Three Weeks in Hell

Chapter 10

Callen drove down several side roads. He had no real clue where exactly Southgate was in LA or where the roads he took led. Callen's view of 'life beyond the fence', had indicated that Southgate had a rural location, but he had barely driven more than a few minutes before he entered an industrial area. If Callen had been thinking clearly, he would have ditched the car and stolen another, but he was desperate and his only thoughts were to keep driving as far away as possible from the detention centre. He wondered how long it would be before anyone noticed he was missing. He knew that Pollack would not be worried that he'd been left on the ground by the fence, especially if his next task was to give Matt an earful or even a beating. It was more likely that once Pollack had finished with Matt, that he and his gang would come looking for him. By Callen's calculations, that meant he had maybe twenty minutes until the alarm was raised.

First they would search the interior and exterior of the centre, and when the Correction Officers realised he was not doing a Jake and bleeding out over the shower room floor, they would alert the police, usher out the visitors and lock down the centre. That meant there was probably another ten minutes until they realised he'd stolen a car, which made it thirty minutes in total. Callen looked at the clock on the car dash; he had already been driving for just over five. He pressed his foot down on the gas and accelerated up the ramp on to a main road. The tail of the car swung out slightly as he struggled to control the large vehicle and manoeuvre safely in to the heavy LA traffic, which was flowing at a slow but steady pace. Callen slammed his palm on the steering wheel in frustration and swore. The longer he was caught in traffic, the more likely he was to get attract attention and get caught. The slow pace gradually became a stop-start pattern, with more stopping than starting. Ten minutes later and Callen's leg began to ache from the constant moving of his foot between the brake and accelerator pedals. As the car once again became stationary, he removed his hands from the steering wheel and stretched them out, grimacing as a sharp pain stabbed at his chest. He swore again, cursing Pollack and his hard punches.

Slowly, Callen approached a major intersection and finally the traffic seemed to ease. He glanced up at the signs. He had no idea which route to take but he knew the 101 headed up the coast to San Francisco, which meant he could stop at San Jose or any of the small towns along the way, maybe earning a few bucks from odd job work. He could graft with the best of them if he had to, he was sure of that - he had just never wanted to before. Maybe he would even head up as far as Canada. He'd never been to another country and Canada sounded safe. Decision made, Callen turned on to the 101 and the traffic continued to ease, allowing Callen to accelerate once more. The needle on the speedometer was vibrating around the 60 mph mark, and the faster Callen drove, the more he had to fight the steering. The station wagon was a heavy vehicle and despite his need and desire to drive fast, he figured he'd better slow a little in case he crashed. The needle on the fuel gauge also caught his eye. He was convinced when he started, it was hovering around half a tank but now it was floating just above the red. Callen started to feel his luck ebbing away. Running out of gas would be bad, very bad indeed. It meant dreams of Canada would have to wait, and maybe even dreams of San Jose, he thought, coming across a sign for West Hollywood. But on the other hand, maybe his luck was just about holding out.

West Hollywood was where thousands of Russians had migrated in the late 1970s when the Soviet Union had been dissolved, and it was where the Rostoff family had settled. They had lived in America for five years when they decided to give something back to their adoptive country and become foster parents. Seeing the sign for West Hollywood brought the Rostoff's again to the forefront of Callen's mind and he suddenly thought he could turn to them for help. Seconds later he scrapped that idea. He couldn't put them at risk. They might be arrested and sent back to Russia. Worse still, Alina would be taken away from her mom and dad and placed in care, an experience he would not wish to inflict on any other child. He wondered if he could just hide in the garden for one night before stealing another car, one that was faster and full of gas. He would at least feel safe in a familiar environment, but again, maybe that still wasn't the wisest plan. Maybe he would just ditch the car and head towards Venice. He knew people there who would shelter him until it was safe to venture up north.