BooksBarbecue
Back The Runaway
Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY NICK PETRIE
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next on your reading list?

“Making it harder for them to follow us.” He took something from his jacket pocket, jammed it into the four-wheeler’s engine, and pulled hard. Then went to the second machine and repeated the gesture. She smelled gas.

He set a prybar on the dashboard. “Those won’t run long with broken fuel lines.” He unslung the rifle and slid into the driver’s seat with the barrel pointed out his window.

She was breathing hard. Her heart was pounding so loud she could practically hear it. She didn’t know how he could be so calm.

He closed the door softly and put on his seat belt. “When I start the engine, things will happen very fast.” He reached his hand toward her. There was something in it. A pistol, extended butt-first. “You know how to use this?”

She took the gun. “I’ll figure it out.” She turned it in the dashboard light.

“The safety is off. There’s a round in the chamber. All you have to do is pull the trigger. When we get through that door, they’ll start shooting. I want you to shoot back.”

She stared at him, eyes wide.

“You don’t have to hit anyone,” he said. “In fact, you shouldn’t. We just want to keep their heads down and make it harder for them to aim at us.”

She blinked. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Good. You ready?”

She nodded.

“Okay. Here we go.” He turned the key.

39

The Jeep’s engine roared to life and he threw it into gear. But instead of stomping on the accelerator, he just goosed it a little and let the Jeep jump forward until the bumper came into contact with the door. Then he goosed it again.

In the ambient glow of the dashboard lights, she watched the wide wooden door flex. The left side bent, bowed, and finally buckled as the padlock and hasp tore loose. The whole thing took only a few seconds. Then he hit the gas and she felt the back of her skull smack against the headrest as the Jeep surged ahead. The front bumper pushed the whole bottom of the door outward while the heavy-duty rollers at the top, mounted atop the iron track bolted to the barn, acted like a hinge.

They shot forward. The bottom of the door scraped up the hood of the car, then the windshield, leaving long vertical scratches as it rose to the roof. The Jeep rocked with its weight. Then the rollers let go and the car sunk on its springs as the full weight of the wood came down on top of them with a long splintering crash. But they were moving fast down the dirt ramp and the door flew away behind them.

Then she heard other sounds, the hard rattle of gunfire and a thump like a hammer on metal. Glass shattered behind her. “Shoot,” he shouted. “Fire out the window.”