Page 72 of The Dire Reaction

“Oh, shit!” yells the driver. A heavy cable pulls taut in front of us, leaping from the ground after the jeep rolled past it.

“Fuck, on your right!” yells Stash. I look over in time to see that the heavy cable is tethered to a large truck. It’s barreling directly for us.

“The fucking dogs!” screams the man to the left of me. Flitting my glance away from the oncoming truck, I see a pack of the giant beasts pulling the cable in unison, one of the half-breeds barking with its arms raised.

We all heave forwards as the driver slams on the brakes.

But, it’s too late.

The truck collides into us from the right. I’m thrown against the man next to me, tumbling into the spinning cab as the truck rolls. Grinding, rending metal screams into my ears.

“Sam!” Where are you?

Another hard crash. Something hard hits me in the head.

Everything goes black.

Chapter thirty-three

SAM

“Whattheshit?”Aflicker of movement catches my eye. It looks like a silver line appears in front of the truck with Dani in it.

“Yea, sounds like the choppers finally caught up,” Captain Russo says, his face turned to the right, watching for dogs.

“No, what the hell is—” A box truck appears from the right, and it’s going fast.

Dani’s truck locks up the brakes, and I barely have time to stop. The cows shift in the trailer, bouncing us in the cab as their weight changes.

The large box truck, with its dull white paint and blue trim, speeds directly at them.

No!

“No!” I scream into the windshield. I’m fucking helpless watching the collision, the crumpling of the grill, the folding of the side of her truck. Shock freezes me watching the slow motion roll of my entire world rotating into an unnatural angle. Screeching of metal dragging across the asphalt shreds through my chest, grinding my heart into paralyzed crumbs.

A wave of tans and browns appear from the left almost instantly. Moving in concert, a small army of the dogs surge over the upturned truck. In seconds, the only thing I can see are the wheels still turning idly in the sun.

Scrambling for my seat belt, I try to jump out, but Captain Russo stops me.

“It’s suicide to go out there!” he yells, grabbing my hand.

“There’s no fucking way you’re holding me back!” Panic creeps into my voice as I shove his hand away.

Gunfire erupts from the upturned truck. A spray of red drifts over my windshield as a dog flies backward from the fray.

“They can’t get in!” the captain yells at me, fighting with me over the buckle.

Machine gunfire rattles the windows as the fifty caliber mounted on the jeep fires at some of the oncoming dogs.

That stills my hand for just a moment. If I can get out of the line of fire, the jeep can clear off the truck.

Slamming the gear shifter into reverse, I start weaving the long trailer backwards to the right, hoping like hell the trucks following us figure it out.

“Tell them to get the fuck out of line!” I yell at the captain. He grabs his radio and starts directing traffic around me.

The staccato of gunfire continues, the tracer rounds zeroing in and picking off some of the approaching dogs. But, not all of them.

They set a trap. That’s not dog intelligence. There has to be a half-breed directing them.

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