck. His mask of horror perfectly mirrors how I feel inside.
Safety critical system failure. That’s what we’re experiencing. When I was a little girl, Dad did some consulting for firms that made life-support systems. He worked on software for defibrillators and dialysis machines. Those kinds of systems couldn’t fail.
When they did, people died.
My light jacket isn’t enough to protect me from the cold, cold terror.
“It could be worse, I guess,” Navarro murmurs.
Another engine starts, and a bland, dark sedan emerges from a hidden spot behind the minimart. It rolls to a stop in front of us, its headlights nearly blinding me.
A long, thin leg emerges from the driver’s side, making the hairs on my arms stand up at the sound of asphalt grinding underneath the heel of a shoe.
I wait to see what I already know.
It’s Tork.
DR. DOOMSDAY SAYS:
THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A WORTHY ADVERSARY. OPPONENTS WHOSE SKILLS MATCH OR EXCEED YOUR OWN ARE TERRIBLE, EXISTENTIAL THREATS. IF THEY MUST BE DEALT WITH, UNDERSTAND YOU’LL NEVER EXPERIENCE A SENSE OF TRIUMPH AND MAYBE NEVER FIND ANY RELIEF.
“It’s Tork,” I whisper.
By then, I’m quite sure. His bony figure and the way his suit sort of hangs off his frame. I remember it. I recognize it.
I feel like I have to explain this new threat to Navarro. “He’s this cop who—”
“I know who he is.” Navarro’s voice is thick with tension.
“How did he find us?” I say, mostly to myself.
“Why is he here alone?” Navarro adds.
We both glance in the direction from where Tork’s car appeared behind the minimart. We should have noticed the car before. We should have done a perimeter check.
I wonder what my dad would do if he were here. He’d probably ditch Navarro. The keys are in the truck. The path of least resistance would be go save my brother and leave Gus to deal with Tork. Dad often said bravery is for suckers. He’d watch hours and hours of old war documentaries. The best of us didn’t come home.
That’s what he said.
But Dad’s not here.
“Go get your brother,” Navarro whispers.
“That’s not a good idea, Jinx,” Tork calls. He’s a silhouette. A shadow created by the car’s headlights. “We can settle this right now. Just the two of us.”
In one smooth motion, Navarro withdraws the Glock from his side holster.
In all the confusion, he got his gun back from Mernice.
Dad would be proud.
“Go. Now.”
I make a run for it as I hear Tork withdraw his own gun.
The inside of the minimart is bright but dingy. No one has mopped the floors in quite a while. A Slurpee machine chugs along from its position nestled in between a rack of burned nachos and a grill full of greenish hot dogs. The tops of the racks are lined with electronic billboards that look like they haven’t worked properly in a long time. One blinks occasionally, showing half of a model’s smiling face.
I don’t immediately see Charles, and only the fact that we’d probably end up in even more trouble keeps me from screaming his name. That, and I’m out of breath again.
What if Tork sent someone in here to hurt my brother?
What if he’s dead?
My throat tightens.
But I hear Charles.
I force myself to step beyond a rack of potato chips.
My brother. I see him.
I want to hug him and simultaneously kill him.
Charles leans up against the counter. Casually. Snacking on a long rope of red licorice. More sugar. Perfect. He’s talking to an old man with a long white beard who nods along while restocking a container full of scratch-off lottery tickets.
“The thing is,” my brother says, “you really have to deep water roses at least once a week. Soil temperature is the issue. You could get a water probe but if you don’t keep the root area generally moist—”
“Hey! We need to go.”
His face flushes a bit pink at the sight of me. It would honestly be kind of cute were it not for the fact that we were on the run from a bunch of people who wanted to kill us.
“Okay, okay,” he says, walking quick in my direction. “Bye, Mr. Nick. And don’t forget what I said about the mulch.”
The shopkeeper’s response is lost in the sound of gunfire.
A single shot.
I grab Charles by the sleeve and race out the door.
Navarro’s on the ground. Clutching his stomach.
Oh God.
What if he’s been shot?
I can’t even exactly work out why this is such a cold, dark stab to my heart. I mean, I’ve known Navarro less than twelve hours and I’ve always tried not to be sentimental. The more things you love, the more you have to lose. Somehow, though, I hate the thought of losing Gus.
