“I can’t drive through all those fucking crates,” Gunner said. He pulled the truck to a stop and went to open his door. I put my hand on his shoulder. He nearly turned around and hit me.
Now there were two streams of dust in the landscape. “It’s an ambush,” I said.
Gunner’s face paled. Jericho and Gunner pulled out their guns and I squeezed through the crates to the side window and slid it open. There were three streams of dust now, and they gathered together overhead in a giant cloud. They were firing on us long before the jeeps busted through the dusty haze. A bullet shattered the driver’s side window but missed Gunner.
“Do any of these UMPs have ammo?” I asked.
“Don’t think so,” Jericho said quickly. He opened his door and slid out and Gunner dropped out behind him. They ducked behind the truck and maneuvered into positions that would allow them a few wild shots but not much more.
Three jeeps were heading toward us. The chicken farmer had already jumped back into his truck. He turned the truck back onto the road and took off, leaving a mosaic of chicken crates behind.
I lifted my weapon and waited for their vehicles to get close enough. It was the Bent for Hell club. The first jeep was within striking distance. I fired and the windshield disintegrated. The jeep came to an abrupt halt, and both men jumped out and raced around to take cover behind the vehicle. Their gun barrels came up over the back seat. I dropped to the ground as they sprayed the truck with bullets. In the lull, I jumped up and peered out. One of the attackers looked straight at me and aimed his gun at the small window. I fired first. A red hole appeared on his forehead. His eyes went wide as if he was shocked that he’d gotten hit. Then he dropped.
The other jeeps quickly became shields for our attackers as they nearly fell out of their vehicles and ducked behind them. Jericho fired a few shots over the front of the truck, but his position made it tough for him to take clear aim. Angry bullets flew from behind the jeeps. They were shooting wildly, quantity over quality, hoping a bullet would land somewhere of importance. I was trained differently. I peered up through the window and shot straight into the front grill of a jeep. Fluid oozed out of the front of it. I scanned the angry faces peering over the seats, but none of them looked familiar. Belkin, as Jericho had called him, was most likely nursing a very broken nose. Which was fine. When I took him out, I wanted him to see my face as I did it.
The cargo box on the truck had been fortified with extra sheets of metal but some of the bullets managed to pierce through. I stayed low beneath the window and dropped flat when they sent another volley of bullets my way. It ended abruptly. I peered up. It seemed they were figuring out what to do about the invisible asshole in the back of the truck. I wasn’t going to wait around and find out what they came up with.
“Hey Reno,” Jericho called into the truck, “you still alive?”
“Yeah but they’re making Swiss cheese of this truck. Be ready,” I said.
I stretched up and took aim at a tire on the second jeep. The vehicle tilted to one side as the tire blew apart. There was only one more vehicle to disable. It had no windshield but it was still mobile. And it seemed that notion was finally dawning on them. They moved toward the one good jeep and piled in. They yanked in the dead man.
“Keep low and get in,” I called out to Gunner and Jericho. “Let’s get out of here.”
Gunner slid into the driver’s seat, and Jericho fell into the cab after him. Gunner started the truck. “We’ve got two flat tires,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Just plow through those crates.”
The jeep, now loaded down with men, was moving slowly through the loose dirt. I moved to the back window. As the jeep climbed up onto the road I fired a shot into the engine. The box truck limped down the road on two flats, but it didn’t matter. Our ambushers had no way to follow.
The last few miles seemed to stretch on forever, and the journey over the crude path to the compound nearly ended with the truck in a ditch. By the time we pulled through the compound gates, Dreygon and Cash were waiting with Max. For the first time since I’d met Dreygon, the stone exterior had cracked. He looked anxious, but I was sure he was far more worried about his cargo than his men. Jericho opened the back doors, and I hopped out. Gunner was already filling Dreygon’s head with the details.
Some of the icy facade had returned as the old man surveyed the damage to the truck. I got the sense that Gunner had left out one very important detail. And I was sure there was nothing too nefarious about his motive for withholding it other than the fact that it was a huge deal. I’d taken out one of the Bent for Hell crew members. There would be retribution.