BOOM.
The side mirror explodes. Glass showers into the cab.
“He’s shooting at us!”
“I noticed!”
I aim for the gravel driveway. We hit the ruts hard enough to bounce my head off the roof.
The man is running now, chasing us down the drive. He stops. Aims.
The barrel levels in the rearview.
I swerve.
BOOM.
The back window shatters. Safety glass rains down on us like hail.
“Are you hit?” I yell.
“No! Just glass! Drive!”
We hit the paved road. I turn left, tires screeching. I floor it. The speedometer needle wobbles toward fifty. The truck shakes like it’s going to fly apart.
I watch the rearview. The man is standing in the road, shotgun lowered. Shrinking.
Gone.
I keep the pedal down for three miles. Five. Ten.
My heart is hammering. Good adrenaline. Clean adrenaline.
I glance at Cassie.
She’s sitting up now, picking glass out of her hair. Her face is white, her eyes huge.
She starts to laugh.
It’s a jagged, hysterical sound.
“We stole a truck,” she gasps. “We actually stole a truck from a man in overalls with a shotgun.”
“We borrowed it.”
“He shot out the window!”
“He missed the tires. That’s what matters.”
She looks at me. There’s a smear of dirt on her nose. A piece of glass caught in the collar of my thermal shirt she’s wearing.
“You’re bleeding,” she says.
“What?”
“Your cheek. Glass cut.”
I wipe my face. My hand comes away red.
