by Bruno Miller
Ben tried to focus on the forest that surrounded them. It wouldn’t be long before they’d be back out on the flatlands of the Midwest. And although it seemed like they would never get there at their current rate of travel, he knew what lay ahead, and that worried him to some degree as well.
Their current location was the farthest north they would be on this trip, and if it were this hot and dry at this latitude, what was the climate like farther south? It was already the end of June, and the temperatures weren’t getting any cooler. This was the first time Ben had given serious consideration to the possibility of taking a different way home.
After Cloverdale, they could stay on I-70 until just before St. Louis, then turn north and follow the upper Mississippi River until they hit I-80 again. That would mean driving through Iowa and Nebraska, but the higher elevations meant cooler weather, and the desolate areas they would be traveling through were a bonus. A northern route would certainly add a few days to their trip, but it might make for a better experience. Their chances of finding fresh water and food were more likely, as they would intersect with some major rivers along the way.
The new plan would take them through uncharted territory as well. But based on the trouble they ran into along I-70, that wasn’t a big concern. Ben could certainly do without being reminded of some of the challenges they faced traveling east. And he was sure the kids would agree. He’d have to give it some more thought and then maybe talk it over with the others when they stopped for lunch.
“Why don’t you try to get some rest?” Sandy adjusted her sitting position.
“I’m okay.”
“Well, I’m going to need a break driving at some point later today, so you might as well—”
“Wait. Sorry, but do you hear that?” Ben held up his finger. The truck’s exhaust sounded different, and he couldn’t tell if they were having mechanical problems or if Martin was back to his old tricks. But the Scout remained at a steady pace and the noise wasn’t coming from in front of them.
Sandy checked the instrument panel. “Everything looks fine.”
Ben turned in his seat to see if the Blazer was putting off any smoke. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t the armor-clad Mustang pulling out from behind the last wreck they’d passed. He recognized the sound now, and as the Mustang started to speed up, Ben’s heart sank. He knew in his gut they hadn’t seen the last of that car, but he was really hoping to be wrong for once.
Chapter Seventeen
Ben really regretted missing the shot he had at the driver, especially now that the Mustang was back on their tails. But this was no time to think about what he should have done. They needed to come up with a plan to deal with this guy before he caused a serious accident. It was a good thing there was a lot of distance between them still; it gave Ben a little time to think.
He put his hand on Sandy’s arm. “Don’t panic, but the Mustang is back.”
Sandy gasped and started to turn to look behind them, but Ben stopped her. “Just focus on driving. He’s a little ways back yet.”
Sandy swallowed hard and repositioned her hands on the steering wheel, wrapping her fingers around it tightly as the Blazer began to speed up. They couldn’t indulge the Mustang in a high-speed chase, not only because they probably couldn’t outrun it, but mainly because Ben was sure they’d end up breaking one of the vehicles—or worse. And even if they wanted to run, there was no way Rita and Carlos would be able to keep up. What were they supposed to do? Leave them behind? That wasn’t an option, and he knew it.
“What are we going to do?” Sandy bit her lip as she continuously checked the rearview mirror.
“I want you to slow down.” Ben spoke as calmly as he could.
“You what?” Sandy glanced at him, then back at the road, a line etched between her brows.
“Slow down. We have to keep him from getting past us and reaching the others. Em, honey, I want you back down on the seat, flat, and call Sam down with you.” Ben rattled off instructions without looking up from his M24. He inserted a freshly loaded magazine and tried not to think about how none of this would be happening had they been driving faster.
Emma was already lying down across the bench seat and trying to coax Sam to join her. The big yellow dog resisted leaving her nest but quickly moved out of the way when she realized Ben was moving to the back of the truck.
