Texas Outlaw (Rory Yates #2) - James Patterson Page 0,82
run to it and start the engine, we might get away. Gareth would probably fill it full of holes—and one or all of us could end up hurt or dead—but it might be our only chance.
As if Gareth can read our minds, the next bullet punctures one of the truck’s tires. Then another. He shoots a series of holes into the hood of the truck—firing as fast as the bolt action will let him—and soon oil and radiator fluid start to bleed into the dirt underneath.
When he has completely disabled Kyle’s truck, he does the same to mine, puncturing two of the four tires and pumping bullets into the engine. Each one hits the hood, making a plink sound, followed by the rifle reports rolling over us.
He finally stops shooting, and the air is silent.
The smell of sagebrush is tinged with the odor of oil and gasoline.
“He’s letting his barrel cool,” I say.
“There’s nothing left for him to shoot at anyway,” Kyle says. “We’re at a stalemate.”
He’s right.
Gareth can’t get to us where we’re hiding. But we can’t move. And we sure as hell can’t get to him.
“Where are the keys to the tanker?” Kyle asks.
I don’t know. They’re probably in Dale’s pocket, which means they’re no good to us. Gareth would kill whoever stepped out to get them. And it wouldn’t much matter if they were in the ignition. The truck is facing the direction where the bullets are coming from. As soon as one of us climbed into the cab, bullets would come raining through the windshield. This isn’t a pickup—it would be a slow process to start it, shift it into gear, and get the vehicle moving. Whoever was in the driver’s seat would be a sitting duck and would certainly be dead before the vehicle ever hit five miles an hour.
“What do we do?” Ariana says.
“The only thing we can do,” Kyle says. “Wait.”
As awful as that sounds, he’s right. We have no play here. None at all. Our only hope is to stay alive a little longer and hope our situation somehow changes.
But then, now that the air is silent, I hear something in the distance. It’s what I heard this morning, waking me up: the whine of ATVs. The noise must not have come from my dreams after all. McCormack’s men were getting into position, staying far enough away that I could barely hear them in the morning silence.
As the ATVs get closer, I risk a glance around the edge of the truck. I spot two ATVs climbing up over the top of distant hills, so far away they look like insects. Kyle crawls under the truck and looks at the other side. He says he sees another ATV. That makes three.
This changes things. The four-wheelers will descend on us, their occupants armed with automatic weapons. With only a couple of pistols to fight them off, we don’t stand a chance.
A minute ago we had a stalemate.
This is checkmate.
Chapter 86
KYLE, ARIANA, AND I hunker in the dirt next to the tanker truck’s wheels.
“We need that rifle,” I say, pointing to the .223 M4 lying over by Dale’s body. “That will give us a fighting chance when the ATVs get close.”
All of us look over at the gun, which is a good ten feet away. Dale’s body, with his head in a swamp of red mud, serves as a reminder of the high risk of going out there.
“I’ll go,” Ariana says. “If I keep moving, he won’t be able to get a good shot.”
There’s truth to what she’s saying. Hitting a target at such a long range is hard enough—hitting one that’s moving is just about impossible.
It would be like shooting a bumblebee out of midair with a pistol.
The sniper would have to be as good with a rifle as I am with a pistol. The problem is I’ve seen Gareth in action. He might just be that good.
“No,” I tell Ariana. “I’ll go. I’m faster.”
This is an arguable claim—Ariana runs regularly and is just as athletic as I am. But I want to keep her safe. She saved my life already today. It’s my turn to risk my life to save hers.
The whine of the ATVs is getting louder. I peek in their direction and see that soon they’ll be close enough to start shooting. Each vehicle has two men, one to drive, the other behind him armed with an AR-15.
I shift into a runner’s stance, ready to burst into a sprint.