He grabbed the nearest chair and carried it to the rear window. Remi climbed up and began squeezing out the window. Once she was down and clear, Sam followed.
They ducked into the tree line and began picking their way toward the Quonset hut. When the rear wall came into view through the trees, they stopped and took a few moments to scan their surroundings. In the distance they could hear the guards still shouting over one another.
Sam and Remi moved forward, Sam in the lead, his rifle lowered and tracking back and forth. They reached the Quonset hut. Remi whispered, “Door,” and pointed. Sam nodded. Remi now in the lead, they slid along the wall until her shoulder bumped the jamb. She tried the knob. It was open. She opened the door silently and peeked her head through. She pulled back.
“There’s two trucks inside, parked side by side. They look military-green, double tires, canvas sides, a tailgate.”
“Feel up to driving?” asked Sam.
“Sure.”
“You get behind the wheel of the one on the left. I’ll disable the other one, then join you. Be ready to start the engine and tear out.”
“Got it.”
Remi opened the door just wide enough for them to slip through. They were halfway to the trucks when they heard footsteps pounding on the road outside. Sam and Remi skidded to halt against the right-hand truck’s tailgate. Sam peeked around the corner.
“Four men,” he said. “They’re climbing into the trucks, two in each cab.”
“Part of their emergency plan?” Remi suggested.
“Probably,” Sam replied. “Okay, Plan B. We stow away.”
Almost in unison, the trucks’ engines rumbled to life.
Stepping carefully lest their shifting weight alert the guards, Sam and Remi mounted the truck’s bumper, then high-stepped over the tailgate. With a loud thunk, the transmission engaged, and the truck surged ahead. Arm in arm, Sam and Remi stumbled and fell face-first into the bed.
Their truck was in the lead. Lying flat in the relative darkness of the bed, with the second truck’s headlamps glowing green through the tailgate’s canvas flap, Sam and Remi allowed themselves to take a full breath for the first time in ten minutes. On either side of them, wooden crates of various sizes were strapped to eyebolts in the truck’s bed.
“We made it,” Remi whispered.
“Cross fingers.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I’m pretty sure this is a Chinese Army truck.”
“You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”
“I am. It seems clear King is in bed with someone in the Chinese military. The guards are Chinese, and so are their weapons probably. And we know what’s in these crates.”
“How far to the border?”
“Twenty miles, maybe twenty-five. Four hours, give or take.”
“Plenty of time to make our exit.”
“The question is, how far from civilization will we be?”
“You’re starting to spoil my otherwise sunny disposition,” she said, then laid back in the crook of Sam’s shoulder.
Despite the hardness of the truck’s bed and the constant jostling, Sam and Remi found the muffled growl of the engine soothing. They half dozed in the twilight, Sam occasionally waking to check his watch.
After an hour of traveling, they were jolted awake by the squeal of the truck’s brakes. The following truck’s headlights enlarged and brightened through the rear flap. Sam sat up and pointed the rifle toward the tailgate. Remi sat up beside him, her eyes questioning, but she said nothing.
The truck slowed, then ground to a halt. The following truck’s headlights went dark. Cab doors opened, slammed shut. From either side of the bed came the crunch of footsteps. They stopped at the tailgate, and voices began murmuring in Chinese. Sam and Remi could smell cigarette smoke.
Sam turned his head and whispered in Remi’s ear. “Stay perfectly still.” She nodded.
Moving slowly, carefully, Sam curled his legs beneath him, then rose into a crouch onto the balls of his feet. He took two crab steps toward the tailgate and turned his head to listen. After a moment, he turned back to Remi and held up four fingers. Four guards were standing on the other side of the tailgate. He pointed to his rifle, then in the direction of the soldiers.
She handed him the rifle. Sam laid it across his legs, then pressed his wrists together. She nodded. He gestured for her to lie flat. She did so.
Sam made sure the rifle’s safety was off, adjusted himself and took a deep breath, then reached up with his left hand, grasped the canvas, and jerked it aside.
“Hands up!” he shouted.
The two soldiers closest to the bumper spun around while simultaneously backpedaling. They stumbled into their comrades, who were struggling to unsling their rifles.
“Don’t!” Sam said, and raised his rifle to his shoulder.
Despite the language gap, the soldiers got the message and stopped moving. Sam gestured with the barrel of his rifle several times until the men got the message. Slowly each man unslung his rifle and let it drop to the ground. Sam backed them up a few feet, then climbed over the tailgate and hopped down.
“All clear,” he said to Remi.
She dropped to the ground beside him.
“They look terrified,” she said.
“Perfect. The more terrified they are, the better for us,” Sam said. “Would you do the honors?”
Remi collected their rifles and dumped all but one into the truck bed. Sam said, “Safety off?”
“I think . . .”
“Lever switch above the trigger on the right side.”
“Got it. Okay.”
Sam and Remi and the four Chinese soldiers stared at one another. For ten seconds, no one spoke. Finally Sam asked, “English?”
The soldier on the far right said, “Small English.”
“Right. Okay. You are my prisoners.”
Remi sighed heavily. “Sam . . .”
“Sorry. I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“Now that you’ve got that out of your system, what do we do with them?”
“We tie them up and . . . Oh, no. That’s not good.”
“What?” Remi glanced at her husband. Sam’s narrowed eyes were staring over the heads of the soldiers toward the cab of the second truck. She followed his gaze and saw a silhouetted figure sitting in the cab. The figure ducked down suddenly.
“We miscounted,” Sam muttered.
“I see that.”
“Get in the driver’s seat, Remi. Start the engine. Check for-”
“You can be sure of it,” she replied, then turned on her heel and sprinted toward the front of the truck. A moment later the engine started. The four soldiers shuffled nervously and glanced at one another.
“All aboard!” Remi shouted out the cab window.
“Coming, dear!” Sam replied without turning.
Sam shouted at the soldiers, “Move, move!” and gestured with the rifle. The men sidestepped away, leaving Sam a clear shot at the truck’s radiator. He raised his rifle and took aim.
The fifth man, until now hidden in the second truck’s cab, suddenly stuck his torso out the driver’s window. Sam saw the silhouette of his rifle coming around toward him.
“Stop!”
The man kept twisting his body, the rifle coming around.
Sam adjusted his aim and fired two shots through the windshield. The soldiers scattered, diving into the underbrush bordering the road. Sam heard a crack. Something thudded into the tailgate beside him. He ducked down, lurched sideways around the opposite bumper, turned again, and snapped off a trio of shots into what he hoped was the truck’s radiator or engine block. He turned, raced to the truck’s passenger’s door, jerked it open, and climbed in.
“We’ve worn out our welcome,” he said.
Remi put the truck in gear and mashed the accelerator.
They hadn’t gotten a hundred yards before realizing Sam’s gunshots had either missed their mark or had been insufficient. In the side mirrors, he and Remi saw the truck’s headlights pop on. The four soldiers scrambled from cover and hopped aboard, two in the cab, the other two in the bed. The truck surged forward.
Remi called, “Narrow bridge ahead!”
Sam looked. Though still a couple hundred yards away, the bridge in question looked not just narrow but barely wider than their truck’s girth. “Speed, Remi,” he warned.