“Get on the radio to Joel and let him know what’s going on. Tell him to pick up the pace a little but not so much he loses Rita. We need them to get ahead of us so we have space to maneuver. So you have space.” Ben and Sandy locked eyes for a moment in the rearview mirror. “You can do this.” Sandy looked away, and Ben crawled the rest of the way over the seat and took a prone position across the gear. He was thankful for the cushy dog bed under his ribs. Using his left foot, he braced himself against the back of the passenger seat and searched for the Mustang in his scope.
In the background, Ben heard Sandy and Joel chatter back and forth over the radio and recognized the tone of Joel’s voice immediately.
“Just tell him I said do it. No arguments.” Ben needed to concentrate, and he could do that better knowing Joel was doing what he had been asked and leading the others away from the maniac behind them. There was no time for arguments or heroics. This was about eliminating a threat the safest and quickest way possible. And that was just what Ben intended on doing.
“This is gonna get loud. Might want to cover your ears.” The warning was more for Emma, who had the ability to block out the sound. Sandy would need to keep her hands on the wheel, but Ben wanted her to be ready as well.
Shooting the .338 Lapua from inside the truck was going to be a little jarring, to say the least. Even with the windows open, they were all destined to go to bed tonight with ringing in their ears. He inched his way toward the back of the truck and pushed the muzzle out beyond the rear window and the cab of the Blazer. It was the best he could do to help mitigate the impending shockwave of kinetic energy he was about to unleash.
He wished there was time to pull over and get set up in a proper shooting position; this would be a hard shot on a good day. Between the necessary maneuvers Sandy was making to avoid abandoned vehicles on the road and the deliberate zigzagging of the Mustang, it was extremely difficult to get a fix on the thin slots cut in the armor. Ben tried to steady himself as the Blazer took a rough bounce.
Boom! Ben took the shot but knew it was off before he saw the sparks fly from the metal plating. The only thing louder than the gun was Emma’s scream as the Blazer jerked to the left and then corrected course just as fast.
“Sorry,” Sandy apologized.
“Cover your ears,” Ben shouted over the wind rushing through the truck. Sandy was inadvertently speeding up again. He didn’t blame her. It went against any sane person’s instinct to slow down when being chased, but speed wasn’t the answer here. Good, smooth driving and solid, deliberate actions behind the wheel would get them through this. And Emma needed to cover her ears if she was going to scream every time he took a shot and cause Sandy’s driving to suffer.
“You’re doing great, but we need to slow down a little,” Ben called out.
“I’m trying,” she answered. Ben settled in for another shot at the Mustang and felt the Blazer slow. He tried to focus on the front tires, not because he didn’t want to kill the driver, but because he thought he might have a better chance at doing some damage capable of stopping the chase. Ben winced as Sandy hit a rough spot on the road and something sharp poked into his rib through the dog bed. As soon as the road smoothed out, he resumed lining up his shot.
There was no shot, though. And as he zeroed in on the right front tire, he saw that the Mustang had a steel plate welded to the front bumper, leaving only an inch or so between the pavement and the armor. Trying to take out a tire through that small of an opening wouldn’t be any easier than getting a shot through the slit in front of the driver. He tried his best to anticipate the bumps in
the road, but it was impossible.
Boom! He knew his aim was off but took the shot anyway, if for no other reason than to let the driver of the Mustang know they weren’t letting up. Ben expected Emma to scream again and glanced backward while cycling the rifle bolt, but she was quiet this time. He was encouraged to see the back end of the Scout so far ahead of them. With the others a couple hundred yards away, it gave Sandy a little breathing room to maneuver the Blazer. But the feeling didn’t last long, disappearing altogether when he met Sandy’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He recognized the expression on her face.
“Two more!” He didn’t get what she meant at first but understood immediately when he turned his attention back toward the Mustang and saw that two motorcycles had joined the chase. This just keeps getting better. The bikes had appeared out of nowhere, and it took his brain a moment to acknowledge that what he was seeing was real.
