She climbed in behind the steering wheel.
“Dee, the car will break down. We are not—”
“I know we’re not.”
He felt something inside of him unhook.
“No.”
Dee looked past him to her daughter. “Naomi, take Cole and gather up the weapons from the dead men.”
“Mom.”
“Right. Now.” When the children were gone, she said, “I can’t walk, Jack. It would be so easy for me to bleed out.”
“We’re going to get you help.”
“We’re all going to be dead in five minutes.”
“Dee—”
“Listen to me. It’s dusk. Soon, it’ll be night. Let me—”
“No, Dee—”
“Let me take the Jeep. Those trucks will follow my lights. Think they’re chasing us all down. By the time they catch up to me, it’ll be dark, and you and the kids—” her voice broke “—you’ll be safe.”
“But we’re almost there, baby.”
“You run all night, Jack. Promise me you won’t stop.”
Over the roof of the Jeep, in the blue dusk across the plain, he could see three points of light.
“No.”
“You ready to watch them die? Are you?”
“I’m not ready for this, Dee.”
“I know.”
Naomi and Cole were coming back over.
He grabbed her face and kissed her. There were tears running down their faces but they wiped them away as the kids arrived.
“There are trucks coming,” Naomi said.
“I know, baby,” Dee said. She looked at Jack. He took the handguns from Naomi and set them in Dee’s lap.
“We’re going due north,” he told her. “You come to us.”
Dee nodded. She looked down at Cole, her eyes glistening again. “Got a hug for Mommy?” The boy handed Jack the shotgun and leaned into the Jeep. Dee pulled Cole into her and kissed the top of his head. She glanced up at her daughter. “Na?”
“What are you doing?”
“Mom’s going to run some interference for us.”
“We’re not staying together?”
Jack grabbed Naomi’s arm and glared at her, his chin trembling. “Hug your mother, Na.”
Naomi looked at Jack. She looked at Dee. She wrapped her arms around her mother, and as she sobbed into her chest, Jack heard the first distant grumble of the approaching trucks.
Already, it was dark and cold.
“Come on, angel.” Jack pulled Naomi away from Dee. “Take your brother into that depression, and you lie down in the grass at the bottom. I’ll be right there.”
“Daddy—”
“I know. Don’t think right now. Just go.”
Naomi gathered herself. “All right, Cole, let’s see what’s over here.”
“Where?” the boy said.
Dee watched her children run off down the hill into the dark.
“Let me take the car,” Jack said.
“I can’t walk,” Dee said. “The kids would have to leave me to find help. They’d be on their own. You want that?”
“Dee—”
“Stop wasting our last moment.”
He nodded.
“Do you know what I’m going to think about?” she said.
“What?”
“That day we had up at the cabin. That perfect day.”
“Wiffle ball in the field.”
She smiled. “Please get our children someplace safe. Make this mean something.”
“I swear to you I will.”
“I have to go now.”
“You have to stop crying so you can drive.”
In the distance, it was too dark to see the trucks, but their headlights were close enough to have separated into six points of light.
Jack kissed his wife once more and buried his face into the softness of her neck and just breathed her in. Then he looked into her eyes for precious seconds until she pushed him away. She pulled the door closed and cranked the engine.
He got down in the grass and he was crying as the Jeep rolled away, picking up speed. After ten seconds, the cornerlamps cut on—dim, orange light—and the noise of the engine became rackety across the prairie, sputtering and hacking.
Jack watched the approaching trucks, still moving toward him, getting louder as the Jeep dwindled away. No evident course diversion yet.
He glanced back into the depression, couldn’t see his children.
When he looked forward again, the trucks were turning, all of them, and difficult to see now with their headlights blazing east.
He lay there watching the lights move across the plain, the engines becoming quiet, the lights fading.
Their Jeep disappeared.
The trucks vanished.
He had to strain now to even hear the engines.
Then he was lying on the ground, and there was no sound but the wind blowing through the grass. He lifted the shotgun and rose to his feet, started toward the depression. Couldn’t see a thing under the cloud cover. He wouldn’t have seen anything regardless, with the tears streaming down his face. He called out for his children in the darkness, and when they answered, he let their voices guide him.
In the rearview mirror, Dee watched the trio of headlights pursuing her. The temperature gauge was pegged, and in the Jeep’s headlights, she could see streamers of smoke pouring out of the engine, smell things burning. Her leg throbbed, and she kept steady pressure on the gas pedal, trying to maintain her speed at twenty, but the engine had begun to lose power, cylinders misfiring, RPMs erratic, and still those trucks stayed with her, getting closer.
At 1.2 miles, the RPMs fell off and the engine seized, a violent clanging under the hood. Dee finally eased her foot off the accelerator, let the Jeep roll to a stop and die.
She turned the key back in the ignition.
Short of breath, her heart pounding.
The headlights of those trucks getting brighter in the rearview mirror, and the ominous symphony of their engines already audible.
She couldn’t feel her leg, didn’t know whether that was owing to the loss of blood flow or the adrenaline surging through her.
Her hands trembled as she lifted the guns out of her lap.
One of the trucks shot past, a hundred and fifty yards south, and kept going.
She turned around and looked back between the seats.
The other pair of headlights were motionless, a hundred feet back. They intensified, brights blazing into the Jeep for what seemed ages.
At last, she heard a series of distant door slams, and then the lights went dark.