Welcome to the Borderlands
- Chapter 28 -
Kendall Johnson Comes to the Rescue with Some 'KILLER' Modifications to the Raider's Motor
Our decision to return to Spanky’s Café was to hopefully hear good news from Hilts. Had he been able to trap the bounty hunters in the building behind the café? Had he been able to find out who was behind sending them after us? Our two mile ride to Spanky’s would answer those questions.
Kate was already waiting for us. Charon and Medea were standing beside her on the front steps of the café. The parking lot was empty except for Charon’s Model T Roadster.
“I waited to answer,” Kate said, nodding at both Charon and Medea, “their questions until you two got here. They said you’d be right behind them. Let’s go inside. I’ve got some coffee brewing.”
Kate didn’t wait for anyone to reply but turned, walked up the steps and into the café. The four of us followed. Larry and I came last, with Larry stopping at the entrance to take a long look back down the road we’d ridden in on. I, on the other hand, was fixated on the building behind the café. It looked as if something had torn the doors down to get at something inside or maybe something inside tore the doors down trying to get away from something that had gotten inside?
Kate read my thoughts, “I’ll tell you what happened after we have a cup.”
Charon had already pulled out two chairs for Medea and Kate to sit at the head of a large wooden table. Larry, Charon and I sat opposite them. Kate and Medea were related; of that there was no doubt. Medea, the taller of the two, could’ve been Kate’s mother or aunt.
“In answer to the questions you’re about to ask,” Medea was looking directly at me, “I am Kate’s great, great…too many greats to count…aunt. In answer to the question you’re about to ask but haven’t thought of yet…I was once a witch a sorceress and my sister was Medusa or should I say is Medusa. Her head’s still alive in a glass jar in an old house on the First Level of Hell.”
“The house,” I knew the answer before I asked, “of the driver of Plymouth sedan?”
“The same, it’s his house;” replied Medea, “and someday I’ll free her…and please don’t say his name.”
Charon reached across the table and took Medea’s hand into his own, “Someday we’ll both free her.”
Kate noticed I kept looking past her out the backdoor at what was left of the building behind the café.
“The bounty hunters came in force not long after you two left with Charon. Hilts and I along with some help from Elvis had cleared the café of customers before they arrived. They waited in three cars outside the parking lot for the people to leave before they drove in and parked. The five that had followed you came around to meet them then led them to the building behind the café.”
“Did they believe,” I asked, “we were still inside?”
“They must’ve, otherwise this place would be trashed,” Kate answered. “They began by smashing your bike; when they were done they all rushed through the front door.”
I took a couple of moments in memory of the Yamaha XSR 900 before asking the $64,000 dollar question, “And then what happened?”
“Elvis and I waited until they were all inside then barricaded the front door behind them.”
“What did Hilts do?”
“He or what I think may have once been him went in the back door.”
I remembered when Hilts had changed into something tall and grotesque to save Larry and me when we were trapped in an empty water tank, “What do you mean (had been him)?”
“I mean he’d changed into something tall and grotesque, with shoulders almost too wide for the door, and was swinging what I found out later to be the fire axe behind the kitchen. I could barely recognize him. In fairness he’d warned me not to look at what was going to happen. When it was over, and it took less than a minute, Hilts ran back out the back door. Elvis stopped me from following.”
“Did Hilts ever find the leader?”
Kate was already waiting for us. Charon and Medea were standing beside her on the front steps of the café. The parking lot was empty except for Charon’s Model T Roadster.
“I waited to answer,” Kate said, nodding at both Charon and Medea, “their questions until you two got here. They said you’d be right behind them. Let’s go inside. I’ve got some coffee brewing.”
Kate didn’t wait for anyone to reply but turned, walked up the steps and into the café. The four of us followed. Larry and I came last, with Larry stopping at the entrance to take a long look back down the road we’d ridden in on. I, on the other hand, was fixated on the building behind the café. It looked as if something had torn the doors down to get at something inside or maybe something inside tore the doors down trying to get away from something that had gotten inside?
Kate read my thoughts, “I’ll tell you what happened after we have a cup.”
Charon had already pulled out two chairs for Medea and Kate to sit at the head of a large wooden table. Larry, Charon and I sat opposite them. Kate and Medea were related; of that there was no doubt. Medea, the taller of the two, could’ve been Kate’s mother or aunt.
