The sniper fired down on him on semi-auto. Will braced himself — at this distance, he didn’t think it would take much of a shooter to hit the windshield and him behind it — but there was no pain, because the man’s bullets weren’t landing. Or, at least, they weren’t piercing the windshield the way he had expected them to. The man, he realized quickly, was trying to hit the tire of the Tacoma.
They’re trying to shoot out the tires. Why are they trying to shoot out the tires?
Because they’re not trying to kill us. They’re trying to take us alive.
Why?
Kate…
“Don’t worry,” the blue-eyed ghoul had hissed at him last night. “It’s not going to end that easily for you, Will. Kate made us promise her this time. I think she has big plans for you.”
Kate, this is your doing, isn’t it?
“I think she has big plans for you…”
He glimpsed more figures rushing out of the Palermo store. Men in camouflage uniforms. Josh’s soldiers.
The second sniper was to his left, also standing on the platform over the Chevron’s gas pumps. But this one wasn’t shooting at him. The man was firing at the Titan coming up behind him.
The ping-ping-ping! of bullets bouncing off both moving vehicles rang up and down the street. He was amazed he could actually hear it over the loud roar of the Tacoma.
And there, up ahead—Interstate 10.
It was elevated, with a view of more businesses on the other side of its underpass. The turn was coming up. Right would take him onto the feeder road, then up and onto the interstate itself. Salvani was waiting for him on the other side. Then south to Song Island.
Easy as pie. All he had to do was make the turn now and—
There were two of them. Both trucks with large tires that made them look like hulking predators. One was black, and the other cherry red. They were massive against the sunlight, appearing out from behind the gas stations where they had been hiding all this time. There were uniformed men in the back, and though he was surprised by the lack of mounted machine guns, they made up for it with two shooters in the bed of each truck. He almost laughed at the sight of the four men in the backs trying desperately to hold onto the fast-moving vehicles as they were tossed around like rag dolls.
Will knew what they were trying to do. It didn’t take Patton to figure out their plan. The snipers were trying to shoot out his tires, and if that didn’t work, the two “monster” trucks bursting onto Route 13 directly in front of him right now would cut off his path to the interstate. It was so simple even a CPA masquerading as a soldier could have come up with it.
And I drove right into it. So who’s the sucker here?
He grabbed the radio and shouted into it, “Don’t stop! Don’t you let him stop, Gaby!”
“Will!” Gaby shouted back.
“Get to the island! Whatever you do, get back to the island!”
“Will!”
She might have said something else, but he had already dropped the radio and returned both hands to the steering wheel. His eyes were fixed out the windshield and on the two trucks. They took up positions in the middle of the road and parked nose-to-nose, both vehicles occupying the entire two lanes. The only way around them was up the curb and into the parking lots of either the Chevron or the Palermo, and there were already men in uniforms, carrying assault rifles and racing out of both gas stations. He counted at least half a dozen on each side.
Jesus Christ, Josh, where do you get all these assholes from?
He saw what was in front and to the sides of him, and Will knew what he would find even before he took a quick peek at the rearview mirror. He looked past Danny and Gaby in the Titan and saw two similarly large trucks appearing in the road behind them, blocking off their retreat.
The snipers were still shooting, trying to hit the tires but missing badly.
Amateurs, Will thought, wanting to laugh. Danny could have shot off the tires on a moving vehicle. If he had missed once, he would have corrected for the next shot. But these guys had already wasted half their magazines (if not more), and they hadn’t come close to knocking either the Tacoma or the Titan off course.
Better luck next time, boys!
They must have known he wasn’t going to stop, because one of the soldiers in the back of the cherry-red truck up ahead said something to the man standing next to him, and they both leaped off the vehicle. Two seconds later, Will smashed the front grill of the Tacoma into the noses of both parked trucks. They had stopped so close to one another (part of the plan, probably) that it didn’t take much to get both of them at the same time.
The loud crash! of metal against metal spun both vehicles out of the road, and he glimpsed a body flying through the air. Then, his vision blurred at the same time the airbag deployed and slammed into his face. His hands were ripped from the steering wheel by the blinding blow as the Tacoma spun out of control. It seemed to go round and round in a dozen revolutions, but he guessed it was probably more like one or maybe half of one, until it crashed into a streetlight pole, the sound of more metal grinding against metal piercing what little of his senses were still functioning.
He didn’t actually have to see the smoke flooding out from the crumpled hood to know it was happening. He could feel the steam filling up the cab, though that took a backseat to the pain pounding through every inch of his face and chest at the moment. The airbag had done its job and kept him alive, but it had also rendered him useless. He scrambled to push the nylon fabric out of his face and reached sideways for the M4A1.
Except the rifle wasn’t there anymore.
He was still looking for the carbine when the shooting outside broke through the haze. There was the loud ping-ping-ping! of bullets hitting their intended target — which wasn’t him.
The Titan. They were still shooting at Danny, Gaby, and the girls.
He waited to hear the sound of another crash to signal that the chase was over, that the Titan had also spun out. Maybe one of the snipers would finally get lucky. Even the sun had to shine up a dog’s ass once in its life, he thought.
But instead, the sound of ricocheting bullets seemed to become more distant with every passing second. Which had to be good news, right? If there was no crash, no screams, and the ping-ping-ping! was fading, that could only mean…
Faster, Danny. Get to Song Island. Save them.
Save Lara…
He was dazed from the impact, which made finding the rifle even harder. It was difficult to focus on the passenger seat, the sea of sprinkled glass, or the shattered window on the other side of the vehicle. The passenger-side door may or may not even still be connected to the car.
Was he losing consciousness? No. He had gotten hit in worse ways, and he’d always made it through. Besides, the airbag had saved his life—
Voices, coming toward him.
Will abandoned his search for the M4A1 and groped for his holstered Glock instead. He drew it and turned toward the door, somehow finding the handle despite the fact there were now three levers instead of one. He managed to grab the right one — or were all three the right ones? — and pulled.