“It’s blocked pretty good. They definitely did it on purpose, but I think we can get through with a little work,” Joel stated.

  Ben ignored Joel for the time being and confronted Brad, who’d leaped from the back of the Jeep with Gunner, toting his own AR-15 as if he did this sort of thing all the time. The image of his youngest, ready to fight for his life, was becoming all too familiar, and Ben hated that. At the same time, as they found themselves in situations like this day in and day out, the image stung less than he expected.

  “Brad, I want you to help your sister with the dogs. Sam can’t get out of the Blazer on her own with that leg. And put your vests on. They’re in the back seat under the empty Nalgenes.” Ben rattled off the short list of orders in a tone that left no room for question, then turned to address Joel without giving Brad a chance to argue.

  Brad would surely be inclined to protest being assigned dog-sitting duty with his sister, but Ben didn’t care about that right now. Safety trumped his son’s ambitions to help with the fight. It was hard enough to knowingly put Joel and Allie in harm’s way. And he wouldn’t have considered involving them if it wasn’t necessary.

  Brad stayed silent for the most part, huffing in displeasure as he helped his sister gather the dogs and armor-plated vests from the Blazer.

  Ben turned his attention to Joel and Allie now that he was satisfied Brad, Emma, and the dogs would be reasonably safe for the time being.

  “Grab a can of ammo and take a position behind the rear axle, both of you.” Ben pointed to the double set of melted rims that had fused themselves to the road’s surface. There was plenty of room for both Joel and Allie to find adequate cover there. It was the least he could do after getting them involved in yet another firefight that could have been avoided. They should have jumped back in the trucks and gotten out of here the second they spotted the encampment, but they didn’t, and it was time to embrace the suck.

  Sandy didn’t need direction, and as Ben turned to check on Brad and Emma’s progress, he saw her hunkering down with her rifle behind the rear wheel of the compact car, half hidden in the tall grass. Brad looked back at his dad, disappointed but obediently doing what was asked of him. Ben nodded his approval as Brad finished helping his sister get her vest on before the two of them disappeared into the brush.

  Ben had an ulterior motive in sending Brad with his sister and the dogs, beyond attempting to keep them safe. God forbid, but if things went south and something happened to them, Brad and Emma would have to fend for themselves. Emma was capable—she’d had the chance to prove that, unfortunately—but it gave Ben some small sense of comfort to know they’d at least have the dogs and each other to rely on if the bikers were successful.

  He shook the morbid thought from the forefront of his mind as he hoisted the cumbersome M249 from the back of the Blazer, lugging it over the tailgate and cargo rack. Ben carried the weapon with him and dragged it under the husk of a truck, closer to the cab and away from Joel and Allie so as not to draw any additional fire in their direction. He set the light machine gun up just behind the cab’s rear wheel, along with the bag of spare magazines for when the drum ran out. He then returned to the Blazer to fetch his .338-chambered Remington Model 700 while keeping one eye on the idling group of bikes less than a quarter mile away.

  The gang maintained a cautious distance, a few members returning to circle the wreckage of the CJ-7 and their fallen friends. Ben, however, harbored no illusions about a possible retreat from the bikers. Despite his display with the SAW, he held no hope that the gang would reconsider their intentions. It seemed more probable that they were actively devising a new strategy—one that surely involved eliminating them and seizing their supplies.

  Ben got into position at the truck cab’s rear wheel and hunkered down behind the M24’s scope.

  “Don’t shoot yet. Wait until they get closer,” Ben called out loud enough for everyone to hear.

  The armored bikes remained a substantial distance away, several hundred yards from the charred remains of the box truck. Some of the AR platforms the others were using lacked the optics necessary to effectively engage targets at that range, especially for less experienced shooters. Even Ben was reluctant to take a shot due to the bikes’ armor plating. To make matters worse, the heat rising off the blacktop distorted his targets. Still, Ben couldn’t ignore the impressive shooting he had witnessed from Joel and Allie throughout their journey. They had capability beyond the limitations of their equipment or his confidence.

