Prepper

Chapter Twenty-Three

A decade and a half ago a four-door sedan came off the assembly line, it was shiny and clean and eager for a comfy commute, or a memorable road trip. Back then the odometer read 000000.0 -- it doesn't read anything now because a couple stray bullets have smashed the hell out of it.

The cushy old sedan has never been driven like this. It was never meant to be. I race down streets in the bullet-riddled car with the accelerator pegged to the floor and the engine screaming. I have no idea how fast I am going, the dash is full of bullet holes and the gauges aren't working. Steam billows out from under the hood, only to be whipped away in the wind. The cabin is filled with the sweet smell of glycol mixed with the melodious odor of fifteen years of engine grime now on the verge of catching fire from the overheated block. The engine is making an ungodly sound and I fear it might shit the bed at any moment.

Everything outside the car is a hoary blur. Everything inside the car is a gory nightmare. Blood soaks into the cracked leather seats as my passengers continue to ooze the precious fluid. Someone keeps screaming-- turns out it's me. I think Tony might be dead in the back seat, I can't tell, he's unresponsive. Kate lies in the front, dangling lifeless from her restraints. I have her hand clenched in mine.

Navigating the darkened streets is impossible; between my speed, lack of lights, and my attention divided between the horror beside me and driving-- I keep missing turns, becoming more disoriented as I go. I'm in pure panic mode, running entirely on adrenalin and instinct.

"Hang on Kate!" I beg her. "I got you, I got you."

I slam on the brakes and make a hard turn into an alley, I speed along recklessly down the narrow lane, between houses and apartments. The car bottoms out as I cross side streets, my occupants lurch sickeningly at every bump and swerve. As I cross an intersection, I recognize a building in the distance to my right, the car screeches to a halt as I jump on the brake pedal with both feet. I throw it in reverse and correct course. A couple more turns, a couple more blocks and I should be back near the hospital. That ER better be open!

I fly through another intersection, looking right. The car smashes violently into something and goes into a spin. An airbag deploys in my face like a prize-fighter's punch. We come to rest on a sidewalk with the front end partway through a fence, I have glass in my mouth and I feel a cold breeze. I curse my idiocy - how the hell did I side-swipe a tree? Then I hear it, something I have never heard before - it's a loud hissing sound, something akin to a very large vacuum. No that's not it, it sounds more like a jet, why do I hear a jet?

As I struggle with my seat belt, I crane my neck to see what is making that sound. There, looming out of the darkness, is the enemy's secret weapon. The M1A1 main battle tank. My god it's huge! I thought it never made it through the tunnel. My blood turns to ice as I am momentarily stunned by what I see. It seems that death has been only steps behind me all day and now I believe I am looking at the beast itself.

Instinctively I grab the door handle and yank, my door will not open, I think the whole left side of the car is crushed from the impact with the tank. I watch helplessly as an unmanned machine gun atop the tank turret swings toward the car. Seconds become hours as I desperately try to release my seat belt, but it remains jammed. I look over at Kate and then back out the window, I'm peering straight down the barrel.

"I love you Heath." I whisper, praying my words find their way to his heart. My journey ends here. I lock eyes with death and wait for one of us to blink.

The car is jolted hard from behind, my head bounces hard off the door pillar. There is the crunch of metal-on-metal as the sedan is launched completely through the fence and sent spinning wildly across the grass. Stars swim in front of my eyes, I see red streaks fly through the air. There is machine gun fire, loud and angry along with a symphony of pings and ricochets.