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| BACK to Me and my Shadow supercar: Driver logs | An introduction to J. Staute and Shadowfast |
A few days later I got another after hours surprise visit in my school parking lot.
No, it wasn't Lindsay. It was her brother Brock.
Lindsay's brother. A member of the gang Steve and I had saved Sienna and Vicki from. And who'd tried to smash me up in that junkyard arena.
Of course I didn't recognize him. There'd been some pictures with him included at Lindsay's place, but I hadn't paid much attention to them. I was just wary of the guy's intentions by default, in this particular time and place.
"Is there something I can do for you?" I asked the stranger standing near Shadow as I approached. I was annoyed. Most fights were supposed to take place during school hours, and any after that by mutually agreed to appointment before-hand. I was not scheduled for a fight at this time. Plus this guy was unknown to me. Fights with complete strangers weren't the usual fare on school grounds either.
Unless it was a beating paid for by a third party. Or a case of mistaken identity.
"You Jerry Staute?" He asked. Well, I guess that blew the mistaken identity possibility out of the water. Damn!
"What if I am?"
"I'm Brock Finch. Lindsay and Sharon's brother."
I almost tackled him on the spot, but managed to restrain myself.
"You son of a bitch! Where are they?" I snarled, even as my fingers curled into fists of their own accord. Brock was pretty big, but I figured I could hurt him some before he mopped the gravel parking lot with me. The trick would be doing as much damage as possible as quickly as I could...
"Whoa, man! Take it easy! I was hoping you'd help me find them!"
"Bullshit. You know where they are. What the hell are you doing with them?"
"It's not me! I swear! It's Frank Hobson! He wanted Lindsay to be one of his girls for hire and just took her!"
That did synch up with what I'd been told by Trixie. But I knew of no reason to trust Brock.
"If he took Lindsay then where's Sharon?"
"Hobson grabbed Sharon first from school to put the screws on Lindsay. So Lindsay gave herself up to him. As far as I know Lindsay and Sharon are together at a house Hobson owns up Nichols way. But I don't think they'll be there long. If we can't get them out tonight Hobson will have them shipped off somewhere and we'll never find them!"
I could see Brock was getting emotional. His face was red, and his eyes looked to be welling up with tears he was trying mightily to hold back. He was also beginning to shake all over.
"Man, I know we did you wrong-- me and the guys-- at the game and the junkyard thing. But I really need your help to get my sisters out of there. You're all I got. My so-called friends won't have anything to do with it. And Trixie told me you were taking care of Lindsay and Sharon some before all this. And you were looking for them a few days ago.
"Well, I know where they are man. But I don't think I can get them out by myself.
"Man, go ahead and beat the hell out of me if you want. I won't fight back. Not so long as you'll help me get Lindsay and Sharon away from Hobson after you're done," Brock told me, tears now starting to run down his face, and his voice wavering with emotion.
Damn it if I didn't start to tear up myself. I had to wipe my face. But I still felt furious with him. After all, things might not have come to this if Brock had been more of a help to Lindsay before. It seemed awful late for him to be coming around now.
I regarded him for a moment, then stepped up and moved as if I were going to punch him smack in the face as hard as I could.
Brock just closed his eyes and stiffened to ready himself for my blows, still quivering with emotion.
I didn't strike him.
"OK, so maybe you're telling the truth," I admitted, standing down.
"Aren't you going to hit me?" Brock asked with one eye still closed and the other squinting open.
"No. There'd be no use in it. So where is this place you're talking about?" I now tried to re-aim my fury towards the Hobson guy Brock claimed had the girls.
And with that Brock proceeded to describe the challenges which lay ahead of us.
A gang boss running a prostitution ring servicing truck drivers and others at local truck stops and interstate rest areas had decided to end Lindsay's on-again off-again freelance hooking and add her to his own stable full-time. By force.
He hadn't yet had the two girls for long, according to Brock. For Lindsay had managed to elude Hobson until the gang boss got hold of Sharon. After that Lindsay felt she had no choice but to give up.
Brock had already tried to work out something himself to extract Lindsay and Sharon from their plight, but to no avail.
Brock had gone to the local cops too, only to get stonewalled in various ways.
Brock had heard a bit about me from Lindsay before her abduction. Then he'd learned from Lindsay's friend Trixie how and where to find me.
He'd practiced his little beating speech several times before we met. He could figure no other way to get some help but from me, and was willing to do anything to get it.
I was surprised to find myself liking Brock after that little confab. Even though he'd definitely been one of the derby drivers who forced me and Shadow to surf across that pond. He really wasn't all that different from me and my own circle of buddies, it seemed. Maybe he'd just gotten mixed up with the wrong folks. There were plenty of those in these parts.
Hobson's place sat atop a substantial hill crisscrossed by a variety of access roads. But the main one I was interested in was the single road leading up the hill from the county highway running along the river below. That access road was the only way in and out traversable by a street car at speed. All the other roads atop the hill basically flowed in and out of that one.