  However, he was mindful of conserving ammunition when practical. And with four of them shooting, Ben anticipated running through a significant number of the 5.56 rounds in the defense of their position once the bikers made their move, and he wanted to ensure they were adequately prepared for that critical moment.

  “Do you think they’ve changed their mind?” Sandy’s tone was hopeful.

  “Don’t think so. They don’t strike me as the type to give up,” Ben answered.

  “Is that what’s left of the Jeep I see out there?” Joel peered through his scope.

  “Yeah, that’s what’s left of the Jeep,” Ben replied.

  “Your dad shot the front tire out. They did the rest by themselves,” Sandy explained.

  “Well, I hope they do whatever they’re going to do soon. I feel like I’m being baked alive,” Allie noted.

  Ben caught a bead of sweat from his forehead before it reached his eye. As much as they tried to avoid firefights, Allie made a valid point. The sun was no longer directly overhead, but the road surface had absorbed enough thermal energy to cook an egg. He had to agree with her sentiment and found himself also wishing this gang of highway bandits would hurry up and get on with it.

  “How much water do you guys have left in the Jeep?” Ben asked.

  “Not much,” Allie stated.

  “About two and a half Nalgenes,” Joel added.

  “We’re going to have to find a place after this is over.” Ben glanced at the horizon. “And at this rate, we might as well start looking for a place to camp.” It was empowering and a big confidence boost for the others, planning ahead while staring a life-and-death situation in the face.

  They had several hours of good daylight left, and although that should have been plenty of time to rack up a significant number of miles, Ben knew how it would work out. The need to stop for water and, soon after that, fuel would eat away at the time they had left before darkness and hazardous driving conditions hindered their progress. And who knew what problems they’d encounter during either of those?

  The uncertainties surrounding them during these stops loomed large. It wasn’t a matter of whether something went wrong anymore; it had become a question of when. Complications were inevitable, and the days of hoping for problem-free pit stops were a thing of the past, an annoying and inconvenient truth that there was no remedy for.

  Ben’s mind wandered as his impatience festered in the oppressive heat, a condition the bikers seemed to exploit. Judging by the sighs and grunts of mumbled discourse from the others, they were equally frustrated with the apparent standoff. It crossed Ben’s mind that the gang might be attempting to wait them out, testing their endurance. However, this notion fell apart upon closer consideration—after all, the gang was enduring the same blistering conditions, stranded on the scorching asphalt just like Ben and his crew. The puzzle of the bikers’ strategy deepened, leaving the group to wrestle not only with the external threat but also with the mystery of the gang’s intentions.

  “Dad?” Joel’s warning got Ben’s attention, and he refocused his gaze through the scope of his rifle.

  The bikers had formed up in a tight V formation, the riders and passengers all back on board their respective vehicles, weapons drawn.

  “Get ready,” Ben called out in warning. “Brad and Emma, stay down and keep those dogs off the road.” Ben wasn’t sure exactly where his youngest two were, but they were out of sight, and he wanted them to stay that way.

  “We will.” Emma’s faint voice answered back from the thick weeds but was drowned out quickly by the sudden boisterous rumble of revving engines.

  “Here they come,” Sandy shouted as Ben slid his finger onto the trigger of his gun and prepared to engage the threat.

  He’d been anxious for the bikers to take action and spare them any more exposure to the life-sucking temperatures, but now that danger was imminent, the children’s safety was all he could think about.

  19

  Allie’s pulse quickened as the advancing bikes gained ground on their location. A few moments ago, she feared that her tolerance for sitting idle in this sweltering heat was at its end. But now she wished for a few more seconds to prepare for the fight at hand. Thirst was no longer her biggest concern.

