Children of Paranoia (41 page)

Then we heard a crash. It came out of nowhere, echoing through the still night air like thunder. “What the hell was that?” you shouted, turning in your seat, unaware of what direction the sound had come from. It sounded almost like an explosion. It came from the highway, the highway that we were headed toward.

“I don't know,” I said, slowing the car down so that we could listen better. Seconds after the crash there was the sound of an engine revving, then tires screeching on pavement. It was coming from the highway. The sound started getting louder. Whatever it was, whoever it was, they were headed in our direction. Without stopping the car, I flicked off the car's headlights. We were driving in darkness. The sound kept coming. It was close now. I yanked the steering wheel to the right and pulled the car off the side of the road, barely squeezing between two trees. Right as I turned the car off, a car sped past us down the road. I watched it in the rearview mirror. It flew by in a blur. Only a split second after that, another car followed, chasing after the first. The second car's front fender was smashed in. It had hit something. God only knows what. We sat in silence for a few moments before I dared start the car again. Neither of us took a breath.

“Do you think they were looking for us?” you asked. I started the car again, flicking the headlights on. Then I pulled the car back up onto the now empty road.

“Does anything else make any sense?” I answered you. You shook your head. You knew the truth. They were out there. They were close. And they were after us.

“What do we do now?” you asked, the fear that was absent almost moments ago now creeping into your voice.

“That doesn't change anything. We already knew they were here.” I slowly sped up the car. We were heading for the highway. When we made it to the turn, I looked down the dark highway. It was long and straight and empty. The end of it simply disappeared into the darkness. I pulled our car out onto the highway. All I wanted to do was drive. I stepped on the gas but it only lasted a short moment.

“Holy shit!” you shouted. “What is that?” I saw it too. I barely caught a glimpse of it at the very edge of the light from our headlights. There was something moving off the side of the road. Whatever it was, it didn't look human. For the second time in minutes, I pulled the car over to the side of the road and switched off the headlights.

“Stay here,” I said to you. You didn't listen. By the time I got out of the car, you were already standing outside. The air was warm. There was a pungent smell in the air that I recognized but couldn't place. I pulled the gun from my belt and began walking toward whatever it was that was moving by the side of the road. You walked closely behind me. I could almost feel your body against mine. I could feel your breath on my neck. Before I saw anything, I felt you gasp behind me.

“Oh, my God!” you yelled. I looked ahead of us. The grass in front of us was dark from something. “There's blood,” you shouted. “There's blood everywhere.” That was the smell. It was the smell of blood.

“Quiet,” I whispered to you. “No matter what we see, we have to stay quiet.” The trail of blood started at the street and led all the way to whatever it was that we had seen from the road. It was still moving. I took another step closer. I could see it better now. It was a man but he was in worse shape than anyone I'd ever seen before. I'd seen dead men in better shape. He was lying facedown in the grass. He was dressed entirely in black. He was wearing the uniform of an assassin—the same one that I had worn countless times. The movements his body was making were totally unnatural. His arms were moving in directions arms weren't supposed to move. It could have just been muscle spasms. I couldn't even be sure that he was still alive. We took another few steps toward him. Then I heard him moan.

We didn't have time for this. We were being chased. I was certain of that now. This man had something to do with it. How he'd ended up on the side of the road, I couldn't even imagine. “We have to leave him,” I told you. I turned around and started walking toward the car.

“What?” you asked. “We can't just leave him here.” You looked over at the body. “He'll die.” That was the truth. What it had to do with us was beyond me.

“We're leaving.”

“We can't just leave him!” you shouted. I held my hand up to my mouth again to motion to you to keep quiet. You lowered your voice. “You promised me there would be no more death!”

“I didn't cause this,” I said, pointing at the squirming body with the muzzle of the gun. It was a lie. Somehow it was a lie. His groans became louder and more distinctive. He could hear us talking. He was trying to say something to us. The voice murmured through a mouthful of wet grass. I couldn't understand what he was saying. Then he managed to get out one word that I could understand. “Please.” You looked at me. Even in the darkness I could see the pain in your eyes.

