and the impact had shot Clint forward into the dash and windshield. He was rattled and squinted into the darkness, but couldn’t see any other lights in the field. There was nothing. Either Murphy had cut the headlights, or the Jeep had dropped into a ditch.
“I don’t see anything, Book. Back up.”
Book backed up a hundred feet, with Clint leaning out of the passenger window searching for tire marks where the Jeep left the road.
Book backed slowly.
“Shit, Book,” Clint said. “There’s dozens of skid marks along here. Just stop and I’ll walk it.”
Clint got out and rubbed his forehead. It felt like someone had put him in a duffel bag and beat him with a stick.
The Jeep was airborne. The front slammed into the farm field like it had been dropped from a bridge. Jack and Moira were thrown around inside like rag dolls, but the Jeep held together.
The impact of hitting the ground jarred Moira out of her stupor and she scrabbled at Jack’s pocket and dug his cell phone out.
Jack cut the headlights while the Jeep created a path through the brush. They rolled forward, unable to see, making their way over the rough ground and heading north. Jack prayed there were no ditches or sinkholes in their path.
“Find the shotgun,” Jack said. He hadn’t believed the killers could catch up with them so quickly when they’d fled the cabin. He’d never been up against a military-trained force. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Moira felt something under her feet. “Here it is.”
“Call 911 and then give me the phone,” Jack said, but she was already punching in the numbers.
He heard Moira say, “No, I don’t know where we are. I’ve been shot and some guys are trying to kill us.” After a beat she said, “Look, lady, I’m with Detective Murphy . . . yeah, Murphy . . . listen, we’re in a field—east of Highway 41, I think.”
Jack spoke to her, “Tell them we’re headed for Interstate 164.”
Before Moira could repeat the information, the engine made a loud rattling sound, and a cloud of steam rose from the hood.
Moira shouted Jack’s instructions into the cell. Then he heard her saying, “Hello. Hello!”
She punched some buttons and then looked helplessly at Jack. “The phone’s not working.”
“Do you have your phone?” he asked.
“Back at the cabin,” she said.
“We’ve got to move,” Jack said as the Jeep rolled to a stop. “We’re going to head west.”
He jacked a round into the shotgun’s breech. “I think we’re close to the interstate. We can flag someone down. Use their phone.”
Jack could barely make out Moira’s face in the dark. He was worried whether Moira was up for this—both physically and mentally.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been shot in the face,” she said, “that’s how I feel. What do you think?”
Anger was good.
Moira pulled the handle but her door wouldn’t open. Jack pulled her out his side.
“Don’t let go of my hand,” he whispered.
She gripped his hand and they headed west. He looked back. The full moon was behind clouds and it was pitch-black. The killers could be five feet away and he wouldn’t see them. It was at least a mile to the interstate. All of the land around them was in the flood plain, but it was a dry summer and the ground was hard beneath their feet, which was good and bad. Good because it made walking faster, bad because everything was dry and each step made a crackling, crunching noise.
They set off north. The going was slower than he wanted. Blackberry-bush thorns tore at their clothing and skin as they waded across the uneven terrain and after a short time he could tell Moira was beginning to tire. With each step he could feel her grip lessening on his hand. He would have to get her somewhere safe soon.
He tried to remember the topography of the area. He had driven through here a zillion times, but had never paid much attention to things outside the car. The blackberry bushes on their left were probably growing along the edge of a drainage ditch. Checking the stars for direction were no good with the heavy cloud cover, but he spotted a faint light on the horizon ahead of them and to their left. If that was Evansville, that meant they were going in the right direction. He was about to point it out to Moira, to give her some hope, but before he could she spotted the top of a gabled