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Oliver looked over to the gas station parking lot. Eric sat in the front seat of the window van with Iain behind the wheel. The old man shrugged. “I can’t see him from my angle.”
“He has to be under the truck, asshole,” Emma swore and turned the ignition over. The comms link was on permanent broadcast. They found over the years that it saved time and their necks.
The Chevy roared to life, and the sharp whine from under the hood sounded like someone had stabbed a cat. Oliver stood on top of the cab and bent his knees for balance. When the truck dropped in gear and slowly moved forward, he looked for Hunter. After driving the length of the vehicle, there was still no sign of the target.
The sharp retort of small arms made Oliver spin around. Behind the minivan was movement. It was Hunter’s partner. She was tall enough to hide behind the vehicle and pop up and take a shot. He fired two rounds into the hood to keep her down. Bitch.
“I’m getting in the truck bed. If Hunter is underneath, let’s take ‘em for a ride.”
“Hold on to something.” Emma didn’t wait and stepped on the accelerator. A belt squealed as the truck leaped forward, and Oliver jumped down into the back. His left hand clutched the tailgate. When they drove past the minivan, the woman popped up and fired. He wasn’t worried. They would be warning shots. If her partner were underneath, she wouldn’t chance it.
It was then Oliver grinned. He did not have to wait for Hunter to show himself. He turned toward the middle of the truck bed and fired through the thin metal.
*****
NOAH STUCK THE GLOCK down the front of his jeans. The choice was to use both hands and have the possibility of maneuvering or have the pistol in one hand with limitations. There was barely enough clearance for him to slide under the Chevy, but soon enough, he felt the heat from the engine on the side of his face. Luckily, no fluids leaked after the collision.
The truck subtly rocked as the man moved forward, and Noah gripped the transfer box skid plate to move toward the rear. There wouldn't be any choices if the truck weren’t raised for off-road except a shoot-out. Too many civilians were around for that option. The sound of the cab roof popping under the man’s weight gave away his position, and Noah froze.
When the truck squealed to life, Noah’s heart leaped, and he came close to wetting his jeans. What was the woman doing? Trying to get away? There was no time to figure it out when he felt the truck dropped into gear.
Under the truck, four skid plates protected the transfer case, front and rear differentials, and the fuel tank. While holding onto the front plate, Noah pressed his running shoes against the rear crossbar as the truck shot forward. His body lifted from the ground in time, but only inches were between him and the asphalt.
Within seconds, the burning of his fingers and shoulders almost caused him to drop. When they hit a slight bump in the road, his right foot slipped. As the heel hit the ground, the running shoe was torn off in a split second. It bounced off the spare tire and spun away.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck!
Noah knew if he let go, he would be dragged beneath the truck and bounced around before spitting out the back end as a pile of dog meat. His toes curled around the edge as he hung on for life.
He could barely hear the retort of a pistol over the road noise and engine. The cop-killer fired at him through the truck bed, and the round hit the driveshaft and ricocheted to the sidewall. Noah didn’t have a choice.
He had to drop and risk it.
As the truck slowed and began a wide turn, a second round passed to his right—inches from his chest. He could hear the man screaming above. When the truck was at the slowest speed, he let go.
At fifteen miles per hour, Noah didn’t have much of a chance to escape injury. Both arms were spread to absorb the impact and prevent bounce as he hit the ground. The back of his head hit the same time the rear passenger tire ran over his left wrist and hand. An explosion of pain knocked the air from his lungs, and Noah’s eyes rolled back as he stifled a scream.
He had enough presence to roll once the truck passed overhead, and he was clear. Noah ignored the burning sensation that covered his upper back as his right hand fumbled for the Glock.
As the brake lights came on and the truck stopped, Noah realized the pistol was gone.