“In answer to the questions you’re about to ask,” Medea was looking directly at me, “I am Kate’s great, great…too many greats to count…aunt. In answer to the question you’re about to ask but haven’t thought of yet…I was once a witch a sorceress and my sister was Medusa or should I say is Medusa. Her head’s still alive in a glass jar in an old house on the First Level of Hell.”
“The house,” I knew the answer before I asked, “of the driver of Plymouth sedan?”
“The same, it’s his house;” replied Medea, “and someday I’ll free her…and please don’t say his name.”
Charon reached across the table and took Medea’s hand into his own, “Someday we’ll both free her.”
Kate noticed I kept looking past her out the backdoor at what was left of the building behind the café.
“The bounty hunters came in force not long after you two left with Charon. Hilts and I along with some help from Elvis had cleared the café of customers before they arrived. They waited in three cars outside the parking lot for the people to leave before they drove in and parked. The five that had followed you came around to meet them then led them to the building behind the café.”
“Did they believe,” I asked, “we were still inside?”
“They must’ve, otherwise this place would be trashed,” Kate answered. “They began by smashing your bike; when they were done they all rushed through the front door.”
I took a couple of moments in memory of the Yamaha XSR 900 before asking the $64,000 dollar question, “And then what happened?”
“Elvis and I waited until they were all inside then barricaded the front door behind them.”
“What did Hilts do?”
“He or what I think may have once been him went in the back door.”
I remembered when Hilts had changed into something tall and grotesque to save Larry and me when we were trapped in an empty water tank, “What do you mean (had been him)?”
“I mean he’d changed into something tall and grotesque, with shoulders almost too wide for the door, and was swinging what I found out later to be the fire axe behind the kitchen. I could barely recognize him. In fairness he’d warned me not to look at what was going to happen. When it was over, and it took less than a minute, Hilts ran back out the back door. Elvis stopped me from following.”
“Did Hilts ever find the leader?”
“Name’s Kendall Johnson…good to meetcha.”
“I thought we’d gotten all of them but the last car, some type of limousine, likely with the leader, left. It drove straight into the wastelands that are next to this Borderland. You can see the turnoff from the front porch. No one takes that road as it goes through what best could be described as an apocalyptic landscape with nothing but rocks, sand and old ruins. By the time Hilts returned the car had been gone for an hour.”
I had to ask, “What did Hilts look like?”
“Dazed, clothes torn; like in those late night werewolf movies when the guy changes back to his normal self.”
I was beginning to wonder what normal was for Hilts.
“Did you tell him,” asked Charon, “about the car you saw leaving across the wastelands?”
“I did and he immediately tried to conjure up something really fast with lots of horsepower to give chase but he was in no condition. So he…and he said to tell you he’d take care of it…borrowed your 40’ Ford sedan.”
“My Ford’s fast enough to catch most anything if the road’s straight…but it’s got less than…”
“It’s got,” interrupted Kate, “less than what?”
“It’s got less than,” continued Charon, “an eighth of a tank of gas. How long ago did he leave?”
Kate took a long time answering, “two hours ago.”
None of us wanted to say it so Kate said it.
“He should’ve returned by now.”
“It’s about two and a half hours,” said a voice from the farthest and darkest side of the café, “until sunset?”
Charon whirled to his feet, “Show yourself stranger!”
Kate walked in front of Charon, “Relax everyone. He’s my friend Kendall. I asked him to join us if he could. He has a place just a ten minute walk from here.
The stranger in the meantime had come over to our group and in a friendly Carolina drawl, “Kendall Johnson…good to meetcha.”
Larry was the first to stand up and extend his hand, “Name’s Larry…good to meet you too.”
I had to ask, “What did Hilts look like?”
“Dazed, clothes torn; like in those late night werewolf movies when the guy changes back to his normal self.”
I was beginning to wonder what normal was for Hilts.
“Did you tell him,” asked Charon, “about the car you saw leaving across the wastelands?”
“I did and he immediately tried to conjure up something really fast with lots of horsepower to give chase but he was in no condition. So he…and he said to tell you he’d take care of it…borrowed your 40’ Ford sedan.”
“My Ford’s fast enough to catch most anything if the road’s straight…but it’s got less than…”
“It’s got,” interrupted Kate, “less than what?”
“It’s got less than,” continued Charon, “an eighth of a tank of gas. How long ago did he leave?”
Kate took a long time answering, “two hours ago.”
None of us wanted to say it so Kate said it.
“He should’ve returned by now.”
“It’s about two and a half hours,” said a voice from the farthest and darkest side of the café, “until sunset?”