The very worst aspect of Brock's plan was we had virtually no time to prepare. Only hours. For he thought the girls were going be moved to points unknown in the morning. That'd been a prime motivator for his desperate plea to me.
If we'd had more time or been more fortunate in the circumstances I could probably have arranged more help for us. For instance, Steve was often up for anything which smacked of danger and derring do. Heck, I might could have even pulled in Will, Red, and Marco too! And some of those guys could get hold of much better guns than Brock or I.
But I couldn't find or contact any of them on such short notice. They were all busy with other things apparently.
Our hastily assembled rescue plan required stealth, and all the preparation we could cram into a few hours.
Shadow's enamel paint job was all to hell anyway I figured, with the school parking lot scraping and the clip by the derby car, as well as pock marks from small stones and gravel impacts among all the mud spinning I'd done in the arena.
So I did a once-over of most of Shadow with a few cans of flat-black paint to dull his remaining shine-- including his chrome bumpers.
The bumpers took most of two whole cans by themselves.
I wasn't too concerned about getting the paint off the bumpers later because the bumpers were well waxed, and I knew how to remove the color with lacquer thinner besides.
The fingers on my left hand would be marred with black paint for many days afterwards due to my use of a piece of masking cardboard against items like window and headlight glass where they were too near the painting.
I didn't have time for a tape up job.
Fortunately it was going to be nearly a full moon that night, and so much of the hill road would be adequately lighted even without headlights. I hoped.
I'd driven just by moonlight before. As had Steve.
I removed the bulbs from my tail lights so my brake lights wouldn't give us away.
At that point in Shadow's career he was fairly quiet, still possessing a mostly intact dual exhaust system and factory style mufflers. Plus he didn't yet have headers: a major noise producer for a hot rod all in themselves.
Brock was familiar with Hobson's place, having done a few odd jobs for the kingpin and his subordinates there before.
There was a fence and a dog. But usually only a couple guys there besides Hobson. And Hobson himself was often away on trips.
Brock thought there was a good chance Hobson would be away tonight. But he couldn't be certain.
The security of the place wasn't anything major. For who would dare disturb a gang boss? Nobody but us chickens! Ha, ha. But there was the possibility of dog bites, getting shot at by two or more men, and maybe arrested by the cops if they were called in.
Pretty much same old same old where Steve and I were concerned. It was really too bad I didn't have the time to round him up for this.
Of course, we might also get Lindsay or Sharon hurt along the way.
But we felt we had to try something. Yeah, we were brash young men, intent on rescuing damsels in distress. Maybe qualifying for the mug shots accompanying an encyclopedic entry for "Going off half-cocked".
The plan was for us to sneak up the hill in the dark with my blacked out car and no lights whatsoever.
We'd get the car as close as we could to the building suspected to be housing the girls. Then I'd stay with the car as Brock went in and got them. Brock seemed sure it was better for me to stay ready with the car than come along. For one thing, it'd be easier for one guy to sneak around the place unnoticed than two.
We tried to formulate a plan B as well, but that one was pretty weak. We badly needed plan A to work.
We armed ourselves for the job of course. Although our weaponry was almost laughably meager.
I had under my seat my club consisting of a chunk of thick electrical cable given me by Steve, plus a hunting knife.
Brock had a single shot shotgun strapped to his back, a hunting knife on his belt, a .22 caliber pistol in his pocket, and a baseball bat in his hands.
The bat was mainly meant for the dog.
Taking it slow and easy we managed to make it up the hill and pretty close to the building without incident. The clear night and nearly full moon helped much as I thought they would.
We parked on the side of the road near the main complex in a spot where a small outbuilding would shield our car from the view of where we knew one man would likely be inside. There was much more uncertainty about the second guard.
It also appeared Hobson's main car was present. So we had to figure he was there too. Maybe with a driver as well.
I was keeping Shadow running, idling quietly. I was nervous as hell.
Brock disembarked, carefully easing the door shut just enough for the latch to click. He then descended into a shallow ditch, up its opposite bank, and climbed through a fence of several plain wire strands.
The fence could be electrified and sported signs stating that all around, but it rarely was in practice, according to Brock's past experience.
About halfway across the yard Brock met up with the dog and dispatched it quite handily. I seriously doubt I could have done better.
Brock had been helped some by the fact the dog had seen him on the property before, and so didn't raise the same caliber of alarm as it might have with a total stranger. Like me.
Brock then began cautiously peering into windows trying to locate the girls. Me, I kept watch for the unexpected.
I hoped we didn't get any traffic which forced me to move my car.
It seemed like Brock was taking a long time in his reconnoiter. Then I thought I saw him-- or someone-- climbing up a tree round the other side of the main house. What the hell?
I had to wait, I told myself. If that was Brock climbing that tree, he surely had a good reason.
After my glow-in-the-dark hands on my wrist watch indicated we'd been there almost fifteen minutes, I started getting really antsy. I could no longer see any movement in the tree. And had heard no unusual noises. Of course, even as quiet as Shadow was in those days he still made a slight racket while idling. So there was a certain threshold of noise below which a particular sound might be inaudible to me. Especially distant sounds.
