Sandy began to dig out the stove and a pot and prepared to make a meal on the lowered tailgate.

  “How about something a little quicker? It’s not a good idea to stick around here, especially considering…” Ben didn’t speak their names but eyeballed the newcomers to the group. “We don’t know the situation. They look harmless enough, but either way, I’m sure the camp is looking for them. I’d like to not stick around and find out.”

  “But what about sitting out the heat? It’s brutal out there.” Sandy’s gaze drifted toward the interstate through the trees.

  “I know, I know. But—” Ben stopped speaking abruptly, freezing in place.

  “What is it?” Sandy asked.

  “Guys, quiet down. Listen,” Ben said in a hushed but stern tone, causing the others to freeze.

  The buzz grew louder. He was right; he had heard something.

  “Hear that?” Ben cupped a hand at his ear. “It’s an engine.”

  “I hear it. It’s coming down the river,” Brad shouted, louder than Ben would have liked, but at least he knew the noise wasn’t in his head.

  “Grab the gear and load up. We’re leaving now.” Ben grabbed the MP5 from the Blazer and slung it over his back, choosing to carry the AR-15 as his primary weapon while the kids launched into a fury of moving parts, loading dogs, breaking down the water-filtration setup, and stowing gear. Sandy tossed the stove back into the Blazer and slammed the tailgate shut. Ben turned to look at her, his lips pressed together.

  She shrugged. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just get those dogs loaded up so we can get out of here.” Ben noticed Emma was having a hard time with Gunner, who’d decided to play a little game of keep-away with Sam’s tennis ball as she and Brad tried to coax the stubborn dog into the Jeep. Ben was tempted to raise his voice at the dog and force him to listen, but they’d already made too much noise.

  “And what about them? We can’t just leave them here to fend for themselves… Right?” Sandy wasn’t really asking, and she was right.

  “No.” Ben sighed. “I guess put them in the Blazer with us.”

  Sandy nodded and went to help the kids with the dogs. This definitely wasn’t how Ben saw his day going. The idea of adding two more people to an already overloaded truck struck him as absurd, although there was no real alternative, none that he could stomach, at least. The girl and her grandmother had clearly been through enough already. If they were recaptured, they might not live to see another day, judging by the look in Evelyn’s eyes when she choked up. As much as he hated to confess, Ben couldn’t allow that, even if it put the rest of them in danger.

  He slid in behind the beached deadfall wedged into the riverbank and used the scope on his carbine to scout the river above their location. He didn’t have to wait long before he spotted the source of the noise. A small jon boat, not unlike the aluminum skiff Jack used for duck-hunting in the marshes, appeared from around a dry gravel bar sprouting several clumps of grass that had concealed the vessel until now.

  There were two men on board the craft, and they were heading right for the cut in the river that Ben and the others had been using as a rest stop. The man on the tiller, sporting a ball cap and sunglasses, held an AR-15, muzzle up next to his leg. A second man up front lay in the prone position, carbine balanced on a bipod mounted to the lower handguard. The two were scouring the shoreline, undoubtably for the woman and child and most likely the source of the recent noises they’d heard.

  Ben glanced over his shoulder to check on the progress the others were making. Gunner was finally in the Scrambler, but a whirlwind of activity in and around the Blazer reminded Ben just how crowded the truck was going to be. He checked back in with the approaching boat. Another twenty yards and the two men would be in a position to see the trucks tucked back in the shade of the trees. Thankfully, they’d parked the vehicles off the water far enough to remain in the tree line. Otherwise, Ben imagined he’d already be trading gunfire with the boat.

  Ben held his crosshairs on the man lying across the jon boat’s bow. He was the biggest threat, and if this encounter ended in a fight, Ben would take him out first. He was about to check on the others to see if they were ready to pull out yet when Joel slid to a stop in the sand next to him, sending a shower of dirt and gravel over the top of the dead tree Ben was hiding behind.

  “We’re ready to go. What’s the deal?” Joel huffed.