  She thumbed the safety on her rifle. It was already in the off position, but she just wanted to double-check as her finger caressed the trigger. The AR-15 Joel had pieced together for her from their exploits across the country had done wonders for her accuracy and confidence. But nothing could settle the jitters brought on by a life-and-death scenario like this.

  She thought back to the man she’d killed in Missouri near the winery. Against her will, the event, and the emotions that went along with it, replayed in her mind like a movie reel. The feel of the trigger, the man’s reaction—or lack thereof—as he fell stiffly to the ground, and the pink mist that hovered like a cloud in the air afterward. She recounted all of it as if the incident had just happened recently rather than days ago. Allie shook it off as best she could and tried to focus on the bikers. Now wasn’t the time to get bogged down in self-pity, remorse, or guilt about things she had no control over to begin with. The others needed her to be present. They were counting on her just like she was counting on them.

  Life on the road was fragile. The endless fighting and seemingly limitless supply of shady characters that wanted to end their existence was something she’d never willingly accept as a normal part of their lives, although the bitterness growing in her soul over what people like this gang represented was indisputable.

  “Let ’em have it.” Ben gave the okay to shoot without warning.

  Boom.

  Allie knew the sound of Ben’s long rifle with the big scope by heart, but its thunderous bark still made her jump, and her reaction to the powerful rifle was unquestionably amplified by the adrenaline coursing through her veins and heightening her senses.

  In her scope, Allie found the bike to the right of the leader and several yards back. The bikers’ formation reminded her of a flock of birds—if birds carried guns and were trying to kill her. She heard her mother’s rifle crack off a few rounds. Then Joel’s weapon barked just a few feet away, ringing her ears in the process.

  Crack… crack… crack.

  She squeezed off three rounds and saw the bike in her sights teeter slightly, but unfortunately, it regained control and fell back into formation. Her bullets did nothing but decorate the shroud of steel that protected the driver and his passenger.

  Boom.

  Ben took another shot with the big rifle, and this time, he got results. The bike heading up the assault wobbled and nearly took out the rider to its right, scraping the other bike’s fairing as it careened off the shoulder and flew into the weeds at a high rate of speed. Allie wondered if the driver and passenger would survive. She decided they would not after seeing the bike flip over the guardrail and throw two people over the barricade to the ground below.

  This section of highway was more like an extension of the bridge, still maintaining its elevation over the low ground surrounding the river. They must have been at least a couple of stories above the lower terrain, and she could only imagine the harsh landing the two bikers would experience once they met the rocky bottom of the river basin. But there was no time to dwell on their fate with the five remaining bikes closing fast.

  Allie fired her weapon several more times, her shots melding with the others, both outgoing and incoming.

  “Watch the guy on the left. Last bike,” Ben shouted, cutting himself off with the report from his rifle.

  Allie found the guy she thought Ben was talking about. She didn’t recognize the type of rifle he was brandishing, but there was no mistaking the high velocity of incoming rounds hitting the pavement and truck frame they were using for cover. Allie pulled back behind cover, meeting Joel on the ground behind the melted wheel.

  “He’s got something automatic.” Joel’s eyes were wild as he peeled off his plated vest and shoved it at her.

  “No, you keep it,” Allie protested.

  “I’m not wearing it. Now put it on. That’s final.” Joel shoved the vest back at her, insisting she take it. Then, before she had a chance to argue further, he disappeared around the other side of the truck’s axle to resume shooting.

  Frantically, Allie pulled the vest over her head as fast as she could, trying to steady her shaking hands as she fastened it around her body and married the buckles. She was careful to stay hunched over and below the wheels of the truck, doing her best to avoid the bullets zipping overhead and the shower of material raining down on them as it was chipped away by the incoming rounds. She was mad at Joel for putting himself in harm’s way on her account but grateful for his thoughtfulness. If something happened to him, though, she’d have to live with his decision to give her the vest. But she knew better than to argue, especially right now.