I walked back past you, back toward the body. When I got near you, you whispered, “Be careful.” I stepped up toward the body. You stood only a few feet behind me. I kept the gun pointed at the squirming body. I told myself that there was no way this was a trap. There was too much blood for it to be a trap. I wasn't sure if I believed it, though. I didn't know what to expect. The groans had grown quiet, as if the body had used up all of its remaining energy trying to talk to us.
Please
. Now only soft, quiet moans came from the body as it quivered below my feet. I hooked my foot under one of his shoulders and lifted. He was deadweight. It took all my strength, but I was able to flip him over without getting my hands dirty. He was now lying on his back.

He was covered in blood. I'm pretty certain not all of it was his. His legs were twisted under him, corkscrewing, not flipping over properly with the rest of his body. He couldn't move them. His neck was broken. Once facing the sky, he opened its eyes. His face was cut up. Blood covered much of it but when his eyes opened they were a bright green. Even in the darkness I could see the color. “Help,” he said now, more clearly. He wanted to say “Help me” but didn't have the strength to get out the second word. Punctured lungs. Broken ribs. I could diagnose a whole boatload of problems that I couldn't cure. You stepped around me and knelt down in the grass beside him. You brushed some of the dirt off of his face.

I made eye contact with him. “You were in the car crash that we heard?” I asked. His head moved slightly, as much of a nod as we were going to get out of him. “This happened to you in that car crash?” Another nod. He was clearly the casualty of some chase. “And then they threw you out of the car? They left you here?” Again, his head moved; this time, I could see the sadness in his eyes. You grimaced, not being able to imagine how anyone could be so cold. I knew how. He was deadweight. He was slowing down a mission. Finding us was that mission. When you see death every day, one more death doesn't mean as much to you. They probably didn't even think twice before they tossed him out of the car.

“We have to do something, Joe,” you turned to me and said as you held the dying man's head in your hands. The man looked up at you as you brushed his bloodstained hair off his forehead.

“There's nothing we can do, Maria.” You knew I was right. Still, your eyes pleaded with me to try. I got down on my knees on the other side of him.

“Can you move your legs?” I asked. I could see the man's face strain. I looked down at his legs. There was no movement. “Your arms? Can you move your arms?” Again his face strained. This time one of his arms moved. The other lay still. It appeared to be broken. As he moved his arm, he let out another painful moan.

Suddenly, I heard another car coming down the road. There wasn't any time to find better cover. “Duck down,” I said to you. We got as low to the ground as we could. The night sky flared up with light as the headlights moved past us. The sound of gravel churning grew loader and then quieter again. The car sped away from us. Soon, all that was left was the sound of our breathing and the body's wheezing.

“We have to go, Maria. It's not safe here.” I could feel the panic rising in my chest. We were going to get caught because you were too kind.

“We can't just leave him, Joe,” you answered, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Listen, Maria, you're going to have to make a decision here. Do you want to try to save this man or do you want to save our son? Because we're not going to be able to do both.” You understood. I could see it in the expression on your face.

The dying man's head was still in your lap. You looked down at him. “I'm sorry,” you said. You lifted his head up off your lap and stood up. You were trying to keep yourself from crying, which only led to sobbing. You turned away from the body and started walking back to our car. I looked down at the man, lying there. His eyes followed you as you walked toward the car.

I turned away from him too. I started following you back to the car. Then I heard another moan, this one louder. He didn't want to be left alone. He must have known that he was going to die but he didn't want to die alone. I turned back toward the body. “If I find a phone, I'll send help for you,” I said to him. He slowly closed his eyes, knowing that help was never going to come.

When I got back into the car, you were already sitting inside. The tears had stopped. There was only determination in your face now. I turned the car back on and pulled back onto the highway. We started driving in the other direction.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

I had a plan now. Looking at that man dying on the ground had helped me formulate a plan. They knew where we were. That was for sure. They didn't sacrifice men like that for nothing. They knew they were close. I thought we could use that. We could use that to get some money before we left. We needed the money. We were down to our last few hundred dollars. It would take us a while to get settled in wherever we ended up next, and we were going to have to bring you to the doctor's if our son was going to survive. “We're going downtown,” I answered.