Charon whirled to his feet, “Show yourself stranger!”
Kate walked in front of Charon, “Relax everyone. He’s my friend Kendall. I asked him to join us if he could. He has a place just a ten minute walk from here.
The stranger in the meantime had come over to our group and in a friendly Carolina drawl, “Kendall Johnson…good to meetcha.”
Larry was the first to stand up and extend his hand, “Name’s Larry…good to meet you too.”
“The 8-Ball,” said Kendall, “with its six speeds and overhead cams has enough top-end to make it there and back.”
I was next to shake hands, then Charon. Charon’s forearms are big; Kendall’s were almost as big. Kendall greeted Medea last by tipping his head as if he was wearing a hat not a black watch cap and then with a gentlemanly Southern accent said to Kate, “How can I help?”
Kate didn’t hesitate to reply, “We could use your expertise in getting the two bikes outside up to speed; and by speed I mean fast enough to go out and find Hilts before dark.”
“Why not use the Model T Roadster parked out front?”
“I blew the clutch getting here,” said Charon.
“Ouch,” replied Kendal. “I can see where that leaves you with the just the two bikes outside for this rescue mission. If Hilts is broken down or out of fuel he’s most likely holed up in Placebo…it’s what I’d do.”
“Placebo,” said Kate, “never heard of it. But then again I’ve never ventured into the wastelands.”
“Placebo’s the name of a wide place in the road, a town about eighty miles out. It’s where I’d go if I ran out of gas.”
“Have you,” I had to ask, “been there?”
“A couple of times to scavenge,” answered Kendall, “but never after dark. If Hilts is there you need to get him out and time’s a wasting. Let’s go look at those bikes.”
In less then a minute Kendall had taken charge and was out in the parking lot walking around the Raider and the Vegas 8-Ball. Stoically studying the bikes and with his hand on his chin he made three circles before stopping.
“The 8-Ball with its six speeds and overhead cams has a fast enough top-end to make it there and back before sunset. The Raider, and I have nothing against metrics, has the power but its top-end…well let’s just say…”
I interrupted, “Say what?”
“You’ll need to maintain a top-end of at least 125 mph to get there and back,” Kendall continued. “The Raider, and I’m a fan and will be using variations of its Star engine in some upcoming choppers I’m building, may be able to pull fence posts but it’s not normally known for its long legs?”
Kate didn’t hesitate to reply, “We could use your expertise in getting the two bikes outside up to speed; and by speed I mean fast enough to go out and find Hilts before dark.”
“Why not use the Model T Roadster parked out front?”
“I blew the clutch getting here,” said Charon.
“Ouch,” replied Kendal. “I can see where that leaves you with the just the two bikes outside for this rescue mission. If Hilts is broken down or out of fuel he’s most likely holed up in Placebo…it’s what I’d do.”
“Placebo,” said Kate, “never heard of it. But then again I’ve never ventured into the wastelands.”
“Placebo’s the name of a wide place in the road, a town about eighty miles out. It’s where I’d go if I ran out of gas.”
“Have you,” I had to ask, “been there?”
“A couple of times to scavenge,” answered Kendall, “but never after dark. If Hilts is there you need to get him out and time’s a wasting. Let’s go look at those bikes.”
In less then a minute Kendall had taken charge and was out in the parking lot walking around the Raider and the Vegas 8-Ball. Stoically studying the bikes and with his hand on his chin he made three circles before stopping.
“The 8-Ball with its six speeds and overhead cams has a fast enough top-end to make it there and back before sunset. The Raider, and I have nothing against metrics, has the power but its top-end…well let’s just say…”
I interrupted, “Say what?”
“You’ll need to maintain a top-end of at least 125 mph to get there and back,” Kendall continued. “The Raider, and I’m a fan and will be using variations of its Star engine in some upcoming choppers I’m building, may be able to pull fence posts but it’s not normally known for its long legs?”
“And I’ll remove the disks and position its Super-Trapp muffler’s end cap where it will give the highest torque and horsepower at the highest rpm.”
“What if I disengage its rev-limiter, said Larry? “I did it once before.”
“That’ll work,” Kendall sounded more optimistic. “And I’ll remove the disks and position its Super-Trapp muffler’s end cap where its resonant rebound a.k.a. its pulse of back pressure, will give the highest torque and horsepower at the highest rpm. That should be enough.”
“Should be enough what,” Kate said?”
“Enough,” Kendall answered looking reassuringly at Kate, “to get Hilts and bring him back to you.”
