She pressed herself to a corner of the black camper and trained her gun on the windows of the silver Airstream into which she was certain—ninety percent certain—she had seen Garrett Mason and his military-issued assault rifle flee earlier. Ninety-five percent certain. Ninety. It had been so hectic when the bullets had started flying a few minutes ago, young men had been running in every direction, but surely she wouldn’t have mistaken Mason making a break for the Airstream. In his pads and his helmet he couldn’t have been that hard to miss, could he?
“We doing this or what?” Jamal shouted.
Or had he been bolting for the green trailer?
Silver or green. Silver or green.
Nothing moved in either window.
Silver. She trained her gun on the Airstream and shouted, “Clear.”