The thought of the food did the damage though, and he reluctantly pulled into a not too crowded Der Wienerschnitzel drive thru. Ordering their food, they decided to use one of the tables there instead of trying to eat in the car again.
They sat in the sunlight, not speaking, just chowing down on another boring meal, in the middle of a horribly boring day. They would never be so bored again.
As Jeff reached for a napkin to wipe the chili off his lip, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, a very strange sight. A Volvo wagon was at the drive up window, and one of the occupants had just climbed over the back seat. Operating on curiousity only, he stared for a moment before reaching over to get Sam's attention.
"Hey Sam, check this out" he said in a jovial voice. But just as he did so, he saw the passenger hand something to the driver of the Volvo, then the car bolted away from the store. The shape that was passed to the driver had looked familiar, but it didn't register for a moment.
When it did register, he turned to warn Sam, but his partner had dropped his own napkin and was fishing around on the ground for it. The silly action will probably save his life" thought Jeff as a horrific explosion blasted him, the table top, the umbrella, and everything above the two foot wall surrounding the tables. Pieces of people and their tables intermixed, flying out onto El Camino.
Sam, having been blown out onto El Camino watched as a car screeched to stop only a few feet from his head. Turning in pain, he noticed that a Volvo was turned sideways, the explosion having literally tossed it out of the fast food place's driveway into another car. Oddly enough, the Bronco was out sitting on the curb too, the rear end having swapped around so that the truck was now facing the drive in. He dazedly wondered why Jeff had parked it so funny, when he was jarred awake by the screams and the flames spouting from the drive in. He stood shakily, and lunged over to the Bronco. Jerking the door open, he fumbled for his duffel bag, shielding himself from the blaze using the car door. He shuffled back away from the mess, still watching as the flames roared.
Out in the street he saw a number of unmoving forms, and he knew without question that Jeff's body was out there too. But he stopped short of running from body to body, because his soldier's training caught something that didn't fit. People were pouring out of their vehicles all around, some even stooping to the forms on the road. But the folks in the Volvo were still in their car, and he could hear the sound of a starter turning. They were, for some unknown reason, trying to get away. Although running from the fire was a reasonable act, for some other reason he couldn't pin down, he was curious about these particular folks motivation. Perhaps it was the furtive glances back to the drive in, or the intentness the driver showed as he, panic stricken, tried to get the aging Volvo to start.
Acting on instinct only, he reached into his bag, pulled the 1st Rangers baseball cap on his head, and locked onto the grip of the military issue .45 automatic, keeping his hand and the weapon out of site in the duffel. Walking toward the car, he noticed the occupants notice him, and their level of energy escalated dramatically. The passenger reached back into the seat, and Sam shifted his walk to a kind of crab walk, now moving him sideways to the car to get a better bead on both the passenger and the driver. As he suspected now, the passenger came up with a long black object, and Sam in an unthinking reaction, pulled the .45 out of the bag and shot the passenger. The short round cylinder of the grenade launcher clanked out the window and hit the concrete. Miraculously, it didn't discharge its deadly missile when it fell, and the driver locked eyes with Sam.
For some reason Sam didn't shoot the woman right then. Perhaps the shock was beginning to take its toll. Or perhaps the hatred and anger in those eyes simply froze him. Then the engine caught, and with a shriek, the tires lit up with smoke.
The sound of the woman's escape unfroze him, and with a calm eye at her profile, he fired three shots through the side of the car, hoping to hit her. He thought he did, as she twisted a little, but the car roared off down El Camino. He was standing there, .45 at his side pointing down at the ground when the Santa Clara PD pulled up
.
Carla moaned in pain, as she pressed the bandage to her side. The bullet had torn straight through her breast, leaving a clean wound, but it bleed like hell, with pain to match. Taking a deep breath, she pulled hard on bandage, the pain causing her to once again take a deep and rushing intake of breath. Fortunately this was exactly what she needed, as this allowed her to tighten the bandage even more. With another turn around her body, she was ready. She fumbled with the snap of her pants, stripped in the front seat of the Volvo, her bareness threatening to take her into a flood of memories. But she resisted the weakness and slipped on another pair of pants, tossing the blood soaked ones into the back seat.
Despite her training and hardened soul, she resisted the impulse to check Ambessi for any incriminating identification. In fact, she tried to forget he was there. She looked in the mirror and calmly sponged off the grey matter from her face, not reflecting once that it had come from Ambessi's shattered head. She grabbed the bush jacket, and slipped in on over her bare shoulders, and buttoned all the buttons. Her chest now was flat as a man's and she once again looked in the mirror. Instant disguise. Her short hair, and fake five o'clock shadow made her fit the part completely. All she would have to do is keep her mouth shut. She fished in her pockets to make sure she had bus fair, then abandoned the shitty Volvo.
Once on the bus, she felt every bump and turn, and almost passed out several times. She kept lucid though, the need to move to safety urging her on beyond believe. Finally she got off the bus, turned the corner and practically fell into the back seat of the car as Jihad pulled away from the curb.