Larry and Kendall went to work immediately moving this changing that. They instinctively knew, as only master mechanics can know, how to choreograph their movements so as not to interfere with one another. Not only did they not interfere with one another but their movements were often complementary. Soon they were done. Each stepped back from their work at almost the same time.
“We’re good to go,” said Larry.
“Your top torque and horsepower,” Kendall added looking at me, “will now peak in your highest gear and at your highest rpm. With the rev limiter disengaged you’ll have no trouble running in the 130 plus mph range and maintaining it for reasonable periods of time.”
“Even,” Kate asked hopefully, “with Hilts aboard?”
Kendall smiled his gentlemanly almost fatherly ‘It’s all going to be ok’ smile at Kate, “Even with Hilts and the kitchen sink aboard. I may be a supporter of Harley but I’ve got nothing but respect for the Yamaha Star V-twins. I’d be a liar to say I haven’t wished I could incorporate some of their technology into my own engines.”
Minutes later Larry and I with no other than a few good luck waves to send us on our way pulled out of the Spanky’s Café parking lot and headed for the turnoff into the wasteland. It was not far and easy to spot with its I’D TURN BACK IF I WERE YOU sign. We now had about two hours to travel eighty miles, find Hilts and return.
“That’ll work,” Kendall sounded more optimistic. “And I’ll remove the disks and position its Super-Trapp muffler’s end cap where its resonant rebound a.k.a. its pulse of back pressure, will give the highest torque and horsepower at the highest rpm. That should be enough.”
“Should be enough what,” Kate said?”
“Enough,” Kendall answered looking reassuringly at Kate, “to get Hilts and bring him back to you.”
Larry and Kendall went to work immediately moving this changing that. They instinctively knew, as only master mechanics can know, how to choreograph their movements so as not to interfere with one another. Not only did they not interfere with one another but their movements were often complementary. Soon they were done. Each stepped back from their work at almost the same time.
“We’re good to go,” said Larry.
“Your top torque and horsepower,” Kendall added looking at me, “will now peak in your highest gear and at your highest rpm. With the rev limiter disengaged you’ll have no trouble running in the 130 plus mph range and maintaining it for reasonable periods of time.”
“Even,” Kate asked hopefully, “with Hilts aboard?”
Kendall smiled his gentlemanly almost fatherly ‘It’s all going to be ok’ smile at Kate, “Even with Hilts and the kitchen sink aboard. I may be a supporter of Harley but I’ve got nothing but respect for the Yamaha Star V-twins. I’d be a liar to say I haven’t wished I could incorporate some of their technology into my own engines.”
Minutes later Larry and I with no other than a few good luck waves to send us on our way pulled out of the Spanky’s Café parking lot and headed for the turnoff into the wasteland. It was not far and easy to spot with its I’D TURN BACK IF I WERE YOU sign. We now had about two hours to travel eighty miles, find Hilts and return.
“Your top torque and horsepower,” Kendall added looking at me, “will now peak in your highest gear and at your highest rpm. With the rev limiter disengaged you’ll have no trouble running in the 130 plus mph range.”
Larry was in the lead when he activated the little radio we both wear in our ears, “Kendall says from here to Placebo is a straight ‘pedal to the metal’ run of eighty miles. Go big or go home…and we’re not going home without Hilts.”
It wasn’t long before grassland gave way to scrub and the scrub to wasteland. The road remained smooth and invited us to ride as fast as our bikes would go. Small dips, undetectable at normal riding speeds, were the only limiting factors. Becoming airborne didn’t seem to slow Larry down and the Raider was keeping up. Often I would watch the speedometer creep up near 130 mph. This went on for almost three quarters of an hour until Larry began to slow. The town of Placebo was coming up fast. Charon’s 40’ Ford sedan was in the center of the street with its hood up. Hilts was no where in sight.
“He’s gotta be close by,” said Larry after we’d skidded to a stop. “Check the right side of the street I’ll check the left. The town’s not much, maybe two blocks long; but neither do we have much time to look for him.”
Larry and I had drawn our Glocks and were in the process of running from building to building when I found Hilts in the second alley. He’d crawled into a shrinking circle of sunlight. Surrounding the circle was a group of eight men all in their Grant Wood ‘American Gothic’ overalls all holding pitchforks, all standing in the shadows. The circle of sunlight had grown small enough for the men to begin to poke and jab at Hilts. That Hilts was bleeding from several wounds underlined the fact he hadn’t recovered enough from his battle with the bounty hunters at Spanky’s Café to defend himself.
