The Nightworld - Jack Blaine [51]
I wake in the dark, the cold from the cement floor penetrating all the way to my bones. The dream is over. Time to move.
We pack all of our stuff into the nose of the sidecar and belt Tank into the seat with some canvas strapping we found in the corner. It’s as close to a safety belt as I can get, and I think he’s secure. I pour some of the gas into the bike’s tank and stow the rest in the sidecar next to Tank. Lara stands by the door, ready to open it as soon as the bike starts, if it does. I turn on the ignition, mentally cross my fingers, and give it a kick-start.
The bike lives! The rumble of the motor is so loud inside the storage garage that we can’t hear anything else. Tank doesn’t love it when the motor starts, but he has no time to protest because as soon as it does, Lara throws the door open, hops on the seat behind me, and I drive the bike down the hall and out onto the street. Lara has her gun out and ready, with mine tucked in her belt. I head for the freeway ramp we mapped out a few blocks away.
Chapter 28
The second we hit the street, three guys rush the bike. They must have heard the motor inside the storage warehouse because they’re waiting at the entrance. They don’t look like they belong to the crazies—no jackets with symbols that I can see, just denim and down jackets. But they do look like they mean us harm. The first two get knocked over by the bike, but the third has some time to gauge the situation, and he jumps onto the sidecar. Tank yelps, and then he bites the guy in the thigh—it looks like it hurts. The guy doesn’t let go, though, not until Lara hits him on the head with her pistol. As soon as he’s clear of the bike, I gun it and put on as much speed as I can handle. The last time I was on a bike was summer before last, when Charlie’s stepdad bought one on a whim and let us try it out. It was a little Honda, and it didn’t have a sidecar. Charlie’s stepdad wrecked it after three weeks. I don’t want to wreck this bike. The consequences would be a lot worse than the broken leg that Charlie’s stepdad got.
I carefully and quickly wind through the streets until I see the on-ramp, trying to get familiar with the feel of the bike. The sidecar helps me keep it steady—it’s like the perfect training wheel. I pour on the speed then, and we make it onto the freeway with no other incidents.
For a little while it’s smooth sailing. The freeway isn’t much more crowded than it was when I came into the city with Morton. I’m able to zigzag between the cars that are left. Most of them look like the people in them just got out and walked away. Some are wrecked, some are burned-out shells. The streetlights work for the first few miles.
After about an hour, Lara taps my shoulder and motions for me to pull over. When I do, she swings her leg off the bike and stretches.
“I think we should find a good place to pull over and have some food.”
I look around. A few yards ahead is a van, lying on its side. Rammed into its rear end is a little Toyota pickup. Together they form a great hiding place for the bike.
“Stay here, just while I check that out?” I tilt my head toward it. Lara frowns at me.
“I’m coming.” She sounds a little pissed off.
Before I can say anything, she’s back on the bike. I shake my head and go. I know she won’t listen to me if I try to convince her it’s safer for her to wait here.
The van and the truck are only a few feet off the shoulder, but it’s enough to fit the bike behind them. They are at an angle, forming a wide V shape, so from either approach, the bike can’t be seen very well. I think it might be okay to stop here for a bit. I pull the bike as close to the van’s roof, which is facing away from the freeway, as I can get it. Lara hops off again, and I get Tank unwrapped from his makeshift seatbelt. Lara gets some food out of her pack—a can of sardines and one of peaches. We pop the can tops and share a bottle of water.
“Sardines. Who would have thought I’d be eating them like they were delicious?” Lara