  Ben remained silent, pointing to the incoming boat instead.

  “She said they had a couple boats at the camp.” Joel laid his rifle over the log and looked at the men through his scope.

  Ben had planned on slipping back to the truck unseen, but that might not be possible now that Joel had joined him here behind the log. He should have been more specific with his instructions and had the others wait at the trucks when they were ready. He’d only taken a position between the approaching boat and the trucks in a last-ditch effort to draw fire away from the others if they were spotted.

  “Get back to the truck. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “But… Dad?”

  “No, Joel, get back to the Jeep and get moving. Take Emma with you. There’s no room in the Blazer. And keep your wits about you. There could be more of them coming through the woods.” Ben had considered that earlier before deciding on Evelyn and the girl, which he was now uncertain of again. He really hoped his group wasn’t being set up by the two.

  Joel snuck away slowly at first, then ran once he was over the crest of the bank, but it wasn’t fast enough.

  Crack, crack, crack. Ben repositioned himself against the log. Crack, crack, crack.

  The shots echoed off the surface of the water, announcing their presence to anyone within a few miles, including the people at the bridge encampment, if they didn’t already know. Ben had made a vow long ago that he was done giving people more chances than they deserved, and the two men in the boat were no exception. They were here with murder on their minds.

  The man operating the boat had reached for his rifle but never managed to get the weapon off the deck before taking three rounds to the chest. His body slumped over the tiller handle extension, sending the little boat into a repeating series of tight turns that caused the prone gunner up front to roll into the water. Ben wasn’t sure if they were both dead or not and really didn’t care. His focus now was on getting himself and the others out of here before anyone else showed up.

  He clawed his way to his feet and dug into the deep sand and gravel bank as he made his way forward over the crest and toward the trucks. He saw that Sandy was behind the wheel, which was exactly what he was hoping for, and Emma was in the Scrambler, with Gunner sandwiched tightly between her and Brad.

  “Go, go, go,” Ben shouted, then regretted it as he raised his arm to block a rooster tail of dirt from the Jeep’s rear tires.

  “Sorry,” Joel hollered over the spinning wheels but pulled out just the same. Sandy had the Blazer rolling forward at a couple of miles per hour and leaned over to fling the passenger door open as Ben closed in on the truck. He jumped the last few feet and slammed the door closed as soon as he was able to pull himself inside the vehicle.

  No sooner had Ben gotten settled and his weapon aimed out the window than a bullet zipped by from somewhere. There were others with the men in the boat. Ben and his group would have to fight their way out of here.

  33

  “Get down!” Ben turned to check on their new passengers and the dogs behind them crammed in the back.

  Bajer and Sam were way ahead of him, though, and judging by the looks on their faces, they fully understood what was going on. Bajer hugged the floor by the back seat, tail tucked, while Sam hunkered down on her bed.

  “You two, get down.” Ben repeated the order until, finally, Evelyn and Harper made themselves as flat as they could, with Evelyn lying on top. Turning to address the incoming gunfire, Ben pulled the MP5 from his back and stuck the barrel out the window. The weapon rattled away as he ran through most of the thirty-round magazine in a succession of bursts. He paused only to hang on for a split second when Sandy rounded the construction barrier much too fast. The rough transition from dirt trail to blacktop was abrupt, and the Blazer shuddered as it reentered the roadway.

  Regaining his balance, Ben spent the rest of the magazine on the wooded area behind them. He didn’t have any confirmed targets in mind, but his barrage of lead seemed to keep the incoming bullets at bay for now. He dumped the empty magazine and hunted for another in the console. The bag he’d been keeping spares in had toppled and spilled out among the other stuff he kept in there.

  More bullets whizzed by as he searched, but this time, it was Allie firing from overtop the Jeep’s roll bar.

  “God bless that girl.” Ben’s hand landed on the gentle curve of a loaded MP5 magazine, and he slammed it home. He was more conservative with his ammunition this time around and saved his bullets for actual targets. The dark shape of a body lurking behind an oak tree was his focus, and he put several rounds into the trunk, sending wood splinters flying.

