Public Enemy Zero

15

Mitchell avoided the freeway and drove along U.S. 1 for a few miles. Although it was much slower with the traffic lights, he had more potential exits if he thought he was being followed.

He’d seen how the police set up roadblocks on exits and parked police cars with spotters on overpasses when they wanted to stop someone on I-95. Once they spotted you there, they could close down whatever they needed to pin you down. Game over. At least on U.S. 1, he had a sliver of a chance of losing a police car if they decided to follow him. Or at least he hoped so.

When he began to get nervous about staying on the same road for too long, he decided to drive a few miles to the west to catch up with State Road 7. Waiting to make the turn, he saw a helicopter flying by low overhead. His knuckles clenched the wheel until he saw it was a medivac chopper. He relaxed. When he saw it head toward the mall, he felt anxious again.

He hadn’t seen as many ambulances racing toward the mall, which he took as a good sign, until he realized that they might have run out of them. In the distance he could see another helicopter. It belonged to the local news station. The scale of what had just happened was starting to build.

Mitchell looked at the radio in the car but was too terrified to turn it on to his station. He’d have to find out what was going on in the rest of the world but not at that moment. Especially when he was out in the open in a stolen car, already panicked.

He had no idea where to go. He couldn’t drive forever. He needed a safe place. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d try calling one of his friends. From reading the police bulletins on the fax, he knew the two fastest ways to get caught were to get reported to the police when you scared someone or to have a scared friend report you when you went to them for help. Besides, he realized, he really didn’t have any friends that he trusted enough to count on.

He knew calling his family was out of the question. The last thing he needed was to send his mother or sister into a panic. They both lived in California and wouldn’t be of much help anyway. He hadn’t talked to them in weeks. He could deal with them later.

Going back to his apartment was out. That’d be the first place the police would come looking. But what if he barricaded himself in there? He shook his head. The SWAT team or whoever they sent after him could be in there in seconds and then… He didn’t want to think about that part.

He knew he’d have to turn himself in at some point. There was no way he could make it for long as a fugitive. But in order for him to surrender, he needed to be sure that whoever arrested him wasn’t going to tear him to shreds. To be sure of that, he had to know why people were attacking him. Was it some kind of conspiracy? Was it some weird psychological thing? Had he become such a loser that people were turning on him like a wolf pack on a wounded dog?

Worry about where to go next, he reminded himself. Nothing came to mind, so he tried to break down what he needed.

It had to be devoid of people.

He had to be able to hide the car.

He had to have an exit.

Finding an out-of-the-way motel was useless if he couldn’t check in without the clerk murdering him. He also knew he couldn’t barge into someone’s house and hold them hostage. Besides the moral problems of that, he couldn’t imagine how he would restrain said person if every moment they were focused on killing him.

What about an abandoned house? South Florida was filled with empty houses that were either for sale or foreclosed by the bank. He’d have to break in. From there he could open the garage door and park the car.

That reminded him of something. He thought for a moment. Of course! When Rachel had kicked him out, one of the station interns had told him his grandparents were looking for someone to rent their house. Mitchell had even gone out to look at it before deciding it was too far. He still knew the code for the door.

It was forty minutes from where he was and not too far off from two main highways. It was also two cities over and in the next county. He didn’t know how much that would help him evade the police, but it had to at least buy him some time.

It was a quiet neighborhood where most of the houses were owned by people who lived out of state. Mitchell remembered that almost half the houses had ‘For Sale’ signs. That meant he was less likely to be confronted by neighbors.

He knew staying there wasn’t the best idea. But for the moment, it was the only idea. Mitchell tried to remember how to get there.

Even if just for the night he could hide out, he would have some time to at least plan what to do next and hopefully figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Mitchell saw the sign that said “Sunny Acres” and pulled into the community. It was a planned development from the 1970s where all the streets were laid out in a grid. Palm trees and flat lawns in uniform rectangles lined the streets. There was a community center and a pool toward the middle. The single-story houses were built from three basic designs and painted from a limited color palate.

They all looked the same to Mitchell. Only the random rust stains from the sprinklers differentiated them. He couldn’t remember which one was the right one. The last thing he wanted to do was barge in on an occupied house. He drove down one road and then up another.

There were cars parked sporadically in different driveways. It seemed like there were even more ‘For Sale’ signs than last time. One house looked vaguely familiar. He pulled into the driveway and tried to figure out what to do next.

If he knocked on the door and somebody answered, that could be messy. His best bet was to knock and then run back into the car and wait to see if someone answered. It was a coward’s plan, and he knew it. It was all he had.

Mitchell turned off the car and walked up the walkway to the house. It looked very familiar. He got to the door and looked at the keypad. He decided to just try the code and open the door and look. He knew he could run back to the car if he heard anyone.

Fortunately, his mind didn’t blank like it did with his ATM card. He keyed in the code. The door unlocked. From behind, he heard a car pass. Mitchell almost pissed himself.

The car kept driving. Mitchell relaxed and looked inside the house. It was completely empty. He’d expected that but wanted to be certain. He shouted, “Hello!” His voice echoed through the house.

He looked back at the car in the driveway. The sooner he hid it, the better. He stepped into the house and walked through the barren kitchen and into the garage. He fumbled for the switch and opened the door. Mitchell remembered the intern, Mike, telling him that his grandparents had kept power to the house so the air conditioning would keep the moisture low. Apparently other people didn’t do that with their empty property and that caused mold and other damage. Mitchell was just glad he didn’t have to figure out how to open the door by hand.

He pulled the car inside the garage and lowered the door. He was reasonably certain that no one had seen him. He felt safe for the moment. But for how long? If they cast a wide enough net, would they find him there?

His name wasn’t attached to the house, not directly at least. Mitchell walked back into the house and peered through the front blinds and looked down the street. What next?