“He’s over here!”
At the sound of my shout the men surrounding Hilts turned to face me and Larry who’d run across the street to stand at my side. The fact we had guns didn’t seem to discourage them from walking towards us.
“Hey, we just want our friend; we’re not looking for…”
“…any trouble,” said Larry finishing my sentence, “and they’re… not…stopping.”
My first shot hit the closest in the chest…zombie, android…whatever…he/it stumbled but kept coming.
“Their heads,” shouted Larry, “aim for their heads!”
My second shot missed, my third hit my target. Larry was more methodical, more deliberate…seven measured shots with his 10mm, seven exploding pumpkins.
“Get Hilts,” Larry yelled after his seventh shot, “get him on the Raider and let’s get out of here. I’ll cover you.”
Bleeding but not from any major wounds I could see, Hilts had already staggered to his feet. Putting my shoulder under his arm got him shuffling towards where my bike was parked…he recognized us.
I’d just gotten Hilts seated on the back of the Raider, hopefully he’d have the awareness to hold on, when Larry pulled up on his Vegas 8-Ball, “Wind and tide ya know…gotta go…like NOW!”
Shadows from Placebo’s buildings still had a narrow path of sunlight between them and Larry was already in third gear when he threaded it. I was close behind. Hilts, thankfully, was holding on. In a less than mile out of town we were over a 100 mph and heading home.
“We’re going to make it,” I said into my little ear radio.
“Don’t count your chickens just yet;” replied Larry, “the car Kate described fleeing Spanky’s has just left Placebo and is chasing us.”
I looked in my mirrors. My aunt had a black Lincoln town car just like it with suicide doors. She’d take us kids to church in it. I still remember the smell of her orange blossom perfume and her white gloves. This Lincoln wasn’t being driven by my aunt and it definitely wasn’t going to church…and it was gaining. Larry and I had topped out somewhere above 130 mph when Larry began to slow down.
“No heroics,” I yelled over my ear radio, “we make it together or not at all.”
“Don’t flatter yourself; I need to get a clear shot and I can’t do it at this speed.”
“But I can,” shouted a more rejuvenated sounding Hilts. “Hand me your 10mm and don’t drop it.”
When I handed my Glock 20 over my shoulder he grabbed it without hesitation.
“Got it…keep your present speed and as far to the right of the road as you can.”
There’s a song “Hot Rod Lincoln” and it was playing when the Lincoln pulled abreast of us. Hilts had yet to fire a shot. Both of the Lincoln’s right side windows rolled down…I could see the woman in the back seat. Thin to the point of being skeletal she gave me a big toothless grin.
“Emma honey,” shouted the driver loud enough for us to hear over the wind noise and who looked like a worn out version of Buffalo Bob, “why don’t you give these nice folks a taste of Placebo hospitality?”
When the tip of a double barrel shot gun peeked over the edge of the rear window Hilts opened fire. His first two rounds went through their right rear tire the second two rounds through their right front tire. The Lincoln began to veer towards us. Hilts then put another two into the engine and the last through the front windshield. The last shot through the windshield made the driver reflexively hit his breaks allowing Larry and me to scoot ahead and the front part of the Lincoln’s frame to dig into the pavement.
I watched the wreck through my rear views. I watched as if in slow motion as ol’ pickin’ n’ a grinnin’ Bob and Emma were thrown up and out the doors. They would’ve scored a ten in pole vaulting. They were still twisting in the air when the Lincoln exploded. Somewhere in their epitaphs will be something about the importance of seat belts.
“We’re running out of daylight, but we’ll make it,” said Larry over the little ear radio. “Pretty sure those two in the Lincoln bought the farm. Speaking of light it looks like the Spanky’s Café gang turned on the lights to guide us back.”
Kate was cheering the loudest when we crossed into the Borderlands just as the sun set.
It wasn’t long before grassland gave way to scrub and the scrub to wasteland. The road remained smooth and invited us to ride as fast as our bikes would go. Small dips, undetectable at normal riding speeds, were the only limiting factors. Becoming airborne didn’t seem to slow Larry down and the Raider was keeping up. Often I would watch the speedometer creep up near 130 mph. This went on for almost three quarters of an hour until Larry began to slow. The town of Placebo was coming up fast. Charon’s 40’ Ford sedan was in the center of the street with its hood up. Hilts was no where in sight.