When Navarro hobbles to his feet, I’m momentarily flooded with relief. I don’t see any blood and Tork no longer appears to have his gun. Navarro hasn’t been shot and more or less is okay.
He’s alive.
But maybe not for long.
Tork circles him like a vulture patrolling the open desert.
Charles hugs my side. He’s about to scream, Gus! I cover his mouth with my hand before he can.
A calm settles over me. I’m so drained and empty. If I stay here on the pavement, I could sink into the darkness. Fall away into nothing. Then I remember.
Charles.
I can’t let Tork decide what will become of my brother.
I have to try something.
Do something.
I come up with a stupid, probably beyond-idiotic plan.
I bend down so that I’m eye level with my brother and drop my hand. “Don’t scream, okay? I’m going to have to ask you to do something really dangerous. I’m sorry... I...”
His green eyes open wide and his cheeks have a yellow glow from the light from the minimart. “I can do it, Jinx. It’s okay. I can do it.”
His eagerness to risk his life makes my heart drop.
But it’s the only plan I can think of.
I take my brother’s hand. “Okay. Navarro’s truck is on the other side of the billboard. We have to make a run for it. Fast. I’ll go up front. You get in the camper. On the count of three.”
One.
Two.
Three.
We run.
Fast.
Behind where Tork has Navarro in a headlock.
We fly around the corner of the billboard, out of eyeshot of the smiling, well-shaved man in the picture. When we’re right up on the truck, I let go of my brother’s hand. I hear the camper door flap open as I get behind the wheel.
“The can of fuel,” I shout through the camper window. “Take the lid off and knock it over.”
Charles grunts a couple of time but he’s able to push the large container on its side. The whole place instantly reeks of gasoline. I start the truck, rev the engine a couple of times and put it in gear. I remove the emergency flare and waterproof matches from my inside jacket pocket and pass them to my brother.
Deep breath.
“Okay. Go to the very back of the camper. Right by the door. When I say ‘now,’ light the flare, toss it toward the front of the camper, then jump out. Jump out and run, Charles. If anything happens to me, keep running. Okay?”
It’s too dark to make out his face.
“Okay?” I repeat.
“Okay,” he says in a small voice.
“Promise me you’ll run. You have to promise.”
He sounds like he’s about to cry. “I promise.”
I put my foot on the gas. The truck is going to have to go slow enough that my brother can jump out but fast enough to hit Tork’s car with a decent amount of force.
Okay.
Here we go.
I pull the truck out from behind the billboard. In the parking lot, Tork and Navarro’s fight continues and I narrowly miss them on the way to Tork’s car. I make a small loop, positioning the truck to rear-end the sedan.
When we’re about ten feet away, I yell.
“Now!”
Charles lights the flare and tosses it forward.
He launches himself out of the back of the truck with all his might as flames fill the camper.
I lean into the center to watch him disappear into the brush surrounding the gas station.
But this is a mistake.
The hot, mounting flames push through the small open window and I have to duck to avoid a face full of fire. My jacket is fire resistant but my hair and ear are not.
I can’t take the time to scream at my hot flesh.
I hit the gas harder.
Every muscle in my body tenses and my heart hammers away in my chest. It takes all my resolve to open the door and fall onto the asphalt as I send the flaming volcano of a truck forward. As I skid backward along the asphalt, tiny rocks rip open the skin inside the palms of my hands.
But the plan is working as intended.
The impact of the accident is enough to propel both vehicles forward, sending them creeping toward Tork and Navarro.
I roll up and make myself stand. I’m surprised to find my bloody hands don’t hurt. Then again, I’m nothing right now except pure adrenaline.
Navarro’s truck explodes with a loud boom, creating a fire large enough that it spreads to Tork’s car. The two vehicles move together, a giant torch in the small town night. The low rumble sends tremors through the asphalt. My ears ring as I scramble off the ground.
It’s enough of a disruption for Navarro to get back on his feet and separate from Tork. Navarro wobbles like a top running out of momentum. Like one more blow might finish him.
But he’s gotten his second wind.
He charges Tork and is finally able to force the tall, thin man to the ground.
I get closer.
“Susan...get the...guns,” Navarro says.
The procession of flaming cars hits the Burma-Shave billboard just then. It catches fire, making the parking lot plenty bright. I spot Navarro’s Glock midway between the sign and the minimart.
