Three men in coveralls had clustered around the Bronco and were staring inside. They looked related, father and sons, maybe, and one of the younger ones was about to open the driver’s-side door.

“Hey!” Adam yelled.

They jumped and whirled to face him. “Who are you?” the oldest asked.

“How about you step away from the truck?” Adam said.

“How about you put back what you stole,” one of the younger ones said.

Adam didn’t address that. “My name is Adam. I go to Hedrick.”

“I’m Chaney,” the man said. “They all dead up there?”

Adam moved to the side. He kept his focus on the guys nearest the truck. “Get away from there!”

“You gonna shoot us?”

“I don’t want to. Just step back while we talk, okay? Is Mr. Chaney your father?”

The boys didn’t move, didn’t answer.

“They’re my boys, Harlan and Marcus. How come your truck still works?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your truck works. Nobody else’s truck works.”

Adam hadn’t noticed that this was the only one on the road, but he couldn’t remember seeing another one. “It’s a thing called electromagnetic pulse,” he said. “That’s what kills newer cars and trucks. All electronics, really. The Bronco is too old, I guess.”

“Where you goin’?”

“Don’t know yet. Are you going to ask your boys to get away from our truck or not?”

“You sure got a lot of firepower there,” Chaney said. “You think you’ve got the balls to use it?”

Adam’s heart rate tripled. He tried to keep his face even, but he was certain his fear showed through. “I don’t want this to get ugly, Mr. Chaney.”

“You scared, boy?”

“Adam, be careful of him,” Emma whispered from behind.

“No sense havin’ a gun if you ain’t willing—”

In a smooth, well-rehearsed motion, Adam extended the stock of the AR15 dangling under his right arm and brought the weapon to his shoulder, the sights leveled at Chaney’s chest.

Chaney hopped back a step. He tried to force a smile, but he couldn’t pull it off. When Adam thumbed the bolt release, the heavy clack of it slamming home took the smile completely off his face.

“Go to the Bronco, Em,” Adam said. Then he yelled, “Harlan and Marcus, listen up. My friend here is going to walk to the Bronco, get in and drive about fifty, sixty yards up the road. If you don’t stay out of her way, I will shoot your daddy on the spot, and then I will shoot you.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Go ahead, Em. Let me know what the boys are doing.”

“What about you?”

“You stop the Bronco a little past here and I’ll join you.”

“It’s three to one, kid,” Chaney said.

“It’s a thirty-round magazine. Ten rounds for each of you.”

“You’re not that tough.”