“He’s gotta be close by,” said Larry after we’d skidded to a stop. “Check the right side of the street I’ll check the left. The town’s not much, maybe two blocks long; but neither do we have much time to look for him.”
Larry and I had drawn our Glocks and were in the process of running from building to building when I found Hilts in the second alley. He’d crawled into a shrinking circle of sunlight. Surrounding the circle was a group of eight men all in their Grant Wood ‘American Gothic’ overalls all holding pitchforks, all standing in the shadows. The circle of sunlight had grown small enough for the men to begin to poke and jab at Hilts. That Hilts was bleeding from several wounds underlined the fact he hadn’t recovered enough from his battle with the bounty hunters at Spanky’s Café to defend himself.
“He’s over here!”
At the sound of my shout the men surrounding Hilts turned to face me and Larry who’d run across the street to stand at my side. The fact we had guns didn’t seem to discourage them from walking towards us.
“Hey, we just want our friend; we’re not looking for…”
“…any trouble,” said Larry finishing my sentence, “and they’re… not…stopping.”
My first shot hit the closest in the chest…zombie, android…whatever…he/it stumbled but kept coming.
“Their heads,” shouted Larry, “aim for their heads!”
My second shot missed, my third hit my target. Larry was more methodical, more deliberate…seven measured shots with his 10mm, seven exploding pumpkins.
“Get Hilts,” Larry yelled after his seventh shot, “get him on the Raider and let’s get out of here. I’ll cover you.”
Bleeding but not from any major wounds I could see, Hilts had already staggered to his feet. Putting my shoulder under his arm got him shuffling towards where my bike was parked…he recognized us.
I’d just gotten Hilts seated on the back of the Raider, hopefully he’d have the awareness to hold on, when Larry pulled up on his Vegas 8-Ball, “Wind and tide ya know…gotta go…like NOW!”
Shadows from Placebo’s buildings still had a narrow path of sunlight between them and Larry was already in third gear when he threaded it. I was close behind. Hilts, thankfully, was holding on. In a less than mile out of town we were over a 100 mph and heading home.
“We’re going to make it,” I said into my little ear radio.
“Don’t count your chickens just yet;” replied Larry, “the car Kate described fleeing Spanky’s has just left Placebo and is chasing us.”
I looked in my mirrors. My aunt had a black Lincoln town car just like it with suicide doors. She’d take us kids to church in it. I still remember the smell of her orange blossom perfume and her white gloves. This Lincoln wasn’t being driven by my aunt and it definitely wasn’t going to church…and it was gaining. Larry and I had topped out somewhere above 130 mph when Larry began to slow down.
“No heroics,” I yelled over my ear radio, “we make it together or not at all.”
“Don’t flatter yourself; I need to get a clear shot and I can’t do it at this speed.”
“But I can,” shouted a more rejuvenated sounding Hilts. “Hand me your 10mm and don’t drop it.”
When I handed my Glock 20 over my shoulder he grabbed it without hesitation.
“Got it…keep your present speed and as far to the right of the road as you can.”
There’s a song “Hot Rod Lincoln” and it was playing when the Lincoln pulled abreast of us. Hilts had yet to fire a shot. Both of the Lincoln’s right side windows rolled down…I could see the woman in the back seat. Thin to the point of being skeletal she gave me a big toothless grin.
“Emma honey,” shouted the driver loud enough for us to hear over the wind noise and who looked like a worn out version of Buffalo Bob, “why don’t you give these nice folks a taste of Placebo hospitality?”
When the tip of a double barrel shot gun peeked over the edge of the rear window Hilts opened fire. His first two rounds went through their right rear tire the second two rounds through their right front tire. The Lincoln began to veer towards us. Hilts then put another two into the engine and the last through the front windshield. The last shot through the windshield made the driver reflexively hit his breaks allowing Larry and me to scoot ahead and the front part of the Lincoln’s frame to dig into the pavement.
I watched the wreck through my rear views. I watched as if in slow motion as ol’ pickin’ n’ a grinnin’ Bob and Emma were thrown up and out the doors. They would’ve scored a ten in pole vaulting. They were still twisting in the air when the Lincoln exploded. Somewhere in their epitaphs will be something about the importance of seat belts.
“We’re running out of daylight, but we’ll make it,” said Larry over the little ear radio. “Pretty sure those two in the Lincoln bought the farm. Speaking of light it looks like the Spanky’s Café gang turned on the lights to guide us back.”
Kate was cheering the loudest when we crossed into the Borderlands just as the sun set.