“That’s because he had something you never will. Integrity.”
To Keiths, he said, “Use a side road. We don’t want to risk anyone driving by.”
Keiths took the next exit, guiding the SUV from a congested highway to an almost deserted secondary road.
Laura kept her attention out the windshield and used her periphery to run an inventory of the weapons worn by Macon and Brown.
Standard equipment was a 9mm automatic, two extra clips, and a boot knife. But Macon could have hidden an extra gun on his ankle. The Kevlar vest would limit her strike zone.
Head, neck, face.
Brown appeared to have the same catalog of weapons with a clear lump where his pant leg tightened around his shin. He was significantly taller than Macon and the position of Max’s seat limited the space in front of Brown’s knees.
With the door on his right, he’d have to lean toward Laura to make a move for his other weapon.
Keiths’ position meant he’d have to let go of the wheel and take his eyes off the road to react.
“I’m very sorry it has to be this way, Laura.” Max almost sounded sincere.
“You’re not sorry.” She turned her shoe until the high heel pointed outward. “But then neither am I.”
Laura swung, punching the heel of her shoe through Macon’s eye socket, then yanked the pin from her hair comb and drove it into Brown’s groin. His scream covered Max’s shouts and Keiths’ yelling.
Laura tore her shoe free from Macon’s skull, then punched it through his forehead, his face, his throat. Blood fanned over the back of Keiths’ chair.
The passenger-side tires of the SUV dropped off the shoulder of the road, spitting up dirt and gravel. Keiths yanked the wheel, fighting for control. The rear swung wide, and momentum pushed them from the shoulder down an incline into the woods.
Brown grabbed Laura by the hair.
“Gonna fucking kill you, bitch.”
He could try.
Laura hammered the hairpin with the heel of her hand, and his angry scream turned into a wail of agony. He let her go in favor of trying to pull the steel pin from his crotch.
The SUV bounced hard. Max went airborne, and Brown was tossed in Laura’s direction. She met his face with her elbow caving in his nose.
Keiths fumbled for his gun, and Laura snatched Macon’s weapon from his holster and fired.
Stuffing puffed from the hole in the back of Keith’s seat. Crimson rain showered the windshield.
Tree limbs slapped against the roof, the sides. Saplings raked off the mirrors and dug gouges into the body.
The strap of the seatbelt knocked the air from Laura’s lungs, and the wardens beside her launched from their seats when a hundred-year-old oak tree brought it all to a halt.
A mockingbird called out.
The engine ticked.
A whimper came from the front seat.
Laura opened her eyes.
Steam hissed from under the hood and leaked through the AC vents into the cab.
Brown lay with his chest on the hood of the SUV and his lower body caught in the splintered remnants of the dash.
Keiths’ chair had snapped from the weight of Macon’s body, crushing his face into the steering wheel, leaving Macon wedged between him and the ceiling.