Ben stripped the empty drum away from the SAW and slammed a thirty-round replacement into the slot, allowing for the use of a standard magazine. If this kept up much longer, Army regs would have required him to swap the barrel out. But that wasn’t going to happen, mostly because he’d left the spare in the truck.

  He wished the bikers would come closer. Every time they got within range of the M249’s lethal ability, they peeled off into the tall grass and circled back for another run of trading shots with Ben and the others. It was like the bikers knew the exact limits of their armor.

  Ben and his crew were whittling the gang down slowly, but he feared the remaining two bikes would prove immune to their bullets thanks to their design. Even the riders’ leathers were adorned with some light steel plating that seemed capable of repelling the 5.56 rounds and the .338 at range.

  Then Ben noticed one of the men that had gone down earlier pulling himself across the pavement toward the shoulder of the highway. If he made it into the tall grass, they’d lose him, and that was a concern thanks to the shotgun strapped to his back. The kids and the dogs were over on the side of the road he was heading for. Ben wasn’t sure how banged up the guy was, but there was potential for him to crawl down along the shoulder and flank them. Letting him survive was too great a risk.

  Boom.

  Ben chambered another round, then checked through his scope to make sure the crawling man was dead. Satisfied, he laid the rifle down and manned the SAW once more but held his fire.

  Crack… crack… crack… crack.

  Ben listened to the others shooting while keeping an eye on the remaining motorcycles. They needed a new plan or they’d be here all day, taking potshots at these two brazen idiots and wasting ammunition.

  “Hold your fire,” Ben called out. “Let’s see what they do. Maybe if they think we’re out, they’ll come in closer.”

  “And then what? We’re not touching them through that armor.” Joel flinched as a bullet zipped overhead.

  “I know. I’m thinking.” Ben didn’t know the best way out of this, but he was starting to feel like a baked potato that had been left in the oven too long. He licked his lips but couldn’t come up with enough spit to provide any relief. His ChapStick was in the Blazer, along with the spare barrel for the M249 and what little water they had left.

  “You’re a hundred percent sure about that roadblock?” Ben asked again.

  Joel confirmed what he’d reported earlier. “We can get through, but we’re going to have to use a tow strap to open up a path. It’s not going to be easy.”

  “It’s just a single row of wrecked cars, but they were definitely put there on purpose,” Allie added.

  Ben was at least encouraged to hear they wouldn’t have to double back in order to cross the river and continue on into Kansas, but the last thing he wanted to do was exert more energy in this heat by clearing the highway. Right now, though, he’d happily accept the challenge in lieu of their current situation.

  “Ben, look!” Sandy shouted.

  Ben turned to see both bikes heading straight at them, the sound of their escalating exhaust exposing their intentions as the bikes wound through the gears and picked up speed. The bikers were going to try and get on the other side of the truck and take Ben’s group out from behind. The Jeep and Blazer could provide cover from that angle, but at what cost? Flat tires, busted mechanical components… The possibilities for damage were endless if they allowed the motorcycles to get behind them and the trucks ended up in the line of fire. This could be the end of their trip.

  Ben hadn’t given the signal to resume shooting yet, but that didn’t stop the others from opening fire on the speeding bikes. But Ben had another idea. He backed out from under the truck, leaving both weapons on the ground.

  “Dad, where are you⁠—”

  “Trust me.” Ben hastily grabbed the tow strap from the Blazer’s bumper-mounted cargo carrier and tossed the loose end to Joel. “Tie it off to the axle, quickly.”

  Ben didn’t wait around to make sure his son accomplished what he’d asked him to do and instead flung the coiled strap across the highway as hard as he could, like a fireman unwinding a hose.

  “Cover me,” he shouted.

  As soon as the others started shooting, Ben sprinted for the median and the other end of the tow strap. Chunks of pavement exploded around him as the bikers tried to take him out. With any luck, they wouldn’t notice what he was doing until it was too late. Ben hit the hard, unforgiving ground and rolled into the overgrown median strip in a cloud of dust, finding temporary relief from the shooting. But there was no time to catch his breath.

