asked.
“Running down the middle of the road,” Tank said. “I’m trying to ease through them, but they’re kind of dumb or have a death wish. They keep crossing in front of me.”
Dash’s hand tightened on his rifle, an uneasy feeling creeping over him. “Do you see a shepherd?”
“Off to one side,” Blade’s voice cut in. “Looks like a kid.”
“Armed?” Dash asked.
“With a stick,” Blade responded.
“I don’t like it,” Dash said.
“Neither do I,” Rucker said into Dash’s ear. “My gut is telling me to get the hell out of here. Pronto. Pedal to the metal, Tank.”
“Survival of the fittest,” Tank grumbled.
Moments later, the vehicles of the caravan lurched forward one after the other.
As they passed a narrow valley on their right, a flash of light caught Dash’s attention. He glanced in that direction.
“Damn,” he said into his mic. “Got half a dozen bogeys on motorcycles coming around the corner. Get ready for some fireworks.”
“We don’t know their intent,” Rucker said. “Don’t fire until they do.”
With the riders crowding around Sunny’s motor coach, Dash didn’t like that he couldn’t start eliminating them one by one.
Over his shoulder, he called out. “If you’re not down, now would be a good time.”
“I’m on the floor. It’s as close to the ground as I can get,” Sunny shouted over the sound of the motorcycle engines.
“Hang on,” Dash said as the riders caught up and rode alongside. “It’s about to get crazy out there.” He lowered his window and poked his rifle out. The driver did the same, a handgun resting in his lap as he steered the giant coach one-handed.
Dash aimed for the nearest rider. He wouldn’t pull the trigger until they fired the first shot.
He didn’t have to wait long before one of the cyclists raised a handgun and fired at their motorhome, piercing the front windshield in the middle.
The driver jerked backward, the motorhome swerved to the left and would have run off the road if Dash hadn’t lunged across the console. He grabbed the steering wheel and righted the vehicle.
“Marcus.” Dash held onto the steering wheel but couldn’t control the speed. “Marcus, are you still with us?”
The bodyguard clutched his arm. “I’m hit,” he said through gritted teeth.”
“Can you hold on until we can get somewhere safe?”
The man nodded his head. “But I can’t steer.”
“I’ll steer, you accelerate and brake.”
“Okay,” Marcus said through gritted teeth.
“What’s going on?” Sunny had crawled up the center of the coach to where Dash was manhandling the steering wheel.
“Marcus’s been hit.”
Another shot was fired at the front windshield.
Dash ducked instinctively. The bullet went wide. He cursed and hunkered as low as he could and still see over the dash.
“Let me drive. You shoot,” Sunny said.
“No. They might hit you.”
“And they might hit me anyway if you don’t start shooting back.” She eased her way forward, sliding beneath him to grab the steering wheel. “Go! Marcus and I can handle this. You handle the shooters.”
Dash didn’t like that Sunny was exposed in the front seat. But he couldn’t protect her if he was dead. He returned to his seat, took up his rifle and focused on killing as many of the bastards as he could, as quickly as he could.
He refused to let one more bullet hit their windshield and potentially hurt or kill Sunny. “Got problems back here,” he said through his clenched jaw.
“We’re on our way back,” Rucker said.
“Just keep this train moving,” Dash said. “We can’t stop, or they’ll be all over us.”
“We’re on our way forward to help,” Mac said. “Hang tight. We’re coming up on your left.”
Dash glanced in the rearview mirror on his side of the coach. The roads had very little room on either side.
“Sunny, can you steer the motorhome to the right?”
“Yes,” Sunny said, and the coach swerved to the right then straightened.
Another shot hit the passenger door and came all the way through, nicking Dash’s calf. He hissed.
“What?” Sunny shot a glance his way.
“Nothing,” Dash said. He aimed his rifle out the window at one of the men on a motorcycle. As soon as he could get a bead on him, he pulled the trigger.
The motorcycle swerved right, the wheel turning so sharply, the rear of the vehicle flipped over the front, throwing the rider through the air.
“Got one coming up on the right,” Marcus said.
Dash had one on his side within range. He aimed and fired, hitting his mark. Then he lunged from his seat, leaned between Sunny and Marcus and waited for the cyclist to come even