“Em, I need you to pass me the AR-15 and a couple mags from the console.” What Ben needed now was quantity, not quality. He considered using the Kel-Tech, but the motorcycles were too far back for the shotgun to be effective, even with the Dragon’s Breath rounds. To the bikers, both of whom were heavily protected with helmets and what he recognized as low-grade body armor, a shot from the 12-gauge would feel no worse than driving through a swarm of flies. Ben wasn’t sure if they had steel inserts in place, but he was anxious to find out and would have already if it weren’t for the additional protection on the bikes themselves.
The motorcycles fit right in with the Mustang, with steel plates and other sharpened pieces of metal welded to their shrouds and frames wherever possible. Not only were the modifications intimidating to look at, but they also created a cocoon of armor that all but obscured the riders from his perspective. The bikers weren’t as well protected as their partner in the car, but landing a decent shot would still be challenging, given the bikes’ agility.
“Em—” Ben started to yell but stopped when he felt the butt of the AR-15 poking him in his side.
“Here.” Emma passed the rifle over the seat, followed by four thirty-round magazines he had just loaded earlier.
“Thanks,” he said, but she was gone, back under the sleeping bag with the dogs on the floor of the truck. Ben pushed the M24 aside and slapped a magazine into the AR-15. He wouldn’t have the accuracy of the .338, but that was proving to be a waste in these conditions anyway. Maybe he’d have more luck convincing their pursuers that this was a bad idea with the .223. With the freshly loaded magazines by his side, he had 120 good reasons why they should turn around.
But this wasn’t just a random bunch of looters. The Mustang and the bikes were too well set up to terrorize and intimidate unsuspecting travelers. These guys were well-practiced highway bandits, and they weren’t going to stop until Ben and the others were dead.
Chapter Eighteen
“It’s gonna get loud in here.” Ben tried to give the girls a heads-up, but he was afraid no amount of warning could prepare them for the assault he was about to unleash on their hearing. The AR-15 had a much shorter barrel than the M24, preventing him from pushing the muzzle much past the rear window. He was already closer to the edge of the tailgate than he wanted to be. As it was, he felt like he was on the verge of sliding out the back of the truck and onto the blacktop rushing by below him. It didn’t help matters any with Sandy picking up speed again.
Pop, pop, pop. The anticipated sharp crack of the AR-15 was absent, replaced by a much louder report that Ben felt in his chest with each pull of the trigger. The empty shell casings rattled off the side window of the Blazer’s cab while he did his best to ignore them and focus on the target.
The first three rounds sent sparks off the leading motorcycle’s shroud, causing the bike to swerve sharply and glance off the side of the Mustang as it tried to pass. Ben thought the bike was going down, but he was disappointed to see the rider recover control and steady the machine just in time to avoid colliding with the remains of an abandoned pickup truck along the edge of the road.
Pop, pop, pop…pop, pop, pop. Two more short bursts put the bike into peril once more, only this time, Ben didn’t let up. He emptied the rest of the magazine as fast as he could while maintaining control and staying on target. He felt the empty casings bounce off his body and ricochet around the inside of the truck. A few found their way down the collar of his shirt and burned him where they settled, but he was too focused on making his shots count to let it bother him. It was a small price to pay to help even the odds a little.
The rider seemed to have survived the barrage of bullets relatively unscathed, but the same couldn’t be said for his bike. Ben could see a trail of fluids behind the bike, and the rider was rapidly losing his ability to control the machine. Ben watched it all unfold in slow motion.
The front wheel of the bike began to wobble uncontrollably until it was sideways enough to bite the blacktop and send the bike diving into the left-hand lane. The rider went down hard and separated from the bike upon impact but followed behind in a short slide that left a trail of parts strewn across the blacktop.
Ben wasn’t sure if the accident had killed the man or not, but it didn’t matter; if he were still alive, the Mustang barreling toward him at full speed would finish the job. Maybe the driver couldn’t see very well through the small slits in the Mustang’s windshield, or maybe he intended on hitting the downed rider and bike at full speed, but Ben never saw any indication of the Mustang slowing down.
