Detour to Apocalypse: A Rot Rods Serial, Part One (9 page)

Wooster’s Packard came speeding down the street. It swiveled around and rammed into the side of the Lincoln. Steel crunched on steel. Agent Dodd fell back against the window as his Lincoln shifted to the side. Wooster leaned out of the window. “Roscoe!” he cried. “Angel! Run and follow me! We’ll get out of here damn quick!”

Wooster didn’t have to tell them twice. Roscoe and Angel raced to the Caddy. Angel got there first and hopped the side, leaping behind the wheel and jamming the key into the ignition in one fluid movement. Roscoe dove into the passenger seat as the engine roared. Wooster’s Packard rumbled back, leaving Dodd’s Lincoln with a crumpled side and a busted headlight.

Agent Dodd stepped out of the car, not saying a word as he reached into his coat. The fading sunlight glinted on steel as he withdrew the silenced pistol, taking aim with both hands and sighting on the Cadillac.

“Drive into the lawn, not the street,” Roscoe ordered. “Get as much space as you can from Dodd and kick up some dirt.”

“Why not just zoom ahead of him?” Angel asked as the Cadillac shot forward.

“Because he’s smart enough to know how to cripple a car by shooting out our tires.” Roscoe reached for his seatbelt. “Now go.”

The Caddy roared onto the lawns of the neighboring houses. Its fat wheels churned the earth, sending up torrents of dirt and flowers that provided some cover. A gun flashed behind them. The bullet plinked against the rear bumper of the Cadillac, denting the metal―but missing the tires. Roscoe glanced over his shoulder and looked at Dodd in the seconds before Angel twisted the wheel to round the corner. He stood in the center of the road, pistol in his hand. He didn’t look angry or disappointed. He looked bored, tired, already weary with his job. The Cadillac switched around the corner and Agent Dodd disappeared from view.

Roscoe settled back in his seat. He glanced over at Angel.

“Any damage to my ride?” Angel asked.

“Rear bumper caught a slug.”

“Great,” Angel muttered. “But I suppose it could’ve gone worse.”

“Very true,” Roscoe said. Up ahead, Wooster’s Packard rumbled its way down the open road. “And we got what we came for.”

“So where to now?” Angel asked.

“Home,” Roscoe said. “I got the feeling we’re gonna be on the road come morning.”

They sped on through Los Angeles. Up above, the purple sunset gave way to the black of night. Stars appeared, faint in the smog. Roscoe wondered if Townsend Mars and Doc Schlock were right. Maybe the world was set to end. Maybe it had endured too much, and was finally ready to stop turning. He shook the thoughts from his head as he leaned back. They had a long way to go.

The little two-car convoy hit La Cruz an hour or two after nightfall. They drove down La Cruz’s Main Street, quiet and mostly deserted now apart from a few teenagers breaking curfew, and headed to Donovan Motors. The lights in the living quarters behind the garage flashed on. Angel and Wooster parked their automobiles and got out. The Captain opened the door for them as they walked inside.

Betty and Felix waited for them at the table. Felix was blinking back sleep, but he still turned the pages of some ancient leather-bound tome, which seemed bigger than he was. Snowball lay as a white pile in his cushioned dog bed, fast asleep. Felix looked up from his work as Roscoe, Angel, and Wooster came inside and sprang up. “Mr. Roscoe, Mr. Rey, Mr. Stokes―it is very good to see you.” He pointed to the books. “I have been examining certain writings of Sir Caleb Craul and his descendant, Cassius Craul. They are most interesting, full of conversation with divine beings and demonic entities.”

“Cassius Craul,” Roscoe repeated. “I think I met him.”

“He is dead, sir,” Felix said. “He has been for several years.”

“Ain’t it past your bedtime, kiddo?” Roscoe sat next to Felix. He glanced up at Betty.

She shrugged. “I let him stay up. He was too excited to sleep anyway.”

“He should get some rest now,” Angel said. “We gotta hit the road in the morning.”

The Captain walked back in. “And go where?”

“Las Vegas,” Roscoe said. “Townsend Mars had a business relationship with Frankie Fink―smuggling dope along with artifacts. They’re apparently bosom buddies and Fink’s Sandpiper Casino is probably the most secure place Mars knows. You want my bet? He’s there right now, hiding out with Dr. Bolton.”

“Las Vegas,” Wooster repeated. “That’s a rough town.”

“Will we visit it?” Felix asked.

“Yes.” The Captain walked over to Felix and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Now prepare for bed. We’ll be leaving tomorrow and you need your rest.” He gave Felix’s head a quick pat. “Sleep well, son. I’ll wake you up tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir. I will look forward to the vacation.” Felix hurried to the corner, picked up Snowball and darted away. The yeti whined at the disturbance and Felix soothed him in German as he hurried outside.

“We’ll take Felix with us?” Betty asked. “Captain, are you sure it’ll be safe?”

“I don’t want to leave him alone in La Cruz,” the Captain said. “He was separated from his parents before and he never saw them again. I don’t want that to ever happen when I’m around.” He sat at the table and faced Roscoe. “Did you encounter any difficulties in the reconnaissance?”

“Sure did,” Roscoe said. “Some kook who works for the government. Calls himself Agent Dodd. He’s trouble, Captain. He was after Dr. Bolton too. I get the feeling we’ll be seeing more of him―and he ain’t the kind to roll over easily.”

“I’ll talk to Special Agent Pruitt and Major Raskin,” The Captain said. “They’ll explain that we are also working to acquire Dr. Bolton for the government and straighten things out. I’m sure Agent Dodd won’t be a problem.” He stood before anyone could protest. “Now, I want all of you to pack supplies for the journey. We’ll be departing tomorrow, right after breakfast. I expect us to arrive in Las Vegas and immediately resume operations.” He started to leave, but paused. He looked back at Roscoe, Angel, and Wooster. “Good job on the reconnaissance.” He walked away.

Roscoe stood next. “I’m gonna take in the air.” He left the kitchen before anyone could protest and walked outside, back to the main garage. He stepped out onto the parking lot and gazed up at the night sky. The stars seemed brighter here than in LA. After a while, the door creaked open. Betty walked outside and joined him. “What’s up?”

“You’re worried about something,” Betty said. “I can tell.”

“I’m fine, sister. You should go to your room. Get some rest for the trip tomorrow.”

“Roscoe.” Betty stepped closer to him. “You’re not alone in this. Wooster, Angel, Felix―even the Captain. We’re with you.”

He wanted to give a flippant reply, but Betty didn’t deserve that. Roscoe gave her his best grin. “I’m fine. And you need that sleep. You’ve been poring over ancient books all day. Tomorrow we hit Vegas. I want you to be ready.”

She nodded weakly. “Okay, Roscoe. But if you’re worried about something, I’m always here.” She patted his shoulder, then drifted away, walking back inside.

Roscoe remained. He looked back to the sky and watched the stars. Tomorrow, they would leave for the next part of their mission. Roscoe didn’t know how bad the job would get. Betty was right about his friends always being there. But with what he had done―and with he was―did he really deserve them? The stars didn’t give him any answers.

After a while, Roscoe walked up to his room, hoping to enjoy what passed for sleep before they had to hit the road again.