  She recognized that look in Joel’s eye. The sweet, gentle boy that always made sure to wake up before her somehow and bring her wildflowers and coffee in the morning had checked out, replaced by a man molded by the realities of the life he was living. While this transformation was beneficial in situations like the one they were facing, it also made her uneasy. She worried about Joel’s willingness to take risks. His determination to protect her at any cost was evident, but the idea of a life without him seemed unbearable. The prospect of losing him due to his heroic actions weighed heavily on her heart, which was why she needed to get back into the fight.

  She fastened the last vest strap and made her way back into shooting position as her mother, Ben, and Joel expended round after round in an effort to take down the approaching motorcycles. It felt like the bikers were toying with them now, moving in and out of range. They were currently close in, though, and Ben was operating the machine gun at a blistering rate, causing the barrel to smoke as he rattled through ammunition. The noise was almost unbearable, but she willed herself to concentrate and joined the fray.

  A second bike went down in a far less dramatic fashion than the first, but it didn’t matter because both men were dead, or had to be close to it, when they hit the ground, their bodies riddled with bullets. Ben let off the trigger, silencing the M249 for a moment as Joel filled the gap and emptied his magazine. Allie joined him, focusing her efforts on the bike that he’d been aiming for, judging by the display of sparks.

  “Another one down,” Joel celebrated while dumping his magazine and exchanging it for a fresh one.

  Allie wasn’t sure if it was she or Joel who was responsible for the downed rider, but in the moment, it didn’t matter. There’d be plenty of time later to wallow in guilt and wonder if she’d justly taken another life. For now, though, there were still three more motorcycles with murderous bandits on board to contend with. And all but one of the bikes carried two people.

  “One more down,” Sandy shouted from behind the crumpled sedan as the bike with the lone rider took a spill. Her mom had managed to hit the bike’s tire as the man attempted to turn around and head back the other way. The bikers weren’t retreating, just trying to stay out of range and take potshots at Allie and the others while using a few older wrecks and the remains of the CJ-7 as cover.

  The man got up from the ground slowly, his tattered jeans exposing the bloody road rash he’d picked up during his slide to an eventual stop. His AR-15 survived the crash intact, held to his back with a sling. The downed biker reached for his gun as he staggered to a more upright position, but the wreck had slowed his movements considerably.

  Boom.

  Allie jumped again as the deep base of Ben’s rifle was amplified off the blacktop, the concussive energy passing through her like a gust of hot air. The bullet struck center mass, and the man stopped reaching for the gun on his back. Allie expected him to hit the ground any second, but instead, he went for the pistol in his belt. She couldn’t believe the bullet hadn’t dropped him on the spot. The downed motorcyclist must have been in shock, but that didn’t mean he was no longer a threat, and apparently, he was anxious to prove it.

  Ben ran the bolt on his rifle to take another shot, but Sandy beat him to the punch and put three rounds into the man’s chest. The recently downed biker took two steps backward and fell to the ground, flat on his back, where he stopped moving altogether.

  “One more,” Sandy shouted.

  Allie found it difficult to fathom the transformation her mother had undergone in the past few weeks. She admired the way her mom had embraced their new life, and although Allie wasn’t sure what Durango held for them, she was certain that they could handle almost anything together. The worry she harbored for her mother was overshadowed by her immense pride; her mom had risen to the occasion of protecting them.

  They still had two motorcycles to deal with, but they were making progress, and for the first time since taking cover behind this skeleton of a truck, Allie had a notion that they were going to be all right when the dust settled here today.

  20

  Ben held down the trigger, ripping through the last several dozen rounds in the M249’s ammunition box, pausing only twice in the process to re-aim the wily piece of hardware. These guys were either stupid or legends in their own minds.

  The motorcycles with the passengers presented the biggest threat. They were highly maneuverable, heavily fortified with steel plating—almost to the ground—and had the ability to return fire with some degree of accuracy. All those things added up to an extremely formidable target.