The lower plate welded onto the Mustang’s cowl acted like a plow, smashing through all but the smaller pieces of debris scattered along the road. The unsuspecting driver was next, and Ben looked away for a moment right before the car came into contact with the downed man. When he looked back, the body was wedged under the front of the Mustang and slowly but surely being forced through the one-inch gap at the bottom of the steel plate as the vehicle continued forward. The helmet was the only recognizable thing after several yards of the biker being dragged across the blacktop at speed. Refusing to give way and get sucked under the car, it hung on stubbornly.
To Ben, it looked like the old Ford sped up right before slamming into the bike. Maybe the driver had hoped to hit the motorcycle with enough force to plow right through the wreckage and continue the chase. The Mustang shuddered as the front end grappled with the sudden mass of an armored motorcycle under the front bumper. Unlike the flesh and bone of the rider, the bike refused to pass quietly under the Mustang, throwing sparks in every direction.
Ben was encouraged to see the car slowing down as it struggled to deal with the wreckage, the remaining pieces wedging themselves farther beneath the undercarriage with each passing moment. The remaining rider held back and coasted behind the Mustang, but Ben wasn’t taking any chances. He slapped a new magazine into place and charged the weapon as he searched for the other bike in his sights.
Pop, pop, pop…pop, pop, pop. Ben stopped after the second burst and watched the remains of the already downed bike ball up under the Ford and cause the car to launch itself up and over the wreckage. The entire Mustang shook violently, contorting the body of the car in the process, until it landed on the other side of the debris with a crash that shook the front end. The lower piece of armored plating, which had prevented Ben from getting a clean shot at the tires, flew off and skidded ahead of the Mustang.
He was tempted to shoot again but restrained himself. The other bike was stopping to check on the disabled Mustang, and both were fading fast from a decent shooting range.
“It’s over,” Ben called out. “Will you let Joel know? They can slow down now.”
“Got it,” Sandy shouted back. Ben was relieved but remained in position. With radio chatter in the background, he watched the smoking Mustang grow smaller on the highway behind them. The driver was out of the car now and walking around with the guy on the bike. Ben was disappointed that neither of them seemed hurt. He felt the Blazer ease into a gentle curve in the highway, and just like that, the Mustang wa
s gone from sight.
“Joel wants to know if they should stop somewhere up ahead and wait.” Sandy held the radio in one hand and kept the other on the wheel.
“No, no stopping. We’ll catch up to them. The Mustang’s down but not out.” Ben started to shimmy backward off the pile of gear and stopped when he reached the back seat. Both dogs stared up at him and wagged their tails as he climbed over them to the center console.
“Em… Emma, honey, it’s over.” Ben pulled the sleeping bag off her head and saw that she still had her ears covered and her eyes squeezed shut. He touched one of her hands and she jumped.
“Are they gone?” She pulled her hands away from her ears.
“Yes, it’s over,” Ben assured her as he continued making his way back into the passenger seat. Emma threw the sleeping bag off as best as she could with the dogs lying on top of her and slowly returned to her seat. Ben could breathe better now that he was back in his seat. The bed they’d made for Sam in the back provided a cushion between the gear and his ribs, but it hadn’t done anything for the pain he experienced when drawing in a normal breath while lying in the prone position.
He noticed Sandy was still shaken from the experience and had resumed her death grip on the steering wheel now that she wasn’t holding the radio.
He reached over and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You did a good job driving. It’s okay to relax for now.” Ben noticed the Scout not too far up ahead. He had no idea how Rita had managed to keep up with the others, but it was time to slow down before someone made a mistake.
“For now.” Sandy forced out a short laugh. “So do you think they’ll be back?”
“Maybe.” Ben glanced back at Emma, who met his gaze. “If they can even find us. We’ll be long gone before they get back on the road. The car took a lot of damage, and one of the bikers is done for.” He stopped himself from listing any more reasons why they were probably safe from the bandits. “But yeah, we need to keep an eye out.”