End Game (Will Robie #5)(50)

“Come on, Jess, move your ass. Things are getting tight.”

She regrouped and kept sliding, arching her back and legs in a yoga-like move to allow Robie to pass by underneath her. He slid into the passenger seat just as her butt hit the driver’s-side seat and she focused on the road up ahead.

Robie slid over the front seat into the back. Staying low, he took out Reel’s rifle and loaded it blind, keeping his gaze on the truck coming for them.

“They’re getting ready to fire again,” he warned. He glanced nervously back at Reel, hoping that whatever had gripped her wouldn’t prevent her from keeping the truck on the road when the incoming fire occurred. “You can do this, Jess. I know you can do it and so do you.”

The men in the truck beds opened fire, and Robie kept flattened in the back of the Yukon until the stream of bullets had passed.

The truck was holding straight and true, so Robie set up the rifle, took his sighting through the scope, and did what the idiots behind them should have already done.

He took out the front tires of the lead truck with two quick trigger pulls.

A vehicle moving that fast over uneven roads and losing its two front tires was not something that was going to end well.

Robie watched as the truck swerved to the right. The driver committed the cardinal error that had doomed so many others in the age of automobiles.

He overcorrected.

This sent the truck veering off at a sharp angle to the left. The tires left the asphalt, and then the point of no return had been reached.

The tires hit a soft spot in the dirt, dug in, and held.

And the truck flipped bow to aft. The men in the back were hurled out of the space, screaming and their limbs flailing, their guns falling from their grips, because they wouldn’t be needing them anymore. They wouldn’t be needing anything anymore.

They hit the dirt, rolled, and hit again.

The engine caught fire simultaneously with the cracked gas tank’s vapor being released.

“It’s going to blow,” called out Robie to Reel.

And a second later the truck became a blast furnace, cremating the men still inside.

An errant shot popped out of the cab as superheated ammo went off without the aid of a finger pulling a trigger.

“Keep it steady, Jess.”

There were two more trucks back there.

As Robie lined up his sights on the next truck, the skinheads finally wised up.

First the left rear tire was hit and then the right. The Yukon started to shake violently.

“Hold it steady, Jess,” called out Robie.

Another bullet whizzed through the blown-out back glass, passed through the length of the truck, careened off a doorjamb, shot sideways, and took off a chunk of the steering wheel. The chunk flew back and hit Reel in the forehead, snapping her head backward against the seat, and then she was propelled forward, only coming to a halt when her harness engaged.

As she slipped into unconsciousness, she looked up ahead and saw the straight road. She also knew they had lost two tires.

Somewhere in the depths of her muscle memory a survival spark engaged.

She clamped her knees around the wheel and wedged her ankles against the console and the door.

Then, blood dripping down her face from where the chunk of hard rubber had collided with her head, Reel passed out.

“Jess? Jess, you okay?”

When Robie looked to the front of the Yukon he saw Reel slumped over. “Jess!”

The cruise control was still engaged.

They were still going at a high rate of speed.

But they had two blown-out rear tires.

And nobody was driving.

Robie had no choice. He abandoned his rifle and threw himself over the seat, even as the Yukon started to slide off the road as Reel’s legs lost their rigidity.

Robie grabbed the wheel with one hand and fought to keep the Yukon steady and on the road. But they were vibrating so badly now that he knew that couldn’t last.

A few seconds later a tire came off the rear rim, which made the truck lopsided. It pitched to the left like a boat in heavy seas.

Robie couldn’t keep it on the road at this point.

He used a finger to punch off the cruise control.

This made the control situation better as their speed dropped.

He hit the gas with his foot to keep them moving forward.

He used his free hand to check Reel’s pulse. It pumped strongly in her veins. He glanced down at the wound on her forehead. It was bloody but not deep. Her breathing was steady. He eyed where the missing chunk of steering wheel had been, and what had happened to her came into clearer focus.

He looked back and his features grew grim.

The trucks were right behind them and a dozen guns were pointed their way.

Robie cut the wheel to the right and the Yukon cleared the road and bumped over the uneven ground.

Robie hit the gas and then cut the wheel to the left, aiming for a stand of trees.

He reached it, slammed the truck into park, leapt back over the seat, and took up his sniper rifle once again.

The trucks pulled to a stop twenty yards away.

Robie placed his crosshairs on the driver in one of the trucks.

He didn’t have enough ammo to take them all out, but he would take as many as he could with him. One less hatemonger alive was always a good thing.

His finger slipped to the trigger guard. His plan was simple.

Go down fighting.