Begrudgingly, Aly undid her seatbelt and started to squish herself up against the front seats, making room for Jessica to slide over.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea, Jim. This isn’t the Wild West. Maybe we should just turn around.”
Jim shook his head. “Ready?” he said, taking one last look at Jessica.
She gave him a nod.
He didn’t bother to hope that they’d make it, that the plan would work. The only thing to do was try it. The only thing to do was to make it work.
“The rest of you, get your heads down,” said Jim, as he pressed his foot against the clutch and got the car into first.
He jammed down on the accelerator and the engine whined.
Up ahead, the pickup was still in place. The man in the checkered shirt glanced back at the driver, and shifted his weight, as if he was unsure what to do.
The Subaru was moving.
Fast.
Jim shifted into second.
Now third.
They were close now.
“Wait until you have a clear shot,” shouted Jim.
The man in the checkered shirt had his gun raised.
Before Jim could even shout, “Now,” Jessica had fired.
Two quick shots. Two bursts of sound that echoed throughout the interior of the Subaru.
The man in the checkered shirt collapsed to the ground before he could get off a shot.
Jim didn’t slow down. He was about to pass the pickup.
Suddenly, the pickup lurched forward, driving directly into the path of the Subaru.
Jim slammed on the brakes.
But it was too late.
He only succeeded in slowing down slightly.
The Subaru slammed into the side of the pickup, jerking to a sudden stop.
Someone cried out in pain.
The engine had stalled.
Jim heard the creek of unoiled hinges as the pickup door opened.
For a second, he caught a glimpse of the pickup’s driver, and then the man was ducking down, out of view behind the pickup. Jim had to assumed he was armed as well.
Jim had to act fast.
“Back me up,” said Jim to Jessica in the back, before throwing open the door of the Subaru, and reaching again for his Ruger.
He heard her door open too, but didn’t glance back at her. He needed his eyes peeled for the driver.
Jim’s mind had a singular focus. He was zeroed in.
This would be a quick fight.
One shot and it was all over.
There was hardly any distance between them. A matter of a few feet.
Jim had his Ruger in both hands. His grip was good. The right technique. He inched forward, listening carefully.
The pickup’s engine was still running.
He was behind the bed of the pickup, about to turn the corner.
He heard nothing. And saw no signs of the driver.
But the man was right there. Waiting. Only a few feet away. Unless he’d gone around the other side.
It’d be a question of technique and reflexes.
Jim had his finger on the trigger. With his thumb, he cocked back the hammer of his Ruger.
Jim wasn’t going to use the sights. He kept his Ruger low. This was going to be a reflex shot to the chest at close range.
He was about to take his first step around the back corner of the truck, when he saw the foot moving.
Jim didn’t let his eyes travel down to the foot. He took a step back and kept his eyes and gun pointed at chest level.
The man appeared there suddenly, moving swiftly, a rifle in his hands.
Jim pulled the trigger. His knees were slightly bent.
One shot rang out.
The man in front of him, mere feet away, gasped as he crumpled to the ground.
The rifle clattered to the pavement.
Jim took a look around before bending down. The Ruger didn’t leave his hand.
There was a growing patch of blood on the man’s chest, staining his dirty shirt.
Jim put his fingers to the man’s neck to feel for a pulse. There was none. He was already dead.
It had been a good shot. Right to the heart, probably.
Jim was surprised at himself. He’d shot two men dead in one day. And they’d been good shots both times.
Surprisingly, he felt nothing. No remorse. Only relief. And satisfaction at his aim.
He’d always figured that if the day came that he had to shoot someone, he wouldn’t be as good of a shot as he was at the range. That was what everyone always said, anyways, that the stress of an intense life or death situation wrecked your aim.
Not so far, though.
He couldn’t get cocky, though.
Jim grabbed the rifle before standing up and moving back over to the Subaru.
“Everyone OK?” he said, remembering the shout of pain he’d heard as they’d crashed.
He glanced in the car. Rob and Aly looked back at him, strange expressions on their faces. Aly looked at him with wide eyes, almost as if she didn’t recognize him.
“You got him?” said Jessica, appearing on the other side of the Subaru. She stood tall and looked confident. She held her Glock in a way that made him think she knew what she was doing.
She looked so different from the terrified, frantic woman that had been pointing her gun at him in terror not so long ago at the police station.
She might yet prove to be a useful member of their little group.
Jim nodded at her.
“Check the truck for supplies,” he said.
Jim’s mind was back in action. Back to planning. Time was still weighing down heavily on them. He glanced down at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed in the blink of an eye.
The damage to the Subaru didn’t look bad. The fender was bashed in on one side, and the headlight and lower fog light were shattered. He didn’t think there’d been enough force in the crash to damage the transmission, but he wanted to check.
“I’m going to make sure it still runs,” he said, “before we load all their gear into our car. Make sure you check the glove compartment.”
Jim hopped back into the Subaru and it started right up. He reversed it, drove a couple feet, and drove forward again.
Everything seemed fine. No strange noises. No grinding sounds. No noticeable resistance.
“I can’t believe you did that, man,” muttered Rob.
“Come on and help me,” said Jim. “Looks like they’ve got some gear in the bed.”
“You’re going to rob them?” said Aly.
“It’s not robbery,” said Jim.
“You killed them and now you’re going to…”
“What would you rather I do? Let them murder us for the car?”
Aly said nothing.
“Now come on and help me.”
Jim threw open the door a little harder than he’d meant to.
He’d gone to so much effort to get to his wife and to keep her safe. And now she was criticizing everything he was doing?
Whatever. He needed to forget it. Aly would catch on soon enough to the seriousness of the situation.
Once what had just happened sunk in, she’d realize.
After all, off in the distance behind them, the burning wreckage of the plane could still be seen. The black clouds of smoke had grown and widened, seeming to take over the entire sky as they reached towards the grey clouds above.
“Some medicine from the glove box,” said Jessica, holding up some small cardboard boxes to show Jim.
“Good, throw it in the Subaru. We’ll go through it all later.”
In the bed of the pickup truck there were some bunched up tarps, some loose dirt, some scattered hand tools, a duffel bag, and a plastic jug of gas.
Jim went for the gas first, and he let out a grunt of disappointment when he lifted it up and felt that it was completely empty.
Should he try to siphon the gas out of the pickup? He could store it in the can for when the Subaru eventually ran out.
No, there wasn’t enough time.