Death Drive

Chapter 19

"You're sturdier than you look, kid, to have survived a fender-bender like that," Thomas said after he was sure he had shaken their tail for the time being. Judging by the occasional corpse on the street, the horde of metal barbarians had already plowed through the area and carried on to more important targets.

"Of course, that isn't saying much," he thought to himself, eyeing the disheveled young man, thin and gangly, with a bruised face and torn fingers. The stranger was breathing deeply, at first he had thought it must have been shock, but as it continued the more it seemed like his life depended on gulping in all the oxygen he could get.

"I'm Thomas. What's your name?"

"Lucas Bennett," the gasping man answered. He was hugging a backpack he had carried with him from the car tightly.

"You just hang on, Lucas. I'm going to get us somewhere safe."

He had thought where Jason would go in the current situation and had narrowed it down to the most likely options. One was their home, where his mother spent her time, but it was further away and one had to drive though city center to get there, so the journey would be dangerous, and he would not take any unnecessary risks with Naomi on board. Then there was the police department and all kinds of different public buildings where one could find help and company, but as one could not know what one would find waiting for them, those, too, were a gamble. The place that made the most sense, at least to him, was the street racer's headquarters where Jason had spent a lot of his free time; out of sight, with manually driven cars and plenty of getaway routes. So that was where he was headed.

The yard where he had last spotted Jason was empty, so he continued inside the parking garage. He drove up the ramp to the first floor but was stopped by two vans barricading the way. From behind a concrete railing to his left three thugs he recognized as members of the bookie's gang popped up, aiming pistols at the car. When they realized he was not a helpless prisoner but in sure control of the vehicle, they relaxed their posture and lowered their weapons slightly. One of them spoke something to someone out of sight, and a command was shouted, after which the vans moved out of way, quickly blocking the path again after they had passed.

Mick sat at the open door of a Humvee, surrounded by his gang. There were other vehicles parked around haphazardly, and nervous people either paced around them or sat at the wheel, car running, ready to take off at the first sight of trouble. Everyone was staring at them tensely when their car approached but returned to their prior activity when they concluded that it was just more refugees joining their camp. One vehicle sticked out like a sore thumb, with its fishbowl-like cockpit and bizarre ornaments.

Naomi jumped out of the old artist's piece and ran to him, hanging from his neck in a hug.

"Thomas! You made it," she said, hanging on to him.

Jason walked up to them from the vehicle. "S'up," was all he said.

She checked his car. "Jack's not with you?"

"He didn't make it," he said quietly. She covered he mouth with her palm and faced away.

Mick threw the cigarette stub from his lips to the ground, where it joined a pile of its kind that had formed over the last few hours. He walked over to them, few of his gang members in tow.

"How are things out there?" he asked.

"Bad," Thomas answered.

"It's like I'm losing my mind, man!" he cried. "I can't get a message out, and there is no mention of this anywhere online. The world just goes on like nothing is happening. Whoever is behind this must have a lot of resources to jam the largest public communication network in the world."