I was keeping a close and anxious watch all around me though. And not neglecting the neighboring houses some distance away either. For we had to be prepared for trouble to come from anywhere.
It was then I saw someone sneaking towards me across the yard. Alone. Although I was sure it had to be Brock, I reached under my seat for my club anyway...
But yeah, it was Brock.
We had a problem.
He'd made contact with the girls, but the only place they could get out of the house at the moment was a tiny bathroom window. It appeared to be too small, and Brock was basically consulting me for a decision to either both of us burst in and fight it out with Hobson and his henchmen to get the girls, or maybe if I had a saw or other suitable tool in the car we might enlarge the window.
I could see major flaws with both options.
But I also had some personal experience getting through tight spots. Literally.
"Brock, can Lindsay get her head and one arm up through her shoulder out the window at the same time?" Lindsay was the biggest of the two by far. So if she could do it Sharon most certainly could.
"I don't know. It's pretty small."
"Well, I learned once that a person can squeeze through any hole they can get their head and one shoulder through at the same time like that."
"I don't know. It's awful tight."
Logic and tradition dictated we not try Lindsay first, but Sharon. For if we got away with only one of the girls that night, it should be the child. Plus, with Sharon rescued Lindsay would have more leeway about affecting an escape on her own later.
I wondered if Brock would accept it, if it came to that. Rescuing only Sharon. Heck, I wasn't even completely certain of myself on that point.
"Brock, just make sure to have them start with one arm and head first. And tell them to stack up something to stand on at the window if they need it. Lindsay can help push Sharon through. Make sure Sharon comes out first. Otherwise Lindsay could get stuck and they'd both be trapped."
"OK."
I thought of something else and killed the car for a moment to free up the key.
I hoped the house inhabitants wouldn't note the noise of Shadow cranking back up again later. It occurred to me how useful it'd be to have an extra set of car keys for cases like these...
"Brock, I've got something that might help them get out."
"A saw?"
"No. Motor oil. If the window's as tight as you say it might help if they're more slippery."
I eased out of the car and around to the trunk, which I opened.
Shadow's trunk light hadn't worked when I bought him, and I'd never fixed it.
I felt around for the couple cans of motor oil I knew I had back there. After finding them I also opened my tool box and retrieved a screwdriver by feel, then punched holes in the tops of the cans.
"Here," I handed the cans to Brock. Brock stuck the bat under one arm and took the cans in both hands.
Now that the dog was gone the bat was for bad guys.
"Grease them up with the oil, have Sharon go first, stack up stuff to stand on, and get their head and one arm out before anything else. Right?"
"Right."
"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked Brock, unsure if we should stick to the original plan now.
"No. It's best for you to stay here, I think. In the end nothing else will matter if we got no getaway car waiting for us. If I have to I can carry both Lindsay and Sharon to the car myself in one pass. I used to play football, and they're pretty small." I couldn't argue with his logic. He did appear capable of such a feat.
With that Brock turned around and made his way back through the fence and across the yard once more. I think he smiled after his last words to me, but wasn't sure due to him being silhouetted against the lighted windows of the house.
Another twelve minutes passed, I believe.
Suddenly floodlights burst on all around the house, almost blinding me. I heard some sort of commotion on the far side of the house.
Then here came Lindsay and Sharon running towards the car, with Brock behind them, walking quickly backwards as he watched for pursuers.
I heard yelling from someone inside the house.
I threw open the passenger side door and my own, bent forward both front seats for easy access to the back, and ran through the ditch to the fence to help get them through.
Lindsay and Sharon were both in nightgowns and bare feet. And streaked all over with motor oil.
Particles of black dirt were stuck in splotches here and there on both skin and clothing, apparently from their landing on the ground outside the window, and perhaps crawling along the way too.
But still I thought them a darn pretty sight there, apparently unharmed and able to move under their own power.
Something caught Brock's eye and he let loose a blast with his shotgun. In another moment Lindsay and Sharon were climbing into the car and I was urging Brock to come too.
I heard another shot, but it wasn't from Brock. It'd come from the house. I wasn't sure if the shooter had aimed at us or not, but I perceived no impact around us. And didn't see the shooter.
We were now all in and Brock was shutting his door. I gunned the motor and we took off.
"Everybody find their seat belts and put them on! It might be a rough ride!" I warned them all.
I also instructed both girls to hunch over and keep their heads down, as there might be more shooting.
When Brock continued to grunt and fumble around with his feet I reiterated to him my order to belt up.
"I will in a minute, man. But I got to do something about my leg," he told me.
Brock had been shot!
"You'll need a bandage to stop the bleeding," I told him. A glance back at the girls reminded me they had no extra clothing to spare, so I worked off my own T-shirt with one arm while I steered with the other.
"Here, use this," I handed Brock the shirt. Once again, I wished I had a first aid kit in Shadow.
It turned out to be his foot rather than his leg. And he was almost unable to get his shoe off before it'd swelled up so large his footwear would require cutting off with a knife.
We tried to make light of it with the girls.
