Fighting to Survive (As the World Dies #2)(84)

“Not everyone in this world is a good guy, Reverend,” Bill tersely answered. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

As the truck raced to catch up with them, Katarina could see two men in the cab. There was a camper attached to the bed of the truck. It looked ominous to her.

“I see only two guys,” she called out to Bill.

Bill kept the van moving at a quick pace and dared to look in his rear view mirror. The men looked scraggly and rough. The truck was gaining fast.

Katarina scrambled back to the passenger seat and let out a deep breath. “This feels bad.”

“I agree,” Bill answered in a low voice.

“Who are those men?” the father asked.

“We think they are bandits,” Bill answered. “I want all of you to get down on the floor right now. Keep your heads down and keep as close to the floor as possible.”

“I thought you said my family would be safe!” The young father with his scraggly black hair looked both frightened and angry.

“They will be. Just get down!”

The pursuing truck was moving in fast.

Katarina looked back to see that their passengers were nervously obeying. She usually loved rescue missions. The expressions on people's faces as they finally saw other humans, their sense of relief at being safe and the exclamations of thanks made it all worth the risk. Usually on rescue missions, they had to fight zombies, but this felt worse somehow. Fighting other humans in a dead world was just wrong.

The truck was now pulling up beside them. Katarina could clearly see the mud and gore spatters over its roughened side. What appeared to be bullet holes pockmarked the truck bed. She flicked the safety off on her rifle and took a breath.

Bill glanced over into the cab of the truck as it pulled up close and began to pace them. A scruffy man with lots of wild blond hair rolled down the window and began to shout at them. It didn't take a lip reader to see he was yelling at them to pull over.

Bill shook his head and pressed his foot down.

Again, the truck pulled up. The scruffy guy leaned out of the window and literally knocked on Bill's window. His voice was barely heard above the whine of the road and the wind.

“We want to be friends with you,” he was yelling. “We want to be friends!” But his look was too wild and he looked at Katarina in a way that made Bill want to bash his teeth out with his rifle butt.

Glancing over at the unkempt man, Bill said, “Sorry. Gotta keep moving.” And he floored the mini-van.

The children were now crying and their parents were trying to shush them. The Reverend was praying softly.

Katarina made sure her seat belt was on tight and watched the truck anxiously. The guy who was banging on the window had crawled back into the cab and was talking with the driver.

“We're almost to the bridge,” Bill said to her. “We have to beat them there.” The van had pulled ahead enough for Bill to swerve in front of the truck. He wasn't sure who had souped up the min-van, but he felt like hugging them at this moment. The engine was roaring. So far, it was handling fine.

The truck gunned it, then swerved sharply in front of them.

“Shit,” Katarina whispered.

“They plan to trap us at the bridge,” Bill said grimly.

The children were crying louder now. Bill didn't even want to think about what these men may do to the kids, their mother, or Katarina.

Katarina took a deep breath, then said, “We need to do something now.”

“Can you pull a Nerit and shoot out the tire?” Bill knew that Katarina had been training faithfully with the former Israeli sniper.

Katarina furrowed her brow, then said, “I'll try.” She immediately began to roll down the window.

Bill concentrated on the road and kept the van steady. The truck was speeding ahead of them, kicking up dirt, heading straight into the sunset.

Katarina slid out and perched herself in the window. The Reverend scrambled forward and grabbed hold of her legs to keep her steady and provide a human safety line. Trying to balance herself, Katarina took aim at a tire.

“Don't swerve,” she yelled at Bill.

There was a long pause, then Katarina fired. The shot hit the camper and shattered the back window.

“Shit!”

She aimed again, trying to adjust for the speed, and the bumpiness of the road. A face appeared in the shattered window. It was a young girl, maybe thirteen. Her face was badly bruised and caked with blood. Her hands were tied in front of her and her mouth was gagged. She tried to wave at them.

“Sweet Jesus,” the Reverend whispered.

Bill felt his gut coil as he stared at the captive in the back of the truck. He couldn't let her fate fall on any of those in his care.

Katarina saw the girl as well and hesitated, but the cries of the children behind her were a reminder of what they had to lose.

“Do it,” Bill said in a ragged voice.

She fired.

The truck tire unrolled like a ribbon and vehicle careened wildly. The girl fell back out of sight. The driver fought the wheel, which tipped the truck. The camper went flying off the back and into the gorge that bordered the road. The truck slammed onto its side and went sliding off the road in a shower of sparks.

Directly ahead was the bridge.

Katarina struggled back into her seat and said thanks to the Reverend. She looked sick to her stomach, but took a deep breath to steady herself.