Shaw smelled the sweet aroma of gasoline.
“Out!” he called, rolling down the windows, unlocking the doors. All of the airbags had blown. Parker and her daughter didn’t seem badly hurt, though they were stunned. “Gas. Get out!”
He undid his belt, dropping to the ceiling. He turned and undid Parker’s. She’d been fumbling with it. She landed in a pile, barking a muted scream of pain. Hannah hit her own harness and twisted as she fell, landing like a cat on all fours. They crawled out.
Hannah reached back for the water clock.
Shaw said firmly, “Han. No.”
She looked toward him and nodded.
“Stay low. Move that way.” He pointed downhill—and lateral. Not only was the sedan at risk of catching fire, but it teetered at a twenty-degree angle on soft earth. It wouldn’t take much to start it tumbling.
Shaw stood and fired one round into the windshield of the Ford van. There was no human target; he wanted only to tell them he was armed, which would buy some distance and time, and allow them to set up a good defensive position. He heard shouting: directionsgiven, possible sightings. It seemed to be only the Twins. Had Merritt gotten the others? Shaw had a feeling that he had.
Hannah was helping her mother.
As the three continued down the slope, Shaw glanced up the hill and saw the two forms coming after them. Yes, the Twins. They had drawn their handguns and were beginning to shoot in the direction of the ruined car. Their tactic with the van hadn’t quite worked. They too had been slammed by the airbags and, still stunned, weren’t firing accurately.
Still, a random bullet could be just as deadly as one fired with precision.
When they were about fifty feet below the Buick, Shaw noticed Parker slowing.
Looking back up the hill, he saw Tan Jacket standing to fire. The man dropped just as Shaw squeezed off a round.
A miss.
Thirteen shots left in the weapon, two fifteen-round mags in his pocket.
Never lose track of remaining ammunition...
Ahead of them, Shaw spotted a culvert about three feet deep. “There.” He gestured them into it. Then he rolled in and peered over the top like a soldier in a trench, scanning with his weapon. He looked behind them. No escape that way. The hill, descending to the river, offered limited ground cover and the moon was up, its cool light bright enough to spot targets.
He looked back over the lip of their trench, scanning to the left.
“Mr. Shaw!” Hannah whispered. She’d ignored his order to stay low. “Right! Look!”
It was Suit.
Shaw acquired and was about to fire when the man vanished.
They’d be flanking, he assumed. And they’d need to finish up quickly. The highway wasn’t far away, and on a pleasant night likethis, car windows might be down, drivers and passengers would be wondering about the shots. No hunters at this hour, of course.
“What should we do, Mr. Shaw?”
He looked around the immediate area. “Cover yourselves up with leaves as much as you can.”
She hesitated. The girl who wanted a gun didn’t seem happy at the thought of hiding.
But then she got to work, piling leaves on her mother and then hunkering down and burrowing under the rustling blanket herself.
“I’m moving up there.” He pointed to high ground. “I need to get into position.”
She gave a smile. “That’s what people like you say. They get intopositiontoengage.”
He nodded to her and went over the top of the ridge and began a soldier’s prone shuffle to the left.
Where are you? Where?