Read Online Mad Dogs by James Grady - Free Book Online

bullshit can hide.”
    â€œWe can ditch the car, hike around the roadblock,” said Zane.
    â€œWandering won’t work,” said Eric. “Forest. Swamps. Cold.”
    â€œCold works for me,” said Zane.
    â€œWe need a dead man’s car,” said Russell. “No stolen car report.”
    â€œWe’ve got what we got,” I said.
    Zane said: “Anybody got an idea?”
    We sat on the side of the road in the dark car, knowing that each second we did nothing increased the odds of us losing everything.
    Then I said: “James Dean.”
    â€œFuck you!” said Russell. “Don’t make us part of your suicide!”
    â€œIt’ll work.”
    â€œIn theory!” argued Russell. “Hell, they don’ let trainees play James Dean now! Too risky to learn outside of ‘in theory.’”
    â€œI practiced it once.”
    â€œAnd?” said Russell.
    â€œNow I’ll do better.”
    â€œJames Dean is—”
    â€œAll we’ve got.”

14
    Headlights off, the stolen silver Ford idled on the road to the bridge. My hands gripped the steering wheel. I was alone. Frigid air flowed in the open windows. The night outside smelled of pines and river ice and highway.
    Half an hour since we first spotted the spinning red lights of the police roadblock.
    Now or never .
    Headlights on. I shifted into forward gear. Let the gray road’s yellow stripes reel the car ever closer, ever faster. The car tires rumbled over the wooden bridge. Guardrail planks flowed past my windows. Shapes on the side of the road flicked past in my headlights as I tried to memorize, calculate, gauge. The car slid into the curve that came before we’d seen the roadblock’s flashing red light.
    I stomped on the gas pedal. Sped out of the curve. Red lights spun ever closer in my windshield. I flicked my headlights to the high and hopefully blinding beam an instant before a spotlight winked on from the three cop cars blocking the road. I stomped on the brake pedal. Tires cried. Metal shuddered. Red lights loomed closer, coming closer. The spotlight grew bright.
    Crank the steering wheel! Jerk on the emergency brake! The silver car skidded—
    Stayed on the road as it whipped into a 180 bootlegger turn, slid backwards as I shoved off the emergency brake, stomped on the gas and raced back the way I’d come, hoping that the triggered cops couldn’t tell it was just me in the fleeing silver machine.
    Sirens cut the night. Wind rushed in the open windows as the road sped under my tires. My eyes flicked to the rear view mirror: spinning red lights chased my wake.
    Forget about them! Concentrate. Calculate. Wait… Wait…
    The road curved. My foot jumped off the gas pedal. My hand pulled on the emergency brake so the cops couldn’t see I was de-accelerating. Brakes howled. Cops wouldn’t hear that over their own sirens. Rushing towards me came the narrow slot of the guardrailed bridge as my car shuddered down from 70 to 65, 60… 55…
    Too fast! Going too fast!
    Bumpty-bump went the bridge under my wheels. Can’t wait!
    My left hand jerked the door handle door beside me. Wind pressure from my race pushed against that steel slab. The silver car’s warning buzzers kicked on to join the wail of nearing sirens, the woosh of night air, tires bumping over the bridge.
    And I whipped the wheel to the right. My windshield filled with the headlight vision of the bridge’s wooden guardrails hurtling towards me.
    My left shoulder rammed the unlatched door.
    But I didn’t have enough force to knock the door open, let me roll out free and safe like James Dean had in the chickee game of REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE.
    The silver car blasted through wooden plank guardrails and flew through the air above the ice skimmed river. Boards splintered out from the impact. The rental Ford’s airbag mushroomed out of the steering wheel. I was already pressing