Chase Baker & the Humanzees from Hell (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 8) (7 page)

14.

Doctor X’s head start evaporates within the first minute of the Jeep peeling away at the museum. Whoever is on the other end of those laser sights fires off a few shots for good measure, but nothing connects. Or so it seems at first.

I can’t tell if it’s Hillary’s driving, with her foot pounding on the accelerator like it’s stomping an ember that floated into a gas station, or a lucky shot at the sidewalls, but it’s obvious the rear passenger side tire is flat. We should be OK since I specifically asked for run-flat tires at the rental agency, but the Jeep still shudders and pulls toward the ditch. Hillary overcorrects, sending us briefly into a 70 MPH fishtail before things settle down again.

Damn. I’m not getting my deposit back for this rental.

The taillights on Doctor X’s car come into view a moment later. We could follow him back to wherever he came from, but I doubt he’ll do us that favor now that the Jeep’s headlights offer a clear outline of the wrinkles on the back of his head. The other option, now that we’ve put some road between the shooters back at the museum and us, is obvious. Doctor X’s car isn’t cut out for these country roads outside Austin, a point I’m sure he’s realizing after turning onto a washboard gravel lane. Even in a Jeep with a flat tire, we’re riding his ass like a skid mark in a pair of old underwear. It won’t take much to run him off the road, but it’ll need to be done correctly to avoid killing everyone.

“Pull up to his left side parallel to his left rear tire, then turn to the right like you’re changing lanes,” I say to Hillary over the
thwump
of the flat tire’s complaining.

I just described the PIT maneuver, something law enforcement agencies use during high-speed chases to force a vehicle to stop quickly. This can mean forcing the fleeing vehicle into a roll, a spin out or a fishtail, sometimes with devastating results. I don’t want Doctor X dead, though. The PIT maneuver is designed to stop, not kill, and the odds of survival are better than bumper-to-bumper ramming.

That’s the theory, anyway. I’ve never pulled the PIT off myself, and I’ve certainly not tried it by talking it through with someone else at the wheel and a flat tire on a washboard road. This is something for armchair Rambo types to debate while watching breaking news delivered by Chopper 5 Eye in the Sky.

“You sure?” Hillary says.

“If I’m wrong and we wind up dead, I owe you a Coke in heaven,” I say, shouting above the cacophony.

“Or hell,” Hillary says.

She waits to make her move until we reach a straightaway that I wish was another mile longer. Besides nudging a vehicle piloted by an irate driver, the trick with the PIT is in the recovery. We very well could flip in the ditch or find our faces compressed into the bark of one of the bigtooth maples flanking the road.

With translucent knuckles, Hillary guides the Jeep into position next to Doctor X’s car. He doesn’t seem to realize what’s happening, because if he did he’d swerve a bit to throw the physics off. Gravel churns in rocky pops in the foot-long margin between our two vehicles, adding to the deafening racket filling the cab. I glance at the curve coming up in the road. We’re in perfect position, and we can’t wait a second more. It’s do or die. It could also be die or die, depending on how this turns out.

“Now, Hillary,” I say.

Hillary’s gusto evaporates. She hesitates at the wheel.

“I know this seems crazy, but do it. When he spins out, hit the brakes,” I say, begging her to take action before it’s too late.

Hillary adds another millisecond too many to her hesitation. I reach over and yank the steering wheel to the right. The front bumper of the Jeep connects with Doctor X’s car. I don’t hear the sound of the two vehicles colliding. Thinking back to the rule about hearing explosions, I know this isn’t a good thing.

For a moment I feel weightless. My guts lose their gravity and nearly careen out my mouth. That feeling quickly gives way to a violent correction. It’s like the entire universe collapsed into a single point, followed by darkness and silence.

This did not go well.

15.

“Chase? Are you OK?” comes a voice that gradually comes into clarity. It could only be Hillary’s, and it must mean the PIT maneuver didn’t go as planned. I’m on my back, there’s blood in my mouth for the third time in the past 24 hours and all I can see are stars above me in the clear Texas night.

