I turned to keep an eye on the Shells. There was no telling how many had turned. The fuel line swaying against the asphalt distracted my attention. The nozzle finally broke free of the Tundra, and rolled into the ditch. A loud boom vibrated the truck, and a ball of smoke and fire rolled into the sky. The small man still stood in the street, glaring at us, just in front of the roaring flames.

“Jared!” I cried.

“So much for that,” Jared said, frowning. He peered into the rearview mirror to assess the damage. A column of fire shot up from fuel pumps. It would be a miracle if any of the people we’d left behind survived.

“Those people,” I moaned, touching the palm of my hand to my forehead. My eyes filled with tears, and I turned to face the front.

A few miles later, two large fire trucks, a pumper truck, and an ambulance raced toward us. All four vehicles ran hot, full lights and sirens screaming, fading away as they passed. The ambulance trailed behind, but the second its back bumper was in line with ours, it flipped around.

“Jared?”

“I see it,” Jared said, grabbing his side arm from the seat. He reached over, pulling my seat belt tight, and then without slowing down, jerked the Tundra to the right, turning one hundred and eighty degrees until we were face to face with the black-eyed ambulance drivers. Jared held his Glock outside of the window and aimed, shooting at their tires. The ambulance fishtailed, and then Jared jerked the truck again until we were once again facing north, with the ambulance behind us.

The ambulance skidded, and then tumbled forward, finally cartwheeling across the road and into the field on the opposite side.

As I watched it seemed to happen in slow motion, but within seconds of seeing the emergency vehicles, Jared had taken out the ambulance’s front tires and righted the truck so we could go about our journey. My mind hadn’t quite caught up with the events, but my heart was ripping through my chest.

“I thought you said not to kill them!”

Jared put the gun back in the seat and peered into the rearview mirror. “I hope they’re not dead.”

He picked up his phone and held it to his ear. “Claire. They’re shelling. I need backup.” He snapped the phone shut, and then pushed the phone under his thigh.

“Is she coming?”

He nodded once. “They all are. We just have to get to them.” The Tundra surged forward when Jared stomped on the gas. The speedometer climbed from seventy-five, to eighty-five, then ninety-five. The engine screamed a deafening soprano as Jared desperately tried to get us closer to his sister.

“Maybe we lost them,” I said, more to comfort myself than to convince my husband.