  He spotted another. Allie had persuaded a woman to seek better cover with the onslaught of rounds from her AR-15, but she was out of bullets and had retreated from her position over the roll bar. Ben didn’t hesitate to take over for Allie and laid into the woman with a string of shots, leading her forward momentum and catching her on the run. She dropped her weapon and went down in a cloud of dust, disappearing as the Blazer swerved violently again, pinning Ben against the console momentarily.

  Sandy didn’t let the small amount of air she’d caught reentering the paved roadway deter her ambitions for escape one bit; she stayed on the gas pedal hard, following the Jeep through the thicket of tall grass obstructing the median. With a melody of rings and tangs, the weeds bounced off the Blazer’s sheet metal, and they plowed their way through the overgrowth at speeds Ben would never have dared to attempt otherwise. Once they were through the grass, Sandy took another hard left, tires moaning in protest against the hot asphalt until they finally straightened out.

  Ben scoured the landscape behind them for any signs of their attackers but saw nothing. He was going to advise Sandy to slow down but saw that she’d already backed off the throttle enough to ease his nerves about crashing.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control now.” Sandy was white-knuckling the wheel but otherwise looked surprisingly calm. “Besides, I need to keep up with your son.”

  Ben suddenly remembered that Emma and Brad were riding in the back of the Scrambler, not the best place to be for this kind of maneuvering.

  “Can we get up now?” Evelyn asked, her voice timid and shaken.

  “I think we’re in the clear,” Sandy stated.

  Ben reached out to the other truck on the two-way. “Come in, Joel. I think you can slow it down a little now. Over.”

  “That was them, definitely. I recognized that boat.” Evelyn’s face was pale white as she helped Harper get settled, buckling her in with one of the lap belts buried deep in the crack of the seat.

  “I’m not so sure we should do that. Look at the river. Over,” Allie answered for Joel. Her voice still held tones of excitement discernable through the static.

  On cue, everyone looked to their left. The river followed the highway for at least a mile or so, and although it was a considerable distance from the interstate, the lack of trees along its bank in this spot made the waterway visible from the road, along with a second boat that was chasing them.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sandy huffed. “What do they think they’re going to do, catch us by boat?”

  No sooner had Sandy spoken than a bullet whizzed by the vehicle.

  Ben turned and was about to ask Emma to pass him his M24, then realized she wasn’t there. “You might want to get back down.”

  He leaned back, half out of his seat, and grabbed his rifle while Evelyn and Harper resumed their position.

  Ben wrapped his seat belt around his left leg and locked his door before pulling himself out of the open window. Sticking his right foot under the Blazer’s dashboard, he locked himself into position against the jarring blast of hot wind that threatened to rip him from the truck. At this speed and stability, the odds of hitting his target were slim, but he couldn’t just sit back and let these idiots take potshots at the trucks for the next mile or so.

  Boom.

  Ben let one fly but saw it splash down several feet behind the boat’s stern. He was about to run the bolt and reload when he felt the truck sway toward the shoulder.

  “Hang on. Going right,” Sandy warned.

  Ben felt the truck move right and was subsequently pressed into the roof. Then she steered left, and he was pulled the other way and fighting to stay attached. He grabbed the rack rail with one hand and his rifle with the other, clinging to both until the Blazer straightened out and they’d passed the wreck she was avoiding.

  Chambering a round, Ben prepared to take another shot when he spotted a muzzle flash through his scope. A split second later, another bullet zipped overhead.

  Crack… crack… crack.

  Ben heard Allie join the fight again but didn’t look away from his scope, her shots splashing down aft of the boat as well. Neither of them had led the craft sufficiently to score a hit. He’d make sure to compensate for that on his next attempt.

  Boom.

  Ben felt the overheated metal roof and rough texture of the thermal paint dig into his skin as the rifle kicked. But this time, the precarious and uncomfortable position he’d taken paid off with a hit. One of the three men on the boat dropped his weapon and tumbled over the side, quickly disappearing in the fast-moving vessel’s wake and the muddy brown water.

