“Sheriff!” Angela shouted, “you’ve got to stop that SUV!”
“Hang on!” the sheriff yelled. He punched the gas and sped toward the intersection. The Tahoe veered around a car and turned onto Alamo Plaza Boulevard. Angela and I each braced for the impact with one hand while we held onto Croc with the other. Before the Tahoe could accelerate past us, the sheriff’s cruiser hit it broadside. All of us, the sheriff included, were screaming at the top of our lungs. Even Croc was howling as the cruiser crossed the plaza, the siren screaming and the sheriff laying on the horn. The two cars were joined together in a mass of twisted metal. They careened down the street, tires and brakes screeching in protest. Pedestrians leaped out of the way and it was a miracle we didn’t hit anyone.
The impact spun us around. I looked out of what had been the rear window of the patrol car and saw the face of one of the drivers. There was a look of utter shock in his eyes.
The collision twirled the Tahoe around so that its front end was facing us, and we continued skidding down the street. We traveled side by side with the SUV for a short distance. Then the sheriff twisted the wheel hard to the left, and the SUV driver hit the Tahoe’s brakes. It slowed, but turned so that it was perpendicular to us. We finally stopped a few yards from the monument.
The air bags had deployed and the two men in the Tahoe were momentarily stunned. But seconds later their doors swung open and they staggered out. Both of them carried machine pistols. One of them had a black box with a little metal antenna on it. The sheriff kicked his door open, yelling at us to get down. He jumped out of the car with his revolver drawn. His gun fired twice. I’m pretty sure I heard other shots but couldn’t swear to it. It all happened so fast it was difficult to sort out. Then it was quiet for a moment before I heard people shouting, screaming, and running.
Angela and I clambered out of the cruiser. I felt like a brick wall had fallen on top of me. The sheriff stood in front of his battered patrol car. His gun was pointed at the two bodies lying on the ground. My ears were ringing. I remembered Boone and X-Ray saying that the car bombs also had timers on them. I worried this one might have been activated before the sheriff shot the man holding the detonator.
“Run!” I shouted. “Everybody ru—” I was interrupted by the sound of the hatchback door on the SUV opening. Looking around, I found X-Ray’s legs hanging out of the back of it. A few seconds later he climbed out holding a bunch of different-colored wires in one hand and a multi-tool in the other. X-Ray had disarmed the bomb.
A crowd was gathering and people were gaping at the two shattered cars.
X-Ray held up the bundle of wires as if he was showing off a fish he had just caught. “You should know,” he said to the crowd, “that this model is being recalled. It’s prone to sudden and uncontrollable acceleration.” Without another word, he scrambled away and disappeared into the intellimobile.
Angela, Croc, and I walked around to stand behind the sheriff. He still held his gun pointed in the direction of the two men lying on the ground. I wasn’t surprised at all to find Boone kneeling next to the two men, checking their pulses.
“You can holster your weapon, Sheriff Hackett,” he said. “It’s over.”