Fortunately Brock was still in good enough shape to play along, thereby minimizing their anxieties.
I wondered if Lindsay and Sharon realized the risk their big brother was taking on their behalf here.
I'd meant to drive away from the house with my lights out but the blinding by the floodlights had ruined that stratagem. I was forced to switch on my headlights to see.
Someone at the house managed to come after us in the boss's car. That thing must have had a big block engine in it, judging from its nimbleness.
I had to drive around essentially a big rectangle shape to get back to the main way off the hill. Basically because I hadn't thought to turn Shadow around beforehand so we could head straight down the hill in our getaway.
As there were almost no structures or trees throughout much of the land encompassed by the road I was now on, our pursuer could easily track us by our headlights.
But my dead tail lights sure weren't helping him any!
The driver of the big car, lots more familiar with the lay of the land here than me, suddenly cut across a field between the road courses to cut us off.
Yikes! Brock had been familiar with the grounds around the house much more than he was with the rest of the vicinity, so he couldn't help much now.
Damn it! The big car was definitely going to succeed at cutting us off via the present trends. I had to change the status quo somehow.
Well, the enemy car had illuminated some of the off-road terrain as it passed over it, and my eyes had had a minute or so to recover from the floodlights. Plus we did have a near full moon.
So I did what seemed the natural thing.
"I'm going to turn our lights off everybody. So don't be scared," I tried to alert everyone as best I could.
Then I pushed the plunger of my light switch off, throwing us into darkness. Immediately after their glow had faded I swerved off the road and into the field itself. Things immediately got a lot rougher than I expected due to our speed of maybe 50 mph from the road. Man, did we bounce around! I soon corrected the problem by drastically slowing down, even as I crossed the dark field towards the wake left by the big car.
For I knew that part was passable.
Meanwhile the big man's luxury car had reached the road beside the field to cut us off and stopped there, wondering where we were.
It was hard to see us while we were sporting no lights and with all our chrome blacked out.
Plus I'd drastically changed direction after shutting off my lights. Practically doubled back the way we'd come, only traveling through field rather than road now. So whoever was in the other car was likely looking for us in the wrong place on the hill.
But my little trick wouldn't work for long.
We regained the road again roughly where the pursuit car had first entered the field, then ran back up to the corner of the house yard we'd come from only moments earlier, made a left, and headed downhill on the main drag.
I squinted and used my left hand to try shielding my returning night vision from the still blazing floodlights at the house, during our turn.
In relation to our present position the big car was now some 30 yards deep on a side-road which intersected with the main access road about a hundred yards ahead of us.
Our continuing movement is what likely gave us away. But he might have heard us too, as the big car he was driving was probably much quieter than mine, muffler-wise.
So it turned into a race then to see who could get to the intersection first. If he got there he could block our escape. If we made it first he'd either have to let us go or give chase.
If I could force him into a chase, I was pretty sure we'd get away. No way that luxury car could keep up with Shadow on something other than a straight line. And maybe not that, for long.
My eyes were getting a bit better in the darkness adjustment-wise, so I decided to keep my lights off just to make it harder on the other guy.
Plus we couldn't know if he might get reinforcements from the house or elsewhere at any moment.
I figured it best to keep everyone guessing wherever I could.
I floored Shadow to make it. But the odds were against us. The other car was much closer than we, plus its big block gave it roughly the same get up and go as us.
We were late reaching the intersection.
But we couldn't just stop and hand the girls back over to the thugs.
Getting trapped up here on this hill would allow more enemy reinforcements to come in to help corral us.
And Brock and I sure didn't have the weaponry we'd need for a shoot out.
So as we approached the big Cadillac or whatever it was blocking the road I didn't even slow down. I checked the terrain both behind and ahead of the big car for alternatives.
"Everybody hold on tight, we're going for a ride," I warned Brock and his sisters anew.
The steep but only seven or eight foot high red clay bank showing in the blockade car's headlights looked like my best option, so I took it.
Too bad it had a line of fence posts with barbed wire stretching between them perched along its crest too.
And I was uncertain what we'd find beyond. All I had to go on was that it'd be more hillside most likely. Maybe a sloping pasture, from what I could remember from sighting the region from afar in daylight.
We blasted up the bank at an angle, not far before reaching the massive luxury car.
I tried my best to target the very middle of a wire span, rather than strike any post. But we skidded unexpectedly across the clay dirt so that we almost struck the far post head on.
Almost. But not quite. If I ever did that again I'd have to remember to lead my target better...
For just the briefest instant we could all see almost directly ahead a sturdy looking fence post and the glint of barbed wire strands in the light coming from the large car below us.
Then we hit, and I heard the distinctive twangs of wires giving way to irresistible pressures.
The post to our left got pulled up out of the ground (or broke off: I'm not sure) and swung around on at least one remaining wire like a pendulum to smash into the seam between my door and front fender, throwing a hell of a scare into me, as I'd expected a hit at the front rather than on the side like that, when I realized we were skidding towards the post.
