"But they'll see the smoke and call the authorities," William said.
"It'll take time before the smoke rises above the canyon. Then it'll take more time before emergency crews arrive."
"Couldn't you lie to me just once?"
The horses reached the trees to the left and veered in panic.
Don't you dare hurt them , Cavanaugh silently warned the gunmen in the trees.
Out of control, the horses galloped toward the Taurus now. More bullets starring the windshield, Cavanaugh aimed toward a gap in the trees: the lane that would take him to the road. The horses threatened to cut in front of him, making him afraid he'd hit them.
Blood spraying, a horse flipped, its momentum twisting it over and over.
In a fury, Cavanaugh veered around it, then urged the Taurus into the gap between the trees. Now the gunmen at the eastern and western sides of the canyon couldn't see the car. Only the shooters in the woods to the south could be a threat. The left front tire felt mushy, the same as the one on the right, but the lane was only a quarter mile long.
We'll soon reach the road , Cavanaugh hoped. Rounding a thickly treed curve, he pressed the button that would open the gate, only to realize that the button was useless--the electricity wires had been cut.
His thoughts were shattered by the sight of a van parked sideways, blocking the lane. The trees were dense on each side, giving him no room to veer around it. He'd be forced to ram it, striking the van where it had the least weight--at the fender behind the rear axle. The mass of the Taurus's armor would give it enough force to shift the van and allow the Taurus to squeeze past. But the moment Cavanaugh flicked a switch to deactivate the Taurus's air bags, he noticed how low the van was. Something in it was enormously heavy.
I'll never be able to force it aside .
As a man stepped from behind the van and fired toward the Taurus's windshield, beads of glass flew inside the car. Cavanaugh stomped the brake pedal and skidded to a stop, his passengers jerking forward despite their seat belts. He yanked the gearshift into reverse and sped swiftly backward along the lane.
A bullet whacked through the front windshield.
"Everybody down!"
Cavanaugh sped backward around the curve. He reached an area where the lane widened, took his foot off the accelerator, and simultaneously twisted the steering wheel a quarter turn. The Taurus spun a hundred and eighty degrees, grazed a tree trunk, and now faced ahead. Immediately, Cavanaugh shoved the gearshift into forward and pressed the accelerator. The rear wheels threw dirt toward the pursuing gunman, who fired at the Taurus's rear tires, the dust ruining his aim.
But Cavanaugh knew that it wouldn't be long before the rear tires had bullet punctures, also. Already, the deflating front tires made his steering hard to control. The stress from the 180-degree turn had worsened their damage. As he sped from the trees and into the meadow, he felt the front wheels settle onto the plastic ring that he'd attached to the center of each rim, a tire within a tire. Without the cushion of the normal front tires, the Taurus jounced and slammed over holes in the lane.
"We're all going to die!" William exclaimed.
"Wrong!" Cavanaugh stared ahead through the shattered windshield and saw that the entire lodge was aflame. The dense smoke didn't rise. Instead, a breeze kept it low, carrying it in Cavanaugh's direction, and as he approached it, he shouted to William, "Hand me the rifle I gave you!"
Reaching back, taking it, he told Jamie, "Switch places with Mrs. Patterson! Get ready to drive!"
He steered to the left of the burning lodge and sped into the smoke, which was so thick that he couldn't see ahead of him.
Jamie crawled over Mrs. Patterson, squeezing next to him.
"Angelo, check your watch!" Cavanaugh yelled. "Tell Jamie when it's ninety seconds from now!"
"What do you want me to do?" Jamie asked.
"Drive forward until Angelo tells you it's time. Then drive back this way until you reach the smoke."
"Why? What are you going to--"
"When you come back, stop just before you get to the smoke. I'll step out of it on your side. Be careful you don't shoot me."
Cavanaugh floored the brakes, the solid inner tires digging violently into the ground as the car stopped. He took a deep breath, shoved the door open, and lunged out into the smoke.
Hearing the door bang shut behind him and the car speed forward, he ran to the left in the direction that the breeze took the smoke. Despite holding his breath, he had a desperate urge to cough, the smoke stinging his eyes. His nostrils and throat felt irritated.
The air lightened, the smoke getting thinner. He saw an opening. Sunlight revealed the stream where it wound through the canyon. He rolled down its bank, feeling the impact of his armored vest against his ribs. At the smoke-free bottom of the streambed, he took a deep breath, feeling cool sweet air fill his lungs.
Rising to a crouch, he hurried along the stream until the smoke was behind him. Then he crept up to the rim. Peering carefully across the meadow, he scanned the pines and aspens. The smoke behind him prevented the silhouette of his head from showing as he aimed toward the trees.
He remembered the Condition Yellow operators he'd seen at the gas station where he'd stopped on the way home.
Why? I'm not in the game any longer. Why am I suddenly a target?
This much, he did know. If this was the same group, there were ten of them. He'd taken a count while he stood at the pump. Plus, there was the sniper on the eastern ridge. And no doubt a spotter for the sniper. Twelve.
Behind him, the burning lodge roared and crackled. Inside it, something heavy collapsed, rumbling like an explosion.
Twelve , he repeated to himself.
Well, let's see if we can lower the odds.
Hearing the Taurus speed toward the northern part of the canyon, Cavanaugh estimated that the car would have emerged from the smoke by now. The men in the woods on this side of the valley would chase it.
With the Taurus gaining distance from them, they'll choose the easy route and run through the grass next to the trees.
And here they come , he thought as he squinted to the south, toward the gunman who'd been in the lane. The man raced into view, sprinting next to the trees, pursuing the Taurus.
Cavanaugh sighted along the AR-15, squeezed the trigger, and blew a hole in the man's throat. The man fell as if someone had yanked a rope attached to his ankles.
Switching aim, Cavanaugh scanned the trees, saw a gunman racing along it, and blew part of his head off. A third gunman, racing farther along, sensed that something wasn't right and paused to look back. Even at a distance, the fear on the man's face was evident as he saw his downed teammates and charged for the cover of the trees. But not in time. Cavanaugh's bullet shattered the back of his head. The man became a rag doll whose lifeless legs folded, his momentum pitching him forward.
Farther along, a fourth man definitely realized something was wrong. As Cavanaugh switched aim, the man darted into the trees. Cavanaugh fired toward his retreating figure, seeing him lurch into a pine bough, blood spraying the green needles, the man's arms flying up as if in surrender, his hair seeming to part as a second shot caused more blood to spray, and suddenly he was falling.
Cavanaugh switched his aim yet again, but no targets presented themselves.
They realize what's happening , he thought. They've taken cover. Now they'll . . .
He rolled to the bottom of the stream a moment before bullets tore up dirt above him. Four . I got four of them. Out of twelve.