  He located the hooked end of the recovery strap a few feet away and snatched it off the ground. There was a road sign nearby, and he ran to it with the strap in hand, making sure not to take up the slack lying across the road. He worked his way around the sign, fighting the chest-high weeds as they scratched at his skin, then moved back toward the road, where he crouched down for a second.

  Ben stood slowly until he could see over the crisp brown weeds. The bikers were still coming, and they were close. He wasn’t sure Joel had been able to get his end of the strap secured, but he was about to find out.

  Wait for it… Wait.

  “Now!” Ben’s shout was half grunt, half battle cry as he put everything he had into taking the slack out of the limp tow strap lying across the road.

  He made several speedy wraps around the sign’s metal legs at about waist height, the slick nylon material allowing him to synch down on the line and add exponentially to the tension in the strap. The bright yellow tow strap vibrated with energy, hovering just a few feet off the road’s surface as Ben braced himself against the imminent force of the bikes.

  The first bike was several yards ahead of the other, and the driver never saw the chest-high strap coming. There was no time to slow down. A few of the wraps fastened around the sign stanchion jumped violently under the strain of impact until, finally, the coils stopped giving way and held fast like a boa constrictor settling in for the kill. The bike’s forward momentum halted abruptly; however, the rider and his passengers did not. Both men were thrown from the bike, sailing through the air with limbs outstretched, flailing like rag dolls.

  Before the first two riders had a chance to land, the second speeding bike joined the chaos, making contact with the tow strap as it snapped back into place. Although the driver of the second bike had some warning and managed to get on his brakes at the last second, it wasn’t enough to prevent disaster. The bike went sideways as the driver attempted to avoid the first wreck already lying on the ground. The maneuver proved moderately successful, allowing the driver to slip under the tow strap by mere inches. His passenger wasn’t as lucky, though, and the strap caught him dead center in his chest, flinging him backward off the bike and onto the hard ground. Ben heard the man hit the pavement with a thud that he swore he felt through the soles of his boots.

  Ben let the end of the bright yellow toe strap fall from his grasp and reached for his pistol. The first two who were unfortunate enough to discover the tow strap lay motionless on the ground. Ben wouldn’t be surprised if they were both dead, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

  Crack… crack… crack.

  Before Ben could react, Joel opened up on the second biker through the close-line-style trap. The man who’d avoided direct contact with the strap and laid his bike down was reaching for his weapon, but he wasn’t fast enough. No doubt the spill had left him more than a little dazed. Ben drew down on his passenger; the man was down and not moving, but he maintained his grip on an AR-15. The lack of a helmet and quick introduction to the asphalt hadn’t gone well for the armed passenger, though, judging by the pool of blood forming around his head.

  Ben concentrated on the first two riders, who’d slid several yards past their landing spot, leaving a trail of skin and blood on the highway in their wake. One of them was moving now, and although the wounded man’s situation was hopeless, he wasn’t willing to accept defeat. Ben admired his determination, and in a way, he was even thankful for it. It made what needed to be done a lot easier.

  Crack… crack.

  Two rounds from Ben’s Glock put the man out of his misery and prevented him from reaching the sawed-off shotgun wedged in the twisted bike’s fairing. The man looked too weak to pose any real threat, but Ben was tired of playing games today and couldn’t come up with a compelling reason to extend the biker any grace. After all, Ben and the others hadn’t been afforded any mercy by this gang of ruthless thieves, and Ben saw no justification for extending their lives.

  If you’re gonna be dumb, you better be tough.

  Ben stared at the body for a few seconds more, then turned toward the others as they emerged from their hiding places around the charred box truck. Joel and Allie were closest to the action and approached quietly, taking it all in. Ben regretted shooting the man so coldly now, but it wasn’t out of pity for the biker; he was worried what the kids might think. There was a time when he might have let the guy go, but things were different now. And although survival was no more important or any less difficult than it had ever been, it sure felt like it.

