The grind of the motors on the bikes got louder and louder.
They weren't dampened in any way, made for open desert riding.
As Joule watched, terrified, she saw one of them raise his arm. Before she even processed what was happening, she heard a bullet rip through the air.
But her own gun was already out and raised. As she aimed, she saw that, next to her, Kathryn McQueeny had already leveled two shots. Of course, she had. Every member of her family was in some kind of high-end law enforcement.
Joule squeezed off another, noticing a hand beside her. Her brother leveled a silver-barreled old fashioned six shooter, but he didn't fire.
Another shot came. She couldn’t tell from where. She waited for the jolt, for one of her companions to fall, but one of the bikes flew sideways and went down. Somebody had hit a tire.
Yesss!
The owner went tumbling ass over teakettle, and it would have been funny if he hadn't so quickly stood up and reached for the long gun on his back.
The ringing of the bullets dampened her hearing as the sand swirled up around them. Why was the desert rising up?
She didn’t know, but she had to stay alive.
The noise was deafening, another tone came from somewhere over her head. Deep and awe inspiring, it issued a command though she pulled the trigger again because she couldn’t quite hear it.
Next to her, Kathryn held out a hand for her to stop, then she turned and waved upward. Only then did Joule make out the sound of a helicopter hovering low, announcing that they were the DEA.