Shadow of Eden (28 page)

Steve slammed his car into reverse, but before he could back up, the rear of the truck rammed Steve’s Lexus, setting off the air bags with a deafening explosion in his face. Steve barely heard Johnnie’s cries.

The impact drove the truck’s raised rear-end up and onto the hood of Steve’s car causing the truck’s widely spaced rear wheels to lose contact with the pavement. The truck slipped off the hood of the car as Steve accelerated backwards, slamming back to the ground.

“Help! Help! Daddy, please!”

It was now a contest of speed as Steve accelerated backwards as fast as he could with the truck in close pursuit. Steve saw an eighteen-wheeler’s top cabin lights over the curved ramp barrier, but he could not see its windshield.
Shit!
He realized the big rig driver couldn’t see his car backing towards him. They would be crushed between the two much heavier trucks. There was no way out!

“Daddy, make it stop. Please, Daddy.” Johnnie pleaded, tears streaming down his face.

Steve heard his son’s cries.
Not Johnnie.
Steve looked at the pickup truck and back at the tractor-trailer, thinking. . . It would be a huge risk.

He stabbed his brake slowing his Lexus rapidly. The truck hit his hood, once again riding over it and lifting the rear wheels off the ground. Johnnie screamed at the impact, which crumpled the hood and buckled the radiator, sending up a cloud of steam. As he had hoped, the suspended rear truck wheels spun uselessly. Steve then stood on his brakes, slowing both vehicles. His anti-lock brakes pulsated rapidly in a harsh staccato rhythm.

Anne’s voice carried up from the floor where the phone lay. “Steve! Johnnie!”

Within moments Steve brought the car and truck to a stop. Hoping against hope that someone did not jump out of the truck with a gun, Steve shifted into drive and floored the gas pedal, his powerful engine straining with the added weight of the truck. They began accelerating gradually.
Would it be enough?

The eighteen-wheeler swung into view behind them. Johnnie stared back at the looming mass hurtling right for them. “Daddy, it’s going to hit us!” he shrieked.

Steve, through the rear view mirror, saw the massive cab shudder under the force of strong braking. Then, to his horror, it twisted and jackknifed, filling the air with the terrible screech of metal scraping the sides of the freeway barriers like a million fingernails on a huge blackboard. Johnnie held his hands to his ears, screaming.

And still it bore down on them.

Steve stood on the accelerator demanding more speed from the taxed engine. They passed the gap in the freeway wall created by Steve’s impact. The trailer of the big rig punched through the broken section, knocking off barrier sections like dominoes, pushing them off into space to fall onto the freeway underneath.

Suddenly, the trailer flipped over on its side dumping its load of steel pipe, scattering them like so many pick-up sticks across the overpass and down onto the freeway below. Several hit the rear of Steve’s car, smashing his trunk, causing the car to shudder from the impact.

Moments later, Steve, still pushing the pick-up, exited the ramp. Slamming on his brakes, he dislodged the pickup truck off his hood. Steve then pulled around the truck and raced off down the freeway.

Good, he thought, they were rid of them. In the rear view mirror, however, he saw the pickup truck lurch forward to follow.

“Hurry, Daddy,” Johnnie shouted, still watching behind him.

“You bet, Son,” Steve said, wondering how far they could go before the engine seized from overheating. The radiator had no more water to spill. Stealing a glance at the gauge, he saw the needle creeping into the red zone.

Picking up the phone, he shouted, “We’re fine Honey, got to go. I love you.” He punched 911.

A woman’s voice answered. “911, emergency.”

Trying to control his voice, Steve said, “I’m being chased by a large pickup that just tried to ram me off the road. I need help immediately.”

“Where are you?”

“Heading east—no, west on the 202 freeway. My car’s damaged and may not go much farther.”

“What part of the 202?”

“Uhh, I just passed Center Drive.

“Okay, I’ll get someone right away. Please stay on the line.”

“It’ll be okay, Son.” Steve checked the rear view mirror; the truck was gamely following. He wove through the traffic at over ninety miles per hour. He knew he could not go much farther before his engine died. Up ahead, Steve saw a break in the median cable barriers marked with plastic pylons; the scene of an earlier crash. He had an idea.

“Ready for a bat-turn? Hang on.” Steve slammed on his brakes and turned sharply into the freeway median, his tires squealing. He performed a fishtailing U-turn to the other side of the freeway. As he merged with the traffic, he saw the pickup truck slowing down. The truck turned, but more slowly, giving Steve much needed headway. The engine temperature was now well into the red.

The operator’s voice startled him. “Sir, I have a squad car headed your way. Where are you now?”

“I just U-turned across the median and I’m now headed east.”

“East it is. Be careful, sir.”

“Let’s get lost, Son.” Steve exited the freeway and turned left under the freeway and ran the red light at the cross street.

“Exiting the freeway,” he informed the operator. “I’m now going north on Center and . . . And turning west onto . . . Sandy Lane.”

“Okay, I’ll send your new coordinates to the cruiser now.”

Sandy Lane took them into an older, middle-class residential neighborhood. Steve hoped to lose the pickup truck on the dark, unlit street. He turned off his lights as he coasted down the street.

The engine started missing; it was only a matter of a few minutes before it would freeze up. Steve turned into a gravel driveway between two houses, pulling far enough to blend in with the oleander hedge and stopped, watching out of the rear window for any signs of pursuit.