I tell you what-- if my adrenaline hadn't already started flowing before now, this was the moment it kicked in, big-time!
Fortunately the post came loose and fell away shortly after that.
Although I'd been stunned by the skewed impact with the post, I'd barely had the faculties available to comprehend it at the time. For it was keeping me busy handling the car past the fence.
I think we sailed through the air about ten or fifteen feet above the ground for a couple seconds there. Maybe more. Because remember we were jumping over ground which over all was of a descending nature: a hillside.
It took us a couple hard landings to return once more to terra firma.
We were now traveling at maybe 70 mph on completely unknown terrain, by moonlight alone, down a more or less natural hillside. I frantically tried to simultaneously slow down and switch my lights back on, but we were bouncing so much it was hard to keep control of the steering wheel, let alone find the light knob in all the commotion.
Various sounds of fear were emanating from all of us-- including me too, I'm pretty sure. Even if I can't recall my own shrieks of terror.
If I wasn't making them vocally I was sure as hell making them mentally!
Our initial course ramping up the bank had put us on a diagonal track down the hill, moving away from the road we needed to return to.
I couldn't even consider trying to correct our course at that moment, as reducing our speed and seeing where we were going were much more important. Plus, any sort of significant change in direction going down the hill on random terrain at our present speed might flip us over, I figured.
Suddenly we launched back into the air anew, in a most appalling manner.
Apparently we'd struck an upwelling in the ground. Our still considerable speed gave us a most uncomfortable flight once more, before we landed again.
All the bouncing around made it difficult to discern what lay ahead, even with the benefit of the moonlight.
Then I seemed to get a hint that parts of the hillside were moving.
There were cattle out there! Holy shit! If we struck one of those we were done for!
As I simply could not get at the light switch I concentrated on slowing down without losing control or rolling over.
In about another minute I'd gotten us down to a complete stop at last. At which point we took a new assessment of our situation.
We all seemed to be OK. But for Brock's gunshot wound, of course. We could see no signs of pursuit from up the hill.
Now that all the terrible vibrations were stopped, we could make out more about our surroundings.
Yes, there were scared cattle milling around in spots. And mooing to beat the band. It didn't seem we'd hit any though. Shadow was still running fine.
We were practically at the bottom of the hill now. But at least a couple hundred horizontal yards from the main hill access road, and maybe half that or less to the county highway to which the access road connected, and we ultimately wanted to get to.
Getting to the highway from the field though looked impossible. So we still seemed to be trapped.
I knew something of the obstacles between the field and the county highway here. For one thing there was a big, deep looking water channel which ran alongside the road there. As well as another fence. I'd seen them every time I'd passed by there in daylight since I'd gotten my driver's license.
We could now see the moving beams and spots of handheld flashlights in the distance, shining from the vicinity of the gap we'd left in the fence atop the hill, getting past the blockade car. We were now maybe something less than a quarter-mile away from it.
As far away as we were, plus all blacked out and unmoving, we seemed safe from discovery. But that would only last until they decided to come down the hill searching for us.
Maybe it'd been lucky after all that I couldn't turn on my lights coming down the hill!
We could try angling back towards Hobson's access road, and busting back through the fence in a different spot to regain a clear path to the highway. But that seemed awfully chancy. From here we couldn't see what if any manpower Hobson might have deployed along there now. Plus it was a long ways across the field to the road from our present location. Plenty of space across which we might be spotted moving, even without lights. Or maybe even heard. Although the still mooing cows seemed to be giving us some cover for that.
We definitely didn't want to go back uphill.
That left one other direction. A course somewhat parallel to the county highway and intervening water channel. If we could find a spot there by which to get back onto pavement, we could bypass Hobson's access road entirely.
I recalled that the vexing water channel alongside the highway didn't seem to exist where the highway ran past a small tannery in the vicinity of that direction. Like maybe it went underground there or something. So I figured it worth a try to head that way.
We set out like that, but very slowly, in order to minimize the noise we made as well as the degree of eye-catching movement in the moonlight. I also desired the slow speed due to still running all lights out.
I think we covered some 60 to 80 yards before the field gave way to a scattering of bushes and other foliage I had to pilot around. The bushes got denser fairly quickly, and just as I was about to stop because it was looking impassable, we suddenly fell into the drink.
Damn it!
It turned out the water channel running alongside the highway that I'd hoped to avoid took a sharp 90 degree turn at some point to cross smack through our path, between us and the factory. Shadow's front end fell into the water before I could stop it. All the greenery and the darkness had prevented me from realizing the man-made chasm I was approaching. Luckily the channel wasn't as deep as I'd feared. This left us with about half my engine compartment submerged, the whole car angled at about sixty degrees length-wise, with our ass end still up on dry ground.
I'd instinctively hit the brakes, but too late. Then I immediately shifted into reverse to try pulling us out. A risky move noise-wise for our situation.
But at that moment Shadow drowned out in the water. And we were definitely stuck. Suddenly the chirping of crickets in the night seemed very loud.