I slowly get to my feet, anticipating that some part of my body will suddenly give way. I’m pleasantly surprised to find that not only does that not happen, but also that I’m in decent shape, or at least no worse than I was before. Even the .45 and ESEE knife remain securely stored in their holsters beneath my bush jacket. Of course, the risk of concussion is still present, but I swear my brain is used to this kind of abuse or I’d already be dead. It’s a gray callous at this point.

My eyes scan the night for signs of an overturned Jeep and scattered wreckage, but I find the vehicle idling on the road 50 feet away, albeit with a flat rear tire on the passenger side. My bags inside are still in place, too. Apparently, I was the only thing to be tossed out of the vehicle following the PIT maneuver. I don’t remember how it happened. Did I accidentally open the door as the Jeep swerved? Did I forget to close the door in the rush to follow Doctor X? Either way, I’m both the luckiest and unluckiest bastard on Earth to be scratching my ass in this ditch and asking these questions.

Just another day in paradise, minus the paradise.

“I’m here, and mostly fine,” I say and walk to the Jeep. Hillary stands next to the hood steaming in the cool breeze. It’s so hot I can practically smell the heat. “Where did our friend, Doctor X, go?”

Hillary points to an overturned car in the opposite ditch. I’ll be damned. The PIT maneuver worked after all. Doctor X’s car must’ve spun out and rolled into the ditch. The car looks like something one of those Transformers from the movies would shit out. He’s no use to us dead, but I’m impressed nonetheless. It’s not every day you get to pull something like that off.

“I’m fine, no thanks to you two,” comes Doctor X’s unmistakable voice from somewhere beneath the car.

His voice doesn’t demonstrate the kind of stress I’d expect to hear after living through the four-wheeled meat grinder that was the rollover.

I draw the .45, and we head over to the car. We find Doctor X beneath a pile of twisted metal away from the cab. He didn’t wear his seatbelt.

Typical.

Only Doctor X’s head is visible from within the wreckage, but I’m struck by how little it appears he’s injured. No lacerations. No bruising. No bloodshot eyes. Nothing. It’s like he walked in off the street and crawled under a blanket of contorted car parts. Hillary notices it, too. She’s stunned.

“What are you looking at?” Doctor X says to us, his voice even and unbroken. “Get me out from under here.”

His clarity is so unusual that I’m not sure we should. Hillary is thinking the same thing. She looks at me and shakes her head.

“I’m in no hurry,” I say, although I catch a waft from leaking gasoline suggests otherwise.

“I think you should be,” Doctor X says.

“And why is that?” I say.

“Because my helpers are already here,” he says.

“Helpers?”

I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. There’s movement from somewhere in the night, a flittering break in the moonlight.

“I can call them off,” Doctor X says. “But you have to help me get out from under here.”

Hillary notices the movement, too. They’re hard to make out.

Are these the same helpers with the laser sights from before?

I don’t want to risk finding out the hard way. Those “helpers” are too close for comfort. Hillary and I lift the wreckage up enough for Doctor X to scoot out. His body is remarkably free from injury. He stands up without issue, although his shredded clothes hang from his frame like laundry on a clothesline.

“That’s better,” Doctor X says and brushes himself off.

The movements in the moonlight get closer. They’re just beyond eyesight, but I can make out their general form now. They look like people hunched over while rushing back and forth.

A red dot on my chest provides some clarity about their activities. They’re definitely carrying guns.

“I thought you were going to call them off,” I say.

“They don’t take direction easily. It’s part of the reason that Iceman is so important,” Doctor X says.

“And what, exactly, does that mean?” Hillary says. I notice she sports a matching red dot over her heart, too.

Doctor X grabs ahold of his chin and the back of his head. With a quick twist, he cracks his neck. His one good eye looks both of us up and down.

“On my command, my helpers will kill you. Or, should I not issue that command, they will eventually disperse. I hold your lives in my hands. I stand to offer you the greatest act of mercy or of brutality possible,” Doctor X says.

