400 Horsepower of the Apocalypse
Chapter 2
I collected my tools, locked up the garage and drove back home as fast as I could without getting a speeding ticket. We had exactly four cops in Crayhill and I knew them all by name, but my hometown was so tiny that they could easily keep an eye on the whole thing. I didn’t want to slow down for a single stop sign, but I couldn’t risk being pulled over with Leo’s stolen cash crammed into my pocket.
Apparently, I was still going fast enough to kick up gravel along my driveway and I came to a stop surrounded by a cloud of dust. I opened the garage, but Mom’s car was gone. When I parked and went inside, the little modular house was quiet. Dad was already out fishing with some of the other guys from the old motorcycle factory.
There was a note on the refrigerator from Mom saying that she was over at Judy’s house. Probably watching soap operas and gossiping… But I couldn’t exactly blame either of my parents. There wasn’t much else for them to do around Crayhill.
But that was about to change. I fumbled the thick stack of money from my pocket and counted out five hundred dollars. With sweating hands, I stuffed the bills into my wallet, then left the other nine and a half thousand on the kitchen table. I pulled my mom’s note down off the fridge, flipped it over and scrawled a quick message on the other side.
Ran into some luck. I just got a paying job on the road, so I’m going to be out of town for a while. Maybe for good! More money coming soon.
I’m taking the Bonnie, so Dad’s car is parked over at GTA. Sorry I couldn’t leave it at the house. I’ll call when I can.
It wasn’t Shakespeare, but I didn’t have time for poetry and my parents didn’t need to know where I got all the money. They would only worry.
I added one last thing, though.
Love you both.
– Jaz
I ran to my room and changed out of my GTA jumpsuit, into jeans and a clean t-shirt. Then I stuffed some more clothes in a backpack, followed by my toothbrush, a box of tampons, and a jar of shea butter for my hair. Finally, I grabbed my leather jacket, motorcycle helmet and toolbox. Of course I had my own kit, and if I was going to be Leo’s personal mechanic, I would need it.
I replaced all my tools in the case. I would never have to steal them back from Craig again. The metal box was too big for my backpack, so I tucked it under my arm and hurried toward the door that led out into the garage. But I stopped with my hand wrapped around the dented knob.
Was I really doing this? I had lived in this house since I was born. The close, warm air was thick with smells of dust and my dad’s roses blooming on the back porch. Could I actually just ride away from my whole life? Alright, it wasn’t much of a life, but it was safe and predictable. Normal.
I didn’t know anything about Leo. Well, except that he had a suspiciously large wad of even more suspicious cash. Not exactly promising when it came to my safety. My strange new customer could be an axe murderer, for all I knew. Something inside me shouted wordlessly not to do this, not to go with Leo. That it was suicidally dangerous.
But I knew one thing about Leo Valdis — he was my ticket out of Crayhill. I had no idea where I might end up if I rode with him, and I didn’t care — as long as it wasn’t here. I would be alright… If I could just leave Crayhill before its gravity sucked me into a decaying orbit of acceptance, I could do anything.
It was time to go.
I opened the door and ran into the garage, then dropped my backpack and toolkit in the passenger seat of my dad’s station wagon. Barely resisting the urge to slide across the hood Dukes-of-Hazzard-style, I jumped into the driver’s side and started the engine. I backed out and then drove away without looking back.
I made it across Crayhill to Golden Touch Auto again with twenty minutes to spare. My heart pounded as I pulled into the GTA parking lot, but Leo was still there, lounging against the side of his big black motorcycle and checking something on his cell phone. He looked up as I parked and then climbed out of the car.
“I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” Leo said.
“Yeah, so was I,” I admitted.
Leo laughed. I locked up the car doors from the driver’s side control and dropped the keys into the drink holder. I grabbed my backpack and tools, then kicked the door shut and jogged around behind the garage. There, I yanked the tarp off my Bonneville, stashed my toolkit in the tailpack — that’s a case mounted on the motorcycle pillion behind the rider, rather than draped on either side like Leo’s saddlebags — and then pulled my backpack on over my leather riding jacket.
I was actually doing it, finally leaving Crayhill. Just like I had always dreamed of since… ever. Since I was a kid, since before I could even remember. I was running away at last.
When everything felt secure, I walked my motorcycle out around Golden Touch Auto, but Leo was no longer alone in the parking lot. There was a beat-up truck parked next to the front door and I could already smell the familiar mix of beer and WD-40.
Craig and the other GTA mechanics had gathered around the closed door and were staring suspiciously at Leo. The big biker stood next to his Packmaster with tattooed arms crossed over his chest. I pushed my salvaged little Bonnie to a stop beside his motorcycle and tried not to feel self-conscious about it. I dropped the kickstand.
“Give me a minute,” I said.
Leo nodded. “Yeah, sure. But make it quick? We need to get moving.”
“This will just take a second,” I promised.
I hurried over to Craig and his thick brows drew down. He gestured toward Leo and then the front door of GTA.
“Who the hell is that guy?” Craig asked, scowling. “And why is the garage closed?”
“I quit,” I said.
Craig blinked and his face turned bright red. He looked like a tomato being squeezed and about to burst.
“Jaz, what the–?” Craig began.
I didn’t wait for him to finish. “Screw you and screw this job. Try treating the next girl better, asshole.”
I turned and walked away, showing Craig my middle finger over my shoulder. Leo grinned at me as I strode back across the parking lot to him.
“Now I’m ready to go,” I said.
Leo unslung his jacket from the seat of his Packmaster and pulled it on. There were a pair of patches on the black leather, one on each shoulder. The right was an embroidered image of an old-fashioned helmet — not a motorcycle helmet, but the kind you see on Game of Thrones — with a flaming plume on top. The name Knights of Hell was stitched in silver thread underneath. I had never heard of them, but it sounded like a biker gang or club. Were those the friends Leo was so eager to catch up to?
But the patch on his left arm wasn’t another helmet. It was a coiled rattlesnake emblazoned there in black and bronze, scales arranged in a hatched diamond pattern. Shit, I knew that patch, though I had never seen one in person. Most snakes were harmless, but some were truly poisonous and those dangerous few — like the diamondback rattler — gave the rest a bad name.
And that was precisely why criminal biker gangs wore the rattlesnake patch. Ninety-nine out of a hundred biker groups were completely legal and harmless, but one percent of them… Well, they were the dangerous ones.
I almost dropped my helmet. But what else had I expected? I could practically hear Benjamin Franklin telling me I told you so from my back pocket.
The smart move would have been to run. One whisper to Craig — and probably some serious groveling later — and we could have all of the cops in Crayhill here inside three minutes. Okay, so that wasn’t very impressive… But a wrench across the back of the head would keep Leo down until they put him safely in handcuffs. I could see myself — vividly — holding the wrench and standing over Leo.
But instead, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“Down to Highway 44,” Leo told me. He picked up his black helmet. “We’ll meet my friends on the way. Then we’re going west to San Diego.”
“Great,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to see San Diego.”
Not specifically, but San Diego wasn’t Crayhill and I always wanted to see not-Crayhill. And San Diego was all the way in California. I was going to see my first palm tree — on an endless white sand beach! I promised myself that I would order an overpriced mimosa as soon as we got there.
Leo swung a leg over his Packmaster and I climbed onto my Bonneville. We both put on our helmets and strapped them into place.
“Jaz!” Craig shouted.
Leo started his bike and if Craig had anything else to say, it was swallowed by the sudden roar of engines. The Packmaster revved and Leo pulled it through a tight turn, then raced out into the road. He turned south, toward Highway 44. I kicked the Bonnie to life and followed.