“What? Why?” Downtown wasn't away. You just wanted to get away. In retrospect, maybe that would have been the right move.

“I still have my ATM card. We haven't used it because I was afraid it would give away where we are. Well, they already know where we are. This could be our last chance to get some money for a while. If we do it downtown, they won't have any idea what direction we go afterwards.” I looked over at you. You looked skeptical. “We need to do this,” I said. You knew I was right.

“Okay,” you answered, sealing our fate. I stepped on the gas and we sped toward the city.

During our ride, everything remained calm, almost frighteningly so. Everything was quiet. We could see the city lights in the distance. It was still the middle of the night. The city would be asleep, but the lights were on. We crossed over the bridge leading into the city. My plan was to simply turn down a street with a bank, pull over, take out as much money as the bank would let me, get back in the car, and drive. I had to believe that my ATM card would still work. They would have wanted me to use it, knowing full well that it would give me away.

The city streets were almost empty. Every few blocks we would see someone walking down the street, heading home from a friend's house or from a night of drinking. We were in the rich end of town full of big houses and old money. There were highways leading away from the city in all directions. I hadn't even thought yet about which direction we were going to go in. One step at a time, I thought. You sat silently in the passenger seat of the car. I didn't know if you were thinking about the dying man we'd left by the side of the road or if you were simply trying not to think at all.

I glanced down a long street and saw a bank with an ATM machine. I stopped the car on the side of the road, pulling into a vacant spot near the front of the bank. I looked around us after putting the car in park. The street was empty. At least I thought it was. I unbuckled my seat belt and turned to you. “Wait here,” I said. You nodded. “For real this time. Stay in the car.” I opened the driver's side door and stepped out. I tried moving quickly, jogging to the door of the bank and swiping my ATM card so that the door would unlock. I took one last look back at you to make sure you were safe and then I stepped inside.

“Come on. Come on. Come on,” I whispered to myself as I slid the ATM card into the slot and punched in the code. The screen came up and asked me how much money I wanted to withdraw. I punched in a thousand dollars but it wouldn't let me take out that much. Next I punched in five hundred. I waited. I heard the bills ruffling behind the machine. Then it spit out twenty-five twenty-dollar bills. It would buy us a little bit of time.

I turned to head back toward the car. I could still see you inside. You were okay. You looked safe. I was about the open the bank door and come back to you when I saw the phone across from the ATM machines. It wasn't just a bank help phone. It was a real pay phone. I decided to keep a promise I had made. I put the five hundred dollars in my wallet and put my wallet back in my pocket. Then I walked over to the pay phone, picked up the receiver, and dialed 911. I couldn't fight the feeling that I had somehow been through this before. My stomach knotted up. A dispatcher picked up the phone. “There's been a horrible accident,” I said.

“Where?” the dispatcher asked.

“There's a man,” I responded, “by the side of the road. He was hit by a car. He needs help now.” I told the dispatcher the name of the road where we'd found the man.

“Can you stay on the line?” the woman asked.

“No,” I replied. I was about to hang up the phone when the first gunshot echoed into the air. The first shot was crisp and loud. At first, I didn't recognize the sound. It sounded too much like a firecracker. Then another shot rang out. The sound was less distinct this time, more muffled. It was coming from a different gun. All of a sudden I realized what was going on. I looked out at the car. You were still in the front seat, but you were hunkered down, trying to duck below the window. A bullet had already shattered the rear passenger-side window right behind you. I couldn't tell if you were okay. I started to run for the door. Just as I did, I heard another pop and the glass in the ATM booth shattered into a million tiny pieces. I kept running for the door, running toward you. I could feel my heart racing. In that moment, if I saw a bullet headed toward you, I would have jumped in front of it. But I wasn't even close enough to you to do that. There was another popping sound and a bullet ripped a hole in our right rear tire. I couldn't even figure out where they were shooting from. When I got outside the door, I realized that the bullets were coming from opposite directions. I could also hear you screaming. This wasn't good. The stress wasn't good. Unfortunately, the night had just started.