“When is the police car going to get here?” he pleaded into his phone.

“He’s on his way, sir.”

The pickup truck pulled into view directly behind him.

“Shit!” Steve exclaimed, “How did he find us?” He was trapped again.

Chapter 60

T
hrowing his car into reverse, Steve floored the gas pedal. The car lurched backwards, but the engine sputtered and almost died. A shot shattered the rear window, grazing Steve on the right temple.

Johnnie screamed. Steve shoved his son down low in the seat.

The engine caught and, with wheels spinning, roared back, slamming into the side of the truck, partially turning it around. Steve shifted into drive and again floored the gas pedal. With the engine missing badly, the car chugged off, slowly picking up speed.

“Stay down, Son,” Steve instructed. Halfway down the street, the engine quit.

“Come on, Johnnie.” Steve grabbed his son’s arm and, pulling him out of the car, fled between two houses and into the back yard of the nearest house.

The truck turned around and roared off toward Steve’s car.

Steve realized their likelihood of their successfully escaping were minimal. But there was something he could do to save his son.

He knelt down and held Johnnie by the shoulders and looked at his son’s tear-streaked face intently. “Son, remember when I told you, you were going to be a brave, strong man someday?” Johnnie nodded, wide-eyed.

“Well, that day is right now. I want you to run between those two houses to the next street and to the first house that has a light on. Knock on the door and get inside. Tell them to call the police. Now go and be quick.” He gave his son a brief hug and shoved him off.

His son turned back around with an uncertain look as if to say something.

“Go, go, Johnnie! Be brave.” Steve saw Johnnie get a determined expression and turn away in a run.

“I love you, Son,” Steve whispered at the small figure as it disappeared into the darkness. He looked around for something to fight with, to delay the attackers and give his fleeing boy a chance to escape. He found a small stack of bricks piled up against the wall of the house and picked up one in each hand. Crouching down in the darkness, he heard running footsteps. Just before the edge of the house, they slowed.

A man holding a gun stepped around the corner. Steve hurled the brick at him hitting him in the chest. Steve heard a soft
sputt
of the discharging gun and saw a flash from the muzzle.

The second man ran around the corner holding his pistol in front of him. He saw Steve and turned his pistol to draw a bead. Sure he was dead, Steve heaved his second brick and ducked. He heard a dull thud. Perhaps the brick had hit the man. Jumping to his feet, he ran hunched over as fast as he could. He expected at any moment to feel a bullet piercing his back.

Steve vaulted a low chain-link fence into an adjacent backyard, rolling as he hit the ground. A bullet hurtled by overhead, making a popping sound as it passed. Steve, back on his feet kept running, trying to pull the men as far away from Johnnie’s direction as possible.
Were they following him?
Looking back over his shoulder, Steve did not see the clothesline, nearly invisible in the dark. He ran headlong into it, nearly garroting himself. He fell heavily to the ground, clutching his neck trying to breathe. He rolled over with a profound sense of failure. Would Johnnie get away?

Several backyard lights flicked on, with male voices yelling from inside. He heard a door slam. Then there was a growing wail of a police siren approaching.

Steve tried to stand, but the world spun around and he fell back to his knees. He crawled on his hands and knees looking for someplace to hide. He hoped he had given Johnnie enough of a head start to get away. And Anne. He prayed she believed he had never cheated or played around on her. He loved her so much.

Strangely, the men from the truck never materialized.

Then, he heard an angry voice yell at him from the next yard, the one from which he had run. A voice he had never heard before, harsh and hard with venom.

“Goddamn you, James. I’ll kill you!”

Chapter 61

E
lise Dixon, dressed in her nightgown and bathrobe, walked into the dressing room to see her husband staring at himself in the mirror. He saw her reflection and turned around. She wrapped her arms around him in an affectionate hug.

“How are you, Robbie?”

His arms returned the embrace. “I’m fine, Sweetie.” His tone sounded falsely hearty.

“You don’t look it.” She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. “What’s going on with you? I’m worried about you.” His face masked over, but she pressed on. “Is it stress? Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m just fine—really.”

“You’ve got to tell someone. What is it?”

He shrugged, but still held her. “I’m not entirely sure—”

Elise waited for him to continue.

“I’ve put my faith in God.” He almost whispered. “It took the trip to the Cathedral to realize what was missing.”

“You always pray,” she said. “What’s different?”

“I don’t know, I just need Him more and I’ve been feeling Him inside me more. He gives me strength.”

“You are one of the strongest men I know. Why now?”

Dixon released her. “I don’t know. This China thing, I suppose. I never had to face that as governor. Now it’s different. Back then, it was all budgets and taxes. I shared the responsibility then. Now I’m it. It’s my responsibility.”

“You are not responsible for the massacre.” Elise spoke sharply, surprised at his words. “How can you feel that way?” She reached out to hold his hands. He averted his eyes. “Robbie?”

“I know. It just feels like I could have done something.”

“How? Send in the Marines? Recapture Hong Kong?” She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “How?”

“I just do. No explanations. I just feel that way.”

Elise’s heart went out to her husband while at the same time she felt confused. This was not her pragmatic, level-headed husband. “Honey, there is no reason for you to feel that way. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I need you of all people to understand.”