  “Good shot,” Sandy hooted.

  Ben ran the bolt and squared up on the man running the jon boat. Now that he was dialed in, he could put an end to this madness. They all deserved to taste his lead, but as a very smart man once said, There are no solutions, only tradeoffs. And right now, their safety was worth more than the compensation he felt could be achieved by eliminating these predators for the trouble they’d caused.

  Zing. Boom.

  Another incoming round screamed by as Ben fired his rifle, but not before he felt the truck begin to shift lanes again.

  “Going right,” Sandy called out.

  But it was too late, and his bullet hit water again, along with another few rounds from Allie’s weapon. Ben grabbed the roof rack and hung on as he experienced the opposite pull and push of external forces working against him. He saw the wreck pass by out of the corner of his eye and felt Sandy bring the Blazer back to center, allowing him to get back into shooting position. But the river was gone, and so was the boat. Glancing behind them, Ben observed the winding, muddy curve of the river as it veered away from the highway, gradually vanishing into a densely wooded expanse.

  “Are you coming back in now? You’re making me nervous,” Sandy exclaimed.

  Ben pulled himself back inside the cab and sat in silence for a second as he recovered from the blasting air.

  “You’re both making me nervous,” she added.

  Ben wasn’t sure what Sandy was talking about. Then he saw Allie still braced above the Jeep’s roll bar. As if she’d somehow sensed her mother’s concern, Allie gave them a quick wave and dropped out of sight. Joel slowed the Scrambler and began to change lanes, another wreck ahead. At least Ben wasn’t hanging halfway out the window this time.

  They all sat in silence for a minute or two as they returned to a more conservative speed and processed what had just happened. Then Ben realized Evelyn and Harper were still cowering in the back seat.

  “Now you can get up. I promise.” Ben smiled, but his upper lip stuck to his teeth; he was so parched from being pummeled by arid, gale-force winds. He probably looked half crazed, and after what had just happened, his new passengers might think he was. He licked his lips with what little spit he had left. “They’re gone.”

  Evelyn sat up cautiously. Wide-eyed and visibly shaken, she looked around to see for herself. Harper pulled herself up off Bajer and climbed into her grandmother’s lap. Bajer took advantage of the space left on the seat and their return to a relatively calm state and quickly claimed the rest of the bench for herself. Sam was already over the incident, busy licking her injured paw between bouts of heavy panting.

  Ben wished he could recover as quickly as the dogs from life-or-death situations, but then again, those were the emotions that helped keep him and the others alive.

  “So, Hayes?” Sandy broke the silence that had settled in once more as they continued down the interstate.

  “Yes, we really do appreciate you giving us a ride and getting us out of there. I wish there was some way we could repay you. Maybe when we reach Hayes, we can give you some supplies from the house?” Evelyn offered.

  They’d been through enough already, and Ben didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth, although they’d find out soon enough, so he refrained from interjecting. Whatever they were expecting to be waiting for them back home was most likely gone. Which brought up another concern. How could Ben and the others drop the two off at a burned-out shell of a house and expect to go merrily on their way?

  “That’s okay, really. We were already headed this way. It’s no bother.” Sandy shrugged as if she and the others did this type of thing daily.

  Ben had to smile at Sandy’s nonchalance. The woman had come a long way since they first met, and he couldn’t help but be impressed by her ability to adapt. He supposed that was yet another one of the reasons he was falling for her.

  “Where are you headed anyway?” Evelyn asked.

  “Durango, Colorado,” Sandy answered.

  That was the short answer, and Ben was happy to leave it at that. He had neither the energy nor the desire to detail the events that had led them to this point. And as it turned out, he wouldn’t have to say much at all anyway. Evelyn and Sandy seemed more than happy to trade stories about the last few weeks of their lives. He was only half listening and occupied himself with studying the atlas—or at least pretending to—and trying to catch glimpses of the kids in the back of the Scrambler.