“Now.”
The lights extinguished, plunging the grounds into darkness. Jack swung the door open and stepped into the gloom, then bolted to the truck, which was twenty feet away. He scanned the area, confident that any watchers would be temporarily night blind from staring at the brightly lit house. With his free hand he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket and slid them into the door. The lock made a soft thunk as he opened it, and then he was in the cab, the overhead light having burned out long ago.
The engine started on the first try, a tribute to his regular meticulous maintenance, and then Allie and Drake were running for it. He felt their weight land in the bed, and at the second thunk, put the truck into reverse and accelerated toward the rear of the house.
Muzzle flashes exploded from near the barn, and a slug hit the front fender. Jack floored it, knowing that the more distance he gained, the harder he’d be to hit. He twisted the wheel and stood on the brakes, causing the big Chevy to pirouette on the loose dirt. When he’d spun 180 degrees, he slammed the shifter into drive and punched the gas again. The all-terrain tires gripped and the truck shot forward, but not before two rounds pounded into the tailgate. One punctured the rear of the cab, and Jack felt the burn of a bullet — a searing he knew too well. He reached down and felt his hip where the slug had gotten him, and when he brought his hand up, his fingers were shiny with blood. Ignoring the pain, he rolled his window down and called out.
“Anyone hit?”
Allie’s yelled “no” was immediately followed by Drake’s, and he exhaled a sigh of relief and illuminated his headlights, now far out of range of the pistols. The beams found the track, and he pulled onto the two ruts and gunned it for the far side of the property.
Every bounce felt like a hot poker to his hip as he watched in the rearview mirror for any signs of pursuit. He was just about convinced that they’d gotten clear when he saw a glint of moonlight off metal several hundred yards behind them. He sped up and dust flew up from the tires, leaving a thick cloud for the darkened chase vehicle to fight through.
Jack called out again, the wind whistling through the window. “Allie, we’ve got company. Get your shotgun ready. You too, Drake. If they get close, open up on them.”
“What?” Allie cried, unable to hear.
He slowed and repeated his instruction, and when she signaled she understood, sped up again.
Gunfire sounded from the pursuit car, the shots starbursting in the gloom, but nothing hit the truck. Allie sat up with her shotgun and fired at the pursuers, pumped the gun, and fired again. Drake wedged himself against the side of the bed and swung his weapon around and added his to the mix, the boom deafening as the big gun slammed into his shoulder.
More shots barked from the car, but farther back. Drake and Allie blasted away at the bright flashes, and then they saw the red glow of brake lights as the car slowed. Drake kept firing and had almost emptied his shotgun when Allie’s hand grabbed his shoulder.
“Save it. They’ve stopped. Either we hit them, or they decided this was a bad idea. In any case, we’re out of range now. If they come at us again, you’ll need the ammo.”
Drake was gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw hurt. He lowered the shotgun barrel and clicked the safety back on, his eyes never leaving the trail behind them, and stayed that way until they reached the far gate eight minutes later.
Jack pointed the hood at the wire fence and blew through it, and then they were on a gravel road, the more even surface feeling like ice after the jarring they’d received on the track. He accelerated to fifty and then sixty as he put distance between them and the shooters.
Two miles later he saw the intersection for the larger artery that would take them north to San Antonio or south to Corpus Christi. He probed his wound again and came away with more blood. Daring a glance down at the seat, he saw that the cloth next to him was stained red. He knew he’d need to get a dressing on sooner than later, and opted to head north.
Three miles beyond the junction he pulled into a bar parking lot, its life-size neon cowboy sign blinking a garish welcome, and eased to a stop. Allie and Drake hopped out of the bed, and Allie approached the driver’s side window as Drake moved along the passenger side.
“Why are we stopping here?” she asked, and stopped when she saw Jack’s drawn expression.
“I’m grazed. Doesn’t hurt too bad, but I need to get a look at it. See if you can find something we can fix a bandage out of, would you? Doesn’t have to be elegant, just functional.”
Drake opened the passenger side and stared at the blood. “Jesus. You’re hit…”
“Keep your voice down. I know I’m hit. Go inside and buy a bottle of the strongest booze they’ve got. Vodka, preferably. I’ll need to sterilize this.” Jack caught his look. “Drake, I’ll live. It’s just a flesh wound.”
Drake nodded and jogged to the bar entrance while Allie dug through the backpacks and extracted one of Jack’s white undershirts.
“Will this work?”
“Looks like it. We can stop at a drugstore once we’re in San Antonio. It’s only got to hold for an hour or so. Can you drive?”
“Of course I can. You’re the one who got shot.”
“Then I’ll slide over.”
“Okay.”
He took the shirt from her and moved to the center position on the bench seat and tried not to think about sitting in his own lifeblood. Drake returned with a bottle of rotgut vodka and handed it to him. Jack twisted the top off and poured the alcohol on his side, wincing as the vodka did its work, and then loosened his belt and slid the folded undershirt into place over the wound.
“There. That should do it,” he said. He pulled his belt free before re-strapping it around his upper waist so it would hold the shirt in place. “Let’s get moving.”
Drake had stepped away from the truck and was peering beneath it. When he returned to the passenger door, he had a grim expression.
“We’ve got a problem. A bullet must have hit the radiator. Looks like we’ve lost most of the coolant.”
Allie slid behind the wheel and looked at the dash. The temperature gauge was three-quarters to the red. She turned to look at Jack, who shrugged.
“We can stop and get more water later. Right now, keep the speed down and an eye on the gauge. It’s cool enough out that we should be able to make it. As long as it doesn’t get much hotter, we should be okay. But sitting here, it’s not getting any cold air blowing on it. Let’s go.”
Drake climbed in and shut the door after himself, trying to stay away from Jack so as not to jostle his wound. Allie reversed out of the lot and pulled off. San Antonio was a good hour away, assuming they made it.
Allie settled in at fifty, and the temperature needle crept upwards before stopping a few millimeters below the top of the range. Drake studied Jack’s profile and saw he was sweating in spite of the chill.
“I don’t understand one thing. How did they find us?” he asked.
Jack winced. “Do you have another cell phone you didn’t tell me about?”
“Of course not.”
“Damn. Then it must be Allie’s. I don’t have one. That’s the only possibility. Nobody knew where we were going. They must have put two and two together and somehow gotten hers. I should have thought of that.”
“They’re tracking my phone?” Allie asked.
“I think so, honey. Pull over.”
She did and raced around to the bed to retrieve her cell from her bag. When she had it, she returned to the cab and removed the battery. “What do I do now? Is this good enough?”