“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” the man in the ski mask said.

For a moment they stood in stunned silence between the incapacitated Porsche and the van, staring at the unmoving bodies littering the airstrip.

“Let’s go!” yelled a female voice from inside.

“Move,” the ski masked man said. “Move, now!”

He practically shoved William inside but made no move towards Lily. She scampered after in a daze, still holding on to William. The other masked man used his pistol to move Quincy quickly in as well. As they fumbled into the seats, the door slammed shut.

“What just happened out there?” a woman yelled from the driver’s seat.

“Just go! Go!” Even muffled by the ski mask, the man’s voice was clearly rattled.

“Go where?” She was looking back, her mouth covered by a bandana. “The gate is blocked!”

“Ram it. Don’t let them shoot the tires!”

“Do not ram anything!” Quincy said, his hand bracing himself as the van began to spin around. “Whatever you want, I’ll pay it. Just stop and let us out—”

“Shut the hell up!” the ski-masked man said, pointing the rifle inches from Quincy’s face. “Go! Go!”

William leaned over to look out the windshield as the van wildly swerved, a pinging sound cutting through the air.

“Get down!”

The bullets then suddenly stopped as the van headed directly for the helicopter’s tail. The men in suits that had piled out were now scrambling away.

The van made a horrible crunching sound as they smashed into the tail, the helicopter blades still whirling above. The rotor blade came dangerously close to slicing into the roof.

The woman gunned the engine, continuing to push the helicopter. As soon as it had moved far enough, she spun the wheel, and propelled the van forward through the open gate.

“Don’t stop!” the ski-masked man yelled, sliding down the aisle to the back. The back doors of the van flew open, and William watched as he scrambled with something in a metal box and threw it out.

The chain flew out wildly into the air and crashed onto the road. “Hope your tires like that, you fuckers,” William heard him say.

Quincy jammed his hand into his suit coat pocket. “Name your price. Whatever you want, I will pay. Just let us go.”

“Please shut up,” the man in the Nixon man said, pointing his pistol at him. “And get your hand out where I can see it.”

The woman called out from the front. “Rudd, are we heading—”

“You know where to go, Neve. Anyone trailing us yet?” The man pulled off the ski mask, revealing the face William had seen frantically waving at them to pull over on the interstate.

“Not yet. But Rudd, what the hell…”

“Plan B. We go to Plan B right now,” he said.