  Sandy exhaled deeply as she surveyed the wreckage and the scattered, twisted bodies of their assailants. No one said a word for what felt like minutes until Brad emerged from the overgrown shoulder with Gunner at his side.

  “Whoa.” Brad’s eyes widened as he studied the scene.

  “Give me a hand, will you, Joel?” Ben started making his way around what had turned into a spectacle of broken bikes and bodies, collecting weapons from the fallen gang members.

  “Yeah, sure thing.” Joel jumped into action, and Allie followed along with her mother.

  “Can you guys get the dogs loaded up, please?” Ben directed his question toward Emma and Brad, who were still easing their way out of the weeds and gawking at the gruesome results of the fight.

  There were more of the gang down by the river encampment, and it would only be a matter of time before they showed up here. Ben had no intention of waiting around to meet them, although the temptation to finish what he’d started here and deliver a little well-deserved justice was hard to resist. But he valued the kids’ safety too much to risk getting involved in another situation that could just as easily go south for them.

  In a matter of minutes, Ben and the others had the bikers’ bodies cleared from the roadway and their weapons confiscated. He and Joel tossed the gang’s belongings over the side of the elevated highway, taking a few seconds to enjoy the clatter of guns hitting the rocks below and making sure any weapons that hadn’t already been rendered useless in the crash were now broken.

  Ben didn’t want the bikers’ weapons, nor did he need them, not to mention the Jeep and Blazer were already overloaded. But he also didn’t want to leave the guns lying around for the rest of the gang to recover. Why make it easy for them to torment other unsuspecting travelers? He was sure the guns they’d collected and disposed of weren’t the only weapons the gang had, but it felt good just the same. And it was a reasonable compromise since he wasn’t going to stick around and add to the pile of bodies hidden in the weeds a few yards away.

  21

  Ben scouted the area for anything important he might have forgotten while the kids and Sandy finished loading up. Gunner had his own ideas about when they’d leave, though, and apparently, that was after he’d personally inspected the mangled bodies and broken motorcycles littering the highway.

  “I got him.” Ben chased after the curious dog as fast as his knee would allow, doing his best to keep up with Gunner, who was following the trail of blood and wreckage into the tall grass.

  “We still need to collect the SAW and the ammunition belt links for the drum mag,” Ben called over his shoulder, hoping Emma and Brad would take up the task of retrieving the remaining gear with the older kids’ help.

  Emma stood near the remnants of the box truck. She stared underneath the decimated cargo area, eyeing the scattered links littering the ground where Ben had burned through the box magazine as he held off the gang’s advances. “I guess I know what I’ll be doing while we’re driving.”

  Ben stopped, turning to face his daughter for a moment. “It’s an important job, and because of your hard work piecing the ammo belt back together the last time, we’re still here to talk about it.” Ben offered his daughter words of encouragement, aiming to underscore the significance of their teamwork.

  He was putting off crawling back under the truck for his knee’s sake, but if he could get the kids to do it and keep them from following Gunner toward the dead bikers, that was a win in his book. Brad and Emma weren’t stupid. They knew exactly what had gone down out here on the road. For all Ben knew, they could have been watching the whole thing. In fact, he’d wager anything that Brad had found a good vantage point from which to observe the action.

  Ben’s attempts to shield the younger two, at the very least, from the harsh realities they confronted proved as futile as his attempts to maintain cleanliness in a world encrusted in dust and grime. He was well aware that protecting his children from the less desirable facets of survival was an uphill battle he couldn’t win, yet the persistent guilt of falling short hadn’t lost its sting.