I did chance a bit of cranking trying to get restarted, but to no avail. Then I recalled my distributor was basically front and center on my motor, and so likely submerged. Brock and I quickly decided it best for someone to go for help rather than try getting further with Shadow. The cranking effort seemed awfully loud to us. And Shadow was good and drowned anyway.
Well, I supposed it was my turn to take the field trip this time. If seen, I wouldn't be as recognizable to Hobson and his minions as Brock. Plus Brock was wounded. And even if he hadn't been hurt it was probably proper that he be the one to stay behind with his sisters to protect them. He still had his loaded .22 caliber pistol. I'm unsure if he had any remaining ammo for his shotgun.
And it was my car in the drink, after all.
At least I had a flashlight! But only the one. Which little Sharon badly wanted to keep in the car. But I was afraid I couldn't make it without it, so I took it. As well as my club and hunting knife.
As I'd already given Brock my shirt, the only additional covering I could offer Lindsay and Sharon for their wait was a stinky, oil spotted military surplus tarp I used for laying on the ground underneath my car when working on it. And they had to share it. I got it out of the trunk for them before setting out. I told them all if they had to flee the car the dirty green tarp might help camouflage them for a little while from the searchers.
Yeah, it wasn't much. But it was all we had.
Fortunately the water in the channel didn't get any deeper as I crossed it. It was consistently waist high. It was nasty business clambering up the far side though, with no upended Shadow to help me on the incline. I was sure I'd encounter snakes or a snapping turtle or something. And so used my club as a probe in spots. But nothing worse than mosquitoes, plant life, and slippery surfaces accosted me there.
I hated feeling around in the dark for vines or roots or rocks to cling to. But I had to minimize flashlight use this close to the car, else I'd risk our pursuers locating the girls more easily.
At least the moonlight helped some. But almost any area in shadow was pitch black. As well as the water itself.
My trek improved a lot beyond the channel. So much that I briefly considered going back and helping the others get there too.
But upon more thought I figured it best they stay put. For they were well hidden where they were. And Hobson's men might show up in the vicinity of the tannery lot via the highway at any moment looking for us.
Hopefully I could return to get them before they were found.
I'd reached the grounds of the small factory which could be seen by those traveling the nearby highway. There was no sign of workers or guards. Or dogs, thankfully. I walked through the factory grounds to emerge onto the highway. Then I started for town. For here the highway was barren of anything but the tannery on one side and the river on the other. There were no other structures between here and the edge of town.
I felt the need to trot at a rapid clip wherever visibility allowed, but was concerned about attracting dogs or running smack into unexpected hazards in general.
It was bad enough being on foot in some areas of my home county during broad daylight: after nightfall it was downright crazy.
This particular place though wasn't all that far from my parent's house. Maybe a couple miles via paved road. Or just a quarter to a third of a mile if I could have flown across the river. But it was far enough so that while walking my flashlight went dead, and I was forced to walk in almost total darkness for a considerable time.
This of course gave me some taste of what Lindsay must have experienced on the parkway, before.
My flashlight was still handy to protect me from oncoming traffic though, due to its large reflector.
Along here lots of trees shadowed the road from the moonlight. Walking on the left side of the road to face oncoming traffic put me on the river side. The bank there fluctuated in width and shape so that I was scared of falling in there, in the blackness. But I only had the scare of a few stumbles along the way.
The mosquitoes were really pigging out on me. With no shirt and all. Anyone sitting in the darkness along my route might never have seen me at all. But they surely would have heard me smacking at the biting insects and frequently cursing aloud.
In so far as the mosquitoes distracted me from my fears regarding the almost pitch black walk and Hobson's men getting me however, it was something of a relief.
I just hoped they wouldn't suck me dry before I could get to a phone.
There was a car or two passed by me, and I tried flagging them down (when they weren't coming from Hobson's direction). But they wouldn't stop. No wonder though! There I was with no shirt, all scratched up and dirty, and soaked from the waist down. I wouldn't have picked me up either!
Soon the highway meandered away from the river a bit, alleviating my concern about falling in.
Now I had to make my way through some scary curves where there was nowhere for a pedestrian to go when cars came through, due to thick hedge-like bushes nine feet tall closely lining the roadway.
Finally though I got to where the highway met a much more important thoroughfare. Right at the edge of town too, so that the city's streetlights actually illuminated the rest of my path for me.
Within another couple minutes I was almost completely across the bridge spanning the river there.
The store I was aiming for was only an eighth of a mile closer to me at that point than my parents' house. But it'd taken me more than thirty minutes to get there, so I figured I didn't have the spare time to walk further. I used a pay phone there to call the house and talk to my oldest sister. I managed to get her to drive down and pick me up at the store in her car, then head for my stranded passengers. I bought a new battery for my flashlight in the store while waiting for her.
This store was the most famous one of that era in my hometown. Basically because it was the first good-sized shop of its kind in the county to begin staying open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. If anybody needed something when all the other sources were closed, they had to come here. Its nearest rival was at least 25 miles away. It also didn't hurt the place that the largest employer for maybe 20 miles sat just across the street: the food processing plant where my dad worked for maybe 40 years. I believe the business of selling sandwiches alone to the workers of all three shifts there is what spurred the store to go 24-7 in the first place.
