She did what Will taught her and turned the options in front of her over in her head.
There were a few that she could think of right away. The sedan and truck were no match for the larger Chevy, and she could probably power her way right through them without suffering too much damage. But there would be some damage, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to risk that. At least, not yet. Not as long as she had other options.
Which were…?
The ditches, she knew from earlier, were too deep to drive across. That seemed to be the entire point of positioning the two cars across the road in the first place. Even if they couldn’t completely overlap the shoulders, enough of them did that it left little space for her to maneuver the wide truck around without ramming the bumper on one car or the front hood on the other. So she would have to go down the ditch and come up on the other side if she wanted to avoid impacting the vehicles entirely. Was the Silverado powerful enough to pull that off? She had no idea.
She could retreat. That was the third option. She didn’t particularly like it, but it was there. Going backward meant heading in the wrong direction, though. Home was up ahead, not behind her. So that was out of the question.
“Gaby?” Donna said. She was pressed so tightly against the seat that Gaby heard her even though she was whispering. “What are we going to do?”
“We can ram them,” Claire said.
“Ram them?” Donna said. “You’re crazy.”
“Why not? I bet we could.”
It had been less than thirty seconds since she had stepped on the brake. In that time, the highway remained empty except for their vehicle and the two in front of them. She expected a head, followed by a weapon, to appear behind one of the cars at any second, signaling that this was an ambush as she (knew) feared. The Silverado’s raised seat gave her a good view of her surroundings, but at the moment she couldn’t see anything to indicate this wasn’t just some freak accident.
Yeah, right. And I’m on a Sunday drive in the park with some kids.
She waited, but nothing happened.
There were no heads, no weapons, and no signs that someone was hiding behind the vehicles. Or around them. There were just two dead cars that shouldn’t be there but were and an empty field to the right and left of her.
Up ahead was I-10…
Maybe she was overthinking this. Or maybe someone had set up an ambush here a while ago but gave up when they didn’t find any takers. That was possible, too. You could only wait so long until you got tired and moved on. Maybe those vehicles were actually dead.
Maybe. So many maybes.
It was starting to get hot inside the truck with the windows rolled up, and Gaby glanced down at the AC controller when she caught a flicker of movement in the rearview mirror.
A man, cradling a rifle, was sneaking up on them from behind—
“Get down!” Gaby shouted, at the same time shoving the gear into reverse and slamming her foot down on the gas pedal. The truck lurched backward with such awkward force that Gaby was thrown forward into the steering wheel and had to hold on with everything she had.
The Silverado’s tires screamed as it reversed. Or was that more of a shrill? She swore she could also smell rubber burning, but that could have just been something her frenzied mind was making up on the spot.
She felt rather than heard the THUMP! as the truck rammed into the figure behind them and she glimpsed something flying through the air, flashing across her side mirror. It was big and dark and seemed to be failing wildly, and it was there one split-second and gone the next.
Keep going! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!
She didn’t stop and she kept going, pushing back against the seat while gripping the steering wheel with all her might. A dark black lump flashed by to her left, lying on the road (I guess he landed), just as a flurry of movement tore her eyes away to a second man emerging out of the ditch to her left. She didn’t get a good look at his face — the truck was moving too fast — but he was definitely wearing slacks and a T-shirt, so he wasn’t one of Josh’s people. Not that it mattered at the moment. The shotgun clutched in his hands was what was important.
Then Claire screamed her name.
Gaby snapped a look in the girl’s direction and saw a third figure climbing — lumbering, really, because the man was huge and moved with great difficulty — out of the ditch to their right. The AR-15 looked like a toy in his hands. The man stopped and took aim and opened fire.
“Stay down!” Gaby screamed.
She kept her hands tight around the steering wheel even as the truck continued to reverse, the sound of peeling tires now lost in the string of shotgun blasts pounding the air, joining the AR-15 as it pelted the truck. She hoped and prayed she was going in a straight line back down Route 13 even as the front windshield shattered and glass shards zip-zip-zipped around her head. In another second, the entire windshield seemed to disintegrate until there was nothing left.
“Gaby!” Claire shouted. “Watch out—”
Before the girl could finish, the ground gave out under them and they were going down. Then her view out of the rectangular hole that used to be the windshield changed positions and she found herself staring up at the cloudless sky, bright sun hitting her full in the face. Without the glass to protect her, the full force of the heat was overwhelming and she had to blink even as the sound of the truck’s rear tires spinning fruitlessly against the ground forced its way into her senses. She still had her foot pressed down on the gas pedal, though she wasn’t sure why because they didn’t seem to be moving at all.
They were upended, with the truck’s bumper resting on the bottom of the ditch and the tires fighting for purchase against the dirt wall. She looked to her right and saw Claire clinging to her seat, hands over her head, dazed and confused.
Gaby pulled her foot off the gas pedal and reached for the M4 lying across her and Claire’s seats just as the driver side door was yanked open with a loud squeal of metal grinding against metal. The man had to be immensely strong because opening a door upward took a hell of a lot of strength, and yet he had done it almost effortlessly.
She gave up on the rifle and went for her Glock instead.
The large man with the AR-15 was trying to pull her out with one hand even while he kept the door pried open with one bulging shoulder. Trying? No. He was succeeding. Meaty fingers dug into her flesh, and she couldn’t have fought him even if she wanted to. He was so much stronger that she didn’t think he was even exerting any force whatsoever as he yanked her toward the open door.
She twisted in her seat and saw his eyes go wide at the sight of the gun in her right fist. He opened his mouth to say something — maybe to ask her not to shoot — but before he could get a word out she shot him in the chest, the discharge deafening in the tight confines of the vehicle.
Behind her, either Donna or Milly began screaming. By the shrill noise, she guessed it was probably Milly. Gaby had been wondering when the girl would finally let it all out. She guessed this was as good a time as any.
The big man — who was probably shorter than her, though he made up for it with width and at least one hundred pounds — let go of her arm before stumbling back, looking more stunned than hurt. The door slammed back down, but Gaby could still see him through the cracked driver side window. The man’s rifle was slung over his shoulder and he was clawing for it. He looked confused, as if he couldn’t quite figure out where the rifle was, or remember how to breathe.