  When Ben caught up to Gunner, he’d already discovered the pile of bodies. Ben, Joel, Allie, and Sandy hadn’t gone too far out of their way to hide the disfigured bikers. They weren’t doing it for any other reason than to minimize the trauma to Brad and Emma and to clear the road so they didn’t have to drive over the dead or their wrecked motorcycles. Their attackers didn’t deserve any extra consideration or respect, but a bike part in one of their tires was a parting gift Ben could do without. And while he was in a modest hurry to leave, there was no need to be reckless.

  “Come on, boy. We need to get going.” Ben encouraged Gunner to wrap up his investigation.

  Gunner sniffed the pile of bodies once more, then turned his back on them and started for the trucks at Ben’s insistence. Out of the overgrown median and back on the hot pavement, Gunner picked up his pace. He trotted the rest of the way to the Scrambler, loaded up onto the passenger’s seat, and then made his way through to the back to wait for Brad.

  The kids were gathering the last of the belt clips from under the box truck while Joel loaded the M249 into the Blazer.

  “How much farther are we going today?” Joel looked to the horizon and the setting sun.

  “Thanks to the welcome party here, I’d say a little farther than originally planned. There’s no telling how far their friends will go in the name of retribution.” Ben glanced past the charred box truck toward the wrecked CJ-7 and the bridge beyond.

  While the setting sun released its final punishment on the earth for the day, its fading rays ignited the road’s surface in a golden glow, highlighting waves of heat that danced in the air. The landscape beyond wavered and bent, enveloped in a thermal aura from the asphalt that seemed to exhale the day’s final warning. The road and the distant landscape quivered in the intense heat, blurring the boundary between reality and illusion.

  Ben almost expected another group of motorcycles to materialize from the wavering mirage, but the deceptive shimmer revealed nothing, although the glossy apparition served as a bitter reminder of the scarce water they urgently needed and the unforgiving drought afflicting the land around them. The mirage, slick and insubstantial, heightened the sense of thirst and emphasized the harsh realities of the challenges lying immediately ahead of them.

  “Dad… Dad. We’re all set.” Joel headed for the truck after finally getting his dad’s attention.

  Ben hadn’t realized he was still staring off into the distance. The dancing waves of heat had put him into a trance-like state, allowing him to slip into deep thought about the struggles waiting for them down the road. He and Joel were still wearing the same clothes as when they’d slogged through the ditch back where Sam had been abducted.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna change real quick,” Ben stated, then made his way to the Blazer’s tailgate.

  Rummaging through his bag, Ben found a fresh set of clothes, shedding the mud-encrusted outfit until he stood in just his boxers. Nearby, Joel seized the opportunity and followed suit, finding cover behind the Jeep’s oversized spare tire. Although the day was far from over and promised more chances to get dirty, Ben yearned to feel human again. As they prepared for what lay ahead, the simple act of changing clothes offered a brief respite and a much-needed morale boost to help them cope with the journey that stretched before them.

  Ben and Joel finished dressing and loaded up into their respective vehicles. Ben searched for his partially full Nalgene and swallowed several big gulps of warm water. Though he could have drained the entire container and dipped into his last remaining full bottle, he thought it wise to be conservative with the dwindling resource.

  Lingering anywhere close to their current location to search for water was simply too dangerous. As soon as the rest of the bridge gang realized their cohorts weren’t coming back with spoils from the attack, they’d be on the hunt for answers. For Ben and his crew, staying one step ahead of their pursuers was the priority until they could rack up enough miles to search for water without having to exercise more than the usual amount of caution to stay out of trouble. And that went for making camp as well.

  As the day neared its end, they found themselves with plenty to accomplish, racing against the fading daylight to achieve more than the remaining hours would permit. Add in the likelihood of being hunted by a crazed gang of desperate thieves, and there was really no choice in the matter; they had to drive well past their usual cutoff time. Avoiding the road in the darkness of night was a rule they’d bent before, but for the first time in a while, Ben was considering throwing the precedent out altogether.

  It was time to look at the map, and based on Sandy’s decision—or, rather, insistence—on getting back behind the wheel, he’d have time to do that.