F Wilson - Midnight Mass

Carole nodded. "I don't know much about cars, but this one handles beautifully."

They merged with Route 9 and headed over a tall bridge. After that it was decision time.

"Turnpike or stay on 9?" Carole said.

Tough question. Lacey did not want to run into any Vichy.

"Let's think about that," Lacey said. "The closer we get to the city, the thicker the Vichy will be. But if I were a Vichy, the last place I'd look for someone traveling would be the Turnpike. It's too open. So I'd concentrate on the back roads."

"You're assuming they think that far ahead. The ones I've met so far haven't been too bright."

"But Joe said they were pretty well organized in the city. Someone with brains is probably calling the shots. I vote Turnpike."

Carole took a deep breath. "All right. Turnpike it is."

They followed the green-and-white signs and got on the New Jersey Turnpike North at Exit 11. They kept to the outer lanes.

As they roared along, Lacey felt herself starting to cook in the sunlight pouring through her side window. She rolled it down a few inches; that helped for a while, but soon she was perspiring.

She was wearing plaid cotton comfy pants and a red V-neck sweater over an extra-large T-shirt she'd found—it came from some restaurant called Pete and Elda's and apparently was a prize for eating a whole large pizza. Eventually she removed the sweater.

"If it gets much warmer we'll have to put the top down."

"I don't think that would be wise."

"Why not? Afraid of developing skin cancer in twenty years?"

Gallows humor. Even Carole smiled—a rare event these days.

Lacey pulled the T-shirt away from her skin and caught a whiff of herself.

"Damn, do I ever need a shower!"

She'd tried to bathe in the ocean but it was freezing.

"Wouldn't you love to be able to take a bath?" Carole said. "I'd give almost anything for one."

"Me too." Lacey decided Carole's cage was due for a gentle rattle. "You know, I wish I believed in the soul. I'd trade mine for one good hot shower."

"Don't talk like that," Carole said.

"It's true."

She glanced at Lacey. "You'd sell your soul that cheaply?"

"We're talking hypothetically here, and no, I wouldn't sell it that cheaply. I'd want at least three hot showers—long ones.

Carole looked as if she were about to reply when she glanced in the rearview mirror. Her expression tightened.

"Oh, no."

Lacey turned and looked through the convertible's plastic rear window. Two longhaired men on motorcycles had just roared out of a rest stop and were closing in on them. They wore dirty cutaway denim jackets and brandished pistols.

Vichy.

"Damn. Sorry. I guess I made the wrong call."

She reached down to the postal bag on the floor by the back seat—next to their stock of mylar napalm balloons and the canister of chemicals Carole had picked up from the town's water treatment plant—and came up with a sawed-off ten-gauge shotgun.

"Well, I was hoping this wouldn't happen, but at least we're prepared."

One of their pursuers raised a pistol and fired a round over the top of the Fairlane.

"A warning shot across our bow," Lacey said. She worked the shotgun's pump to chamber a shell. "Let's see how they like—"

Carole grabbed her arm. "Dear God, I just thought of something! What if they shoot into the trunk?"

"Joe can handle a bullet or two, as we've already seen."

Her grip tightened. "I'm not worried about the bullets so much as the holes they'll make. The sunlight will come through and—"

"Shit!" Three good minds planning this trip and not one of them had thought of that.

Another shot—this one whined past Lacey's open window. She stuck her head out and waved her empty hand. The biker on the left grinned and pointed toward the shoulder.

Lacey pulled back inside. "Pull over. But take your time. And when you think you're going slow enough, start putting the top down.

Carole looked at her. "Top down? Wh—?"

"Can't explain now. And speaking of top down ..." She began pulling off her T-shirt.

"Lacey!"

"Just trust me."

She'd given up bras long ago. As the car decelerated, she released the roof catches and tucked the .45 into the postal bag. Then she climbed into the rear. She laid the shotgun in the sling between the back seat and the roof compartment.

She began slipping out of her pants. She still liked to wear panties but she removed those too.

The roof started to rise. The wind swirling around her body felt good as she knelt on the back seat, gearing herself up for what was to come. One of the Vichy, pistol at the ready, pulled his bike up along the driver side and looked in, probably checking out the number of occupants. When he saw Lacey his eyes went wide and he let out a whoop.

As he dropped back, Lacey said, "As soon as we stop, get out of the car and start yelling at me to put my clothes on."

"Why don't I start right now?"

"Listen to me. I want them to see that you're not armed—they'll for sure know I'm not. I want them off guard. So just act mad and like you think I'm crazy."

"I'm sure I can handle that," Carole said.

The roof was three-quarters down when the car stopped. Lacey stood and threw her arms wide.

"Guys! Am I glad to see youl Where the fuck you been hiding?"

The Vichy pair looked at each other, stopped their bikes half a dozen feet behind the car, and sat staring. Both still clutched their pistols.

"Not as glad as we are to see you, little lady," said the red-bearded one on the left. "And I do mean see you."

He gave his buddy's arm a backhand slap and they both laughed.

Lacey heard the car door slam behind her and Carole's voice cry, "Lacey! You put your clothes on right this instant!"

"Who's she?" said the other one who'd twined his salt-and-pepper goatee into a triad of greasy braids.

"Just some lezbo I hooked up with."

Redbeard grinned. "Lezzie action. Awright!"

Braids set his kickstand and got off his bike. Lacey noticed he had PAGANS written across the back of his cutaway. She also noticed the bulge behind his fly. Good. All that blood flowing away from his brain.

"Lezzie, huh?" He took a step toward Carole. "No such thing. She just ain't met the right man yet."

Oh, but she has, Lacey thought.

"Never mind her." Lacey crawled out on the trunk lid and seated herself cross legged, giving the two Vichy a panoramic view. Braids suddenly lost interest in Carole. "I'm the one in need of a little male tail, if you know what I'm saying. Been too damn long since I had a guy to do me right."

"Well then," Redbeard said, getting off his bike. He adjusted the bulge in his pants. "This is your lucky day. You get a double dose."

"Hey, I ain't got nothing against a three-way, but I need one guy to start me off right. You know, get me juiced up. Who's got the biggest dick? I want the best-hung guy first."

"That'll be me," said Redbeard.

Braids snorted. "No fuckin way!"

Here was the tough part. She had to time this just right or the whole situation would go to hell in a heartbeat. Lacey clapped her hands and forced a giggle. "Oh, this is so cool! A cock fight! Show me! Show me! Show me! I'll be the judge! No-no, wait! I'll be the package inspector!"

Laughing, the two men holstered their pistols and began fumbling with their flies. With a shaking hand Lacey reached around, pulled the shotgun from the boot, and fired at Redbeard first. The recoil almost knocked her off the trunk and into the back seat, but the blast took Redbeard full in the chest, slamming him back through a halo of his blood and into his bike. Some of the scattering shot caught Braids in his arm and he spun half around, clawing at his pistol. Lacey regained her balance and her grip on the sawed-off. She quick-pumped another shell into the chamber as she slid off the trunk to the ground, then pulled the trigger, catching Braids in the left side. His shoulder, neck and cheek exploded and he went down in a spray of red.