The store was also regularly featured in newspaper and TV news reports across a 50 mile radius, making it a veritable signpost for anyone giving or getting directions in the vicinity. Why? Well, if you often have the only open store for miles around in a place as wild as my hometown, you also tend to witness plenty of robberies, fights, shootings, and car crashes. So most locals knew to be ready for anything when they walked into the place-- especially late at night, and on weekends or holidays. I guess it was a bit like walking into the main saloon of the Old American West's Dodge City in its heyday.
Remember how nobody would pick me up on the side of the road? Partly because of my bedraggled appearance? Well, that look was much more common and tolerated inside the busy and brightly lit store. For maybe ten percent of the male population of the area looked like that all the time. Heck, I think there were at least two other fellas there the same time I was who would have fit similar descriptions!
And the hunting knife on my belt and the club stuck in my pocket attracted no unusual attention either. For they weren't out of the ordinary at all. Heck-- a customer might have to defend himself while shopping!
Upon our return I had my sister park on the tannery grounds nearest to poor water-logged Shadow, and wait for me as I returned to the channel to retrieve Brock and the girls. She was to honk her horn to warn us if any other cars came into the lot too-- and then run to a spot on the far side of the hill access road where we'd try to meet up again in the next hour or so. If she wasn't followed or waylaid in the interim. Fortunately the Finch kids hadn't yet been found by Hobson's henchmen. And my sister didn't have to signal us to run in the other direction. I carried Sharon across the water and helped her up the other side, while Lindsay helped Brock with his injured leg. Lindsay and I both helped Brock up and out of the channel. The newly re-energized flashlight was of considerable help during this phase. I figured the risk-to-reward ratio for its use was acceptable with escape so near. The worst discovery risk now would be to Shadow himself after we left. But the safety of the girls was top priority.
The now drenched lot of us squeezed into my sister's car and took Brock to the hospital, where we dropped him off, bereft of weapons. He seemed OK and able to handle things from there himself, so we went on to attending to the girls.
We parked outside my parents' house, and my sister went inside to get some clothes for the girls, as well as a shirt for myself. I stayed in the car to avoid igniting a firestorm of curiosity from my parents about what was going on. Fortunately the sizes the girls required weren't all that dissimilar from those of my oldest and youngest sisters of the time. My sister also brought them some items with which to clean and dry themselves some. With Brock gone they had more elbow room to do so too.
Yeah, my sister and I were kind of skirting around my parents here, but this was all one huge mess I might get into great trouble over, and my parents already had enough worries. So we were hoping to avoid getting them involved. My sister was smart and cool under pressure. She managed to get in and out with the things we needed without anyone being the wiser.
We couldn't take the girls back to Lindsay's place, or to where Brock had been staying either. Neither spot would be safe from Hobson. At least not for a while.
What we could do though was have the preacher of my family's church find someone who'd take them in for a while until better accommodations could be found. At least that's what my sister and I decided to try first.
We sort of surprised them a bit late in the night with our request on their doorstep. But apparently preachers are accustomed to such things in our parts.
Lindsay and Sharon weren't exactly all spiffy upon arrival, but at least they were somewhat dry and wiped off and in better clothing than what they'd started with. And I did have a dry and bloodless shirt again.
Brock wasn't permanently injured by the gunshot, but that shot turned out to be handy as it caused a ripple of paperwork from the hospital through the local law enforcement offices that pretty much ruined Hobson's chances for trying all this again. At least with Lindsay and Sharon.
Hobson also didn't press charges for trespassing, breaking and entering, or the weapons fire on his property as that could have brought much worse counter charges of kidnapping and forcing a minor into prostitution-- nasty stuff like that-- if all this had ever come to trial.
Plus it might well have fell under the jurisdiction of my uncle the judge.
Brock pretty much reconciled with his sisters after that, and quit the gang life too. He eventually became a cop himself.
My sister couldn't help me with regards to Shadow of course. Indeed, she made me clean her car out after the mess of motor oil, dirt, blood, and swamp-like water me and my charges had left in her previously well-kept vehicle.
Of course, some of the stains turned out to be permanent in her cloth interior. Yikes!
In years to come my sister would basically make a career out of rescues like this one. Often facing much worse dangers than described in this caper. Heck, it could be her life story would contain more adventure than either mine or Steve's! But unlike me my sister preferred the official route for her missions. Which (from a brotherly perspective) was great in at least one respect: she would usually be able to call in armed police escort or backup when necessary.
I managed to finagle a wrecker in to pull Shadow out of the drink a couple days later. I'd first tried starting him up to get himself out, to no avail. Then used chains and a friend's car to try pulling on him. But he had to have a wrecker under the circumstances. And we had to sneak into the field every separate try we made. I ended up rigging a more or less permanent gate in the fence where I'd cut the wires but crafted some extra wire latches by which to open and close the strands for access.
