“Keep going…”

The figure was moving toward the driver’s window. “A little closer…”

Springing into action, Decker hurled the door, clipping the front wheel of the motorcycle, spinning the entire ensemble off balance. Then he aimed the light’s beam on the driver’s face, features hidden behind a ski mask. “Freeze!”

Abruptly, something sped past Decker’s head.

“Shit!” He dropped the flashlight and ducked behind the safety of the metal door. Vaulting out a second time, he shot from the hip, discharging a bullet at the bike, but a volley of flying metal forced him to retreat another time. The biker’s bullets hit the front of the van, sending a deafening clatter throughout its interior, some of the ammo ricocheting off, spitting fire into the wet, raven night. Decker covered his head as hot lead flew past him.

“Fuck!” he screamed. “Fuck, fuck!”

He leaped out, returning fire: two rapid shots that took off a section of the cycle’s back fender. Still, the biker had kicked the motor into gear and sped away, screeching tires that burned rubber even though the asphalt was wet. Decker decided not to waste his last bullet on a fleeing target.

Panting heavily, he would have felt the wetness of sweat throughout his entire body except that he was soaked from the rain. He picked up the flashlight, which had survived the battle without injury, then dragged his body into the driver’s seat. “Are you okay, Jon?”

“I think so… ,” the rabbi whispered. “Other than uncontrollable shaking, I think I’m fine.”

Decker lowered his head on the wheel, fatigue covering him as oppressively as a sodden blanket. “I’m shaking, too.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m whole, and that’s all that counts right now.” Decker was trying to steady his heartbeat. He lifted his head up and turned the key in the ignition. The motor coughed lazily, then decided to fire up. “Well, that’s a good start.”

Jonathan uncoiled from the fetal position and slithered into the passenger’s seat. He belted himself in.

“Here goes nothing.” Decker strapped on the seat belt, then put the van into drive and coaxed it out of the embankment. Once he got it onto the asphalt, he depressed the gas pedal slowly. The car bucked, then limped noisily for about twenty feet before Decker applied the brakes.

“We’ve got a flat,” Decker said. “Hopefully, only a flat… as in one tire. Do you have a spare?”

“I have a spare,” Jonathan said. “I’ve never changed a tire, but I’m assuming that you have.”

“You assume correctly.” Again Decker pulled the vehicle to the side of the road. He went out and inspected the damage—a Swiss-cheese hood and one flat tire. Decker didn’t bother looking under the hood. At this point, it was probably best if he didn’t know. Jonathan had gotten out, staring at his newly ventilated van.

“I’ll change the tire,” Decker told his brother. “No sense in both of us getting wet.”

“Nonsense. At the very least, I can hold the flashlight.” Jonathan paused. “Although I’m still trembling. Think of it as a strobe.”