The pickup was a Ford Super Duty F-250. Its V8 engine roared as it tore across the grass, slowing briefly to squeeze between two houses, and then accelerated over the sidewalk into the street.
Nova couldn’t tell whether it was because of sweat or grease, but his right hand began to slip. He kept squeezing it, trying to regain a steady grip, while also keeping his other hand and feet secure. He knew the risks. He knew what would happen if he fell. His head smacking off the macadam at such a speed wasn’t nearly as bad as being run over by the truck’s massive rear tires.
The pickup slowed as it came to the stop sign right before the highway—but then accelerated immediately, its rear tires squealing as its fishtailed and streaked lines of rubber.
Nova’s right hand slipped from the sudden jerk. His fingers scraped against the highway. His head started to fall back. He could feel the highway right beneath him, begging him to let go.
But he didn’t. He braced himself and pushed his hand back up, searching for the hold he had before. He found it, but his fingers began to slip again. Bracing himself once more, he wiped his hand on his pants then reached for the hold again. This time his fingers stayed in place.
Every muscle in his body straining, Nova closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The distance between Kadrey and Parrot Spur was only eight miles. The highway was empty at this time of night, and even if it wasn’t, the driver wasn’t one to care. His boss apparently owned this entire area of the state. No cops were going to pull him over for speeding, so the driver drove with a lead foot.
At some point they passed the entrance to the mine. Nova was aware of it just as he was aware that Jessica might be there right now.
Eventually the truck’s speed began to taper. The engine’s roar lessened.
Nova wanted to look where they were exactly, but he didn’t want to lower his head. If he lowered it too far, his skull might connect with the highway, and that was not something he wanted to try. So he waited, braced against the undercarriage, as the truck slowed. It turned left, meaning it was headed for the bar and diner and motel side of the highway. It didn’t park in front of the bar, however, and instead moved around to the back.
Finally the truck came to a full stop. Its engine growled for another couple of seconds, then went silent.
Certain the truck wasn’t going to move again, Nova lowered himself to the ground. He lay there for a moment, relishing the feel of solid ground, then heard the driver shifting around in his seat.
The pickup truck’s door opened. Its suspension squeaked. First one foot appeared on the ground only inches away from Nova, then the second.
Before the man even had a chance to take one full step, Nova reached out and grabbed the man’s ankles. He yanked back and pushed up. The man grunted a shout of surprise as he fell. He managed to get his hands up to soften the fall, but that didn’t matter. By then Nova rolled out from under the truck, rose to a knee, and punched the man in the face. The man turned over, reached for his gun, but Nova punched him again. Then he leaned forward and hooked an arm around the man’s throat. He positioned himself right behind the man and applied pressure. The man struggled, his arms and legs flaying, but as the seconds ticked by, the struggling began to diminish.
Nova set the now unconscious man aside and got to his feet. He searched the man’s pockets. A gun and a knife, two spare magazines, and that was it. He checked the truck, opening the door as soundlessly as he could, and rummaged through the glove box until he found what he was looking for. Stepping back, he rolled the man over so he was lying right beneath the truck on his belly. He drew the man’s left arm back, then his right arm, and secured his wrists on the other end of the cab step with the zip-tie. He wished he had something to put over the man’s mouth in case he came to, but there was nothing else. It didn’t matter anyway; Nova doubted there was anybody in town. All the men had been dispatched to Kadrey and the surrounding desert to search for him.
Where they would be looking for a very long time, he thought, and smiled.
Now what he needed was a vehicle. And weapons. As many weapons as he could get his hands on.
He started toward the side of the bar when he heard the crunch of gravel. Nova paused, listening closely, and determined it was two sets of footsteps.
“Are you sure it was him?” said a voice, the tone natural and calm, not at all concerned about being heard.
“Yeah, I saw him pull in,” said the other voice. Then, calling out: “Greg, you back there?”
Greg, of course, didn’t answer.
“See,” said the first voice, “I told you it wasn’t him.”
“It’s him.”
Nova withdrew the gun from his waistband. He dropped the magazine into his hand, checked the number of rounds, then slid it back in as quietly as possible.
The crunch of gravel was very close now, right around the corner.
The same man as before called, “Hey, Greg, what’s the hold up?”
The men turned the corner and stopped abruptly. They stared at the barrel of Nova’s gun. One of the men went to grab for his weapon.
“Don’t,” Nova said.
The man paused.
Nova said, “I did your friend over there a favor by not ending his life. I don’t have to end your lives either, but that all depends on you. Now put your hands on top of your heads.”
Neither man moved. Neither spoke.
“I should save myself time and hassle and kill you both, but I’m trying to be a nice guy. Now put your hands on top of your heads.”
One of the men glanced at his friend, and shrugged. “Why not?”
Suddenly both men fell away from each other, widening the gap between them. It was an expert move, one Nova would no doubt have used, and it was because of that he was ready for it.
The men went for their guns. Nova shot the one on the right in the throat, and then spun away as the other man fired at him. He fell to a knee, aimed, and shot the other man right in his face.
Nova was quiet for a moment, listening to the night around him. Past the cicadas in the desert to any other sounds that might alert him to approaching danger.
He dropped the magazine again into his hand. The light was faint, but it was enough to see only two rounds left. He tossed the magazine to the ground, went to reach for the full one in his pocket, when gravel crunched behind him.
Nova didn’t even bother turning around. Not fully at least. He simply tilted his head, just enough to watch Nancy Price step out of the shadows, a shotgun in her hands. When she spoke, her nicotine-laced voice was steady and strong.
“Drop it or I’ll blow your head off.”