I didn't run into any problem with Hobson's men during all that though. Despite all the retrieval efforts taking place in broad daylight. I guess it helped that the spot we were entering and exiting was at the very bottom of the hill on the access road, roughly a quarter mile from Hobson's main house up top. And only 20 feet or less from the intersection between the access road and county highway.
Poor Shadow had gotten beat up pretty bad during the escapade. Scratched up too. The flying post had only put a ding in the driver's side door though, so apparently it hadn't hit us as hard as I thought. The rocker panels got pinched and scraped by the hard edge of the man-made channel. And the dual exhaust system damaged, making Shadow considerably louder than before. But the most obvious body damage was in the front. His sheet metal underpan beneath the front bumper got mashed, and bumper brackets bent some, so that the bumper didn't look right when Shadow was pulled from the water.
I had to let the motor dry out for a day and then pour quite a bit of gas directly down Shadow's throat to reawaken him. Also had to wind my battery plumb into the dead zone more than twice and recharge on a bench.
Of course the mess we'd all left on the interior was inconsequential compared to my sister's car. Because one, my interior wasn't cloth, but vinyl. So it didn't stain quite so easily. Two, it had already been pretty much ruined when I bought the car. So any new stains or other bad things were pretty much meaningless.
A nice little old lady took on guardianship of both the girls-- so they didn't get separated after all! Yay! They would end up living with her until time to strike out on their own.
I finally did manage to get Sharon's cosmetics kit to her, albeit a little belatedly.
The notion of dating Lindsay was growing on me too, seeing as how all the really serious stuff seemed to have been taken care of. The more I thought about it all the more I liked her, and the more the other, more negative elements of the mix seemed to recede into the background.
Plus, she seemed to like me too! Which made her a girl of rare quality in those days! Ha, ha.
But the nice little old lady who was now their acting mother absolutely forbade it. Said I was a bad influence, with my blacked-out car-- that was damaged and filthy to boot-- plus loud-- the first time or two she saw it.
And somehow when I tried to explain the reasons for my car's condition to her it all came out wrong. After all, Brock and I did kind of assault a place and abduct his sisters and run...while also being involved in a shootout-- albeit a brief one. And yes, we'd been armed. And crashed my car, while toting the girls around late at night in nothing more than their nightgowns...Agh! Heck, it even sounded bad to me!
The old lady declared me a hooligan. And the cosmetics kit I'd given Sharon was disgraceful, considering what they'd been through. It didn't matter that that was what Sharon had asked me to get her, way back on picnic day. I should have known better.
And the final straw: she'd found out from the preacher I'd quit attending church long before.
No, don't blame the preacher for that. He actually liked me. I think the old lady just had it in for me and seized upon that little tidbit when she managed to pry it out of the preacher.
I couldn't really argue with her though. Me and Steve did get into some pretty hairy situations-- sometimes just for fun. I really was far from being a saint. Plus I was positive the old lady would take good care of the girls. That was the most important thing of all.
And I was still plenty conflicted internally about all the same matters as before.
Besides, another year or so and Lindsay-- like me-- would turn eighteen, and have more freedom regardless.
In the old lady's defense, she did leave me a loophole. She told me I could see Lindsay any Sunday morning I wanted-- at church.
Of course I usually tried to work a full length dayshift on Saturdays and Sundays so I'd have the weekend nights free. And during the week I went to school all day and worked a full shift after that. Though I usually did get one day off. Which I typically had to spend repairing Shadow from the damage done during the weekend nights. Agh!
And I really, really hated going to church. There were lots of better places in which to take a nap. And no shortage of folks around to tell me what I was doing wrong, whether I attended services or not. My family, friends-- and complete strangers!-- gave me plenty of that on a daily basis.
As Lindsay and I attended different schools and I graduated a year ahead of her (her big time school absences had set her back), not only could I not see her at school, but I was even out of the county entirely by the time she graduated.
We did write some letters back and forth for a while. Even into my very first months in college. But to my great annoyance most of mine didn't seem to reach her. I think the little old lady was intercepting them. Unfortunately I didn't realize that for quite some time: I naively assumed personal correspondence was sacrosanct from surveillance, censorship, or tampering. This left me thinking that Lindsay was messing with my head again, in something like our original meeting. Agh!
So confusion and frustration reigned, correspondence-wise. Adding to my feelings of isolation and loneliness at college.
Lindsay and I never did get around to dating. Years later I'd catch a glimpse of Sharon though, all grown up (maybe 18 or thereabouts) and working as a cashier in a supermarket in my hometown. She was sporting an old fashioned hairdo very like that their old lady guardian used to wear! So I figure they must have gotten along all right with the old lady in all the ways that mattered.
I didn't speak to Sharon that day. I doubted she'd remember me from the few times described here. However, I must admit I've been surprised many times by the number of folks who did recall meeting me, even from fewer encounters than that. I guess maybe the scary stuff which happened during such events often made quite an impression! Ha, ha.
Between ever more diverging lives and locations-- and the old lady running interference with our correspondence-- Lindsay and I would eventually lose touch for good.
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