“Thanks for the reminder, Captain Obvious,” I say and turn on the .45’s laser sight. I aim it back at the source of the laser sight trained on me. I might be dead in a moment, but I’m going out the only way I know how: by fucking with the people trying to do me in.

Doctor X grimaces and says, “It seems to me that such an act of mercy would put you two in debt to me, wouldn’t you agree?”

Where’s he going with this?

“No, I wouldn’t agree with that at all,” Hillary says. “You’re the asshole who took my Iceman. You owe me, not the other way around.

“Then let me put it this way,” Doctor X says and runs a hand over his hairless head. “In exchange for saving your lives, you may repay me with a ride in your vehicle, since mine is out of commission. Then you may work on paying off your debt in another way. Deal?”

I exchange unsure glances with Hillary. We don’t have much of a choice.

“Deal,” Hillary and I say at the same time.

“Good,” Doctor X says. “Let’s go.”

I’ve made deals with devils before, but even this one is pushing my luck. As I come to find out a few minutes later, we should’ve taken our chances with those “helpers” instead.

16.

Some day, I’ll wish I could recall how we got to what I can only describe as Doctor X’s secret lair in the Texas countryside. He made Hillary and I wear blindfolds on the slow, bumpy ride over while demonstrating his one-eyed driving abilities. To hell with depth perception.

I don’t use the term “secret lair” loosely. When we are finally allowed to remove the blindfolds after exiting the Jeep, the first thing I spot is a solid rock wall. It stretches to the ceiling and curves back toward the ground opposite me. Cold clings to my clammy skin. Even the lights, suspended by flimsy wires bolted into the rock above my head, give off a damp glow.

We’re in a cave.

“Welcome,” I hear Doctor X say from the other side of the cave. He leans against a long table full of computers and lab equipment, a smirk inching its way across his face. He’s looking far too satisfied with himself for his own good.

The cave isn’t large, but I still take the time to scope out as much of it as I can. I need a full tally of everyone present before I can react to anything else. Bad habit. Or a good one, depending on the circumstances.

I’m next to the Jeep. My .45 and my ESEE knife are still in my bush jacket. Hillary is a few feet to the left of me. Behind me is a two-track road that runs down the narrow tunnel we presumably took to get here. The road terminates at this cave. Doctor X is 20 feet away. Who’s that in the shadows next to him? The dim light affords me only an outline. Whoever it is is hunched over like one of those “helpers” from before.

Absent, however, is the Iceman. Not that I’ve seen him or her or it before, but it’d be pretty obvious if there was a humanoid frozen in a block of ice around here.

“Thanks for the warm welcome, I guess,” I say and draw the .45.

When in doubt, get the gun out.

“You’ll have no need for weapons here, Mr. Baker,” Doctor X says with a deep, throaty chuckle.

“It’s funny. The people who say I don’t need weapons are always the ones I wind up needing them for,” I say, stumbling on the grammar. I wonder how my literary agent would handle an edit like that.

Doctor X gets my point. He laughs and rubs his hands together.

“I like your style, Mr. Baker,” he says and turns to my companion. “And you, Ms. Carter, the rage you displayed earlier was not unnoticed or unappreciated. I admire your conviction.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Hillary says. She’s still steamed.

“Exactly,” Doctor X says and paces in front of the table without so much as a limp. “It’s why I’ve decided to have a change of heart. Instead of killing you as I’d originally planned once we got here, I’m going to offer you an opportunity instead.”

“You can skip the timeshare hard sell,” I say and raise the .45 so that the front sight lines up with Doctor X’s chest. “Where’s the Iceman?”

Doctor X is unfazed. “In due time, Mr. Baker. I can assure you both that you’ll be reunited with the Iceman in a, shall we say,
intimate
way.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I say.

“Allow me to explain in more visual terms,” Doctor X says. He motions to the hunched over figure in the shadows. “Come. Show yourself, Helper 8.”

“Helper 8” steps forward on two legs into the light and forever into my memory. What I see before me is like nothing I’ve ever encountered.