Page 42 of Nicole's Shelter

Another erratic burst of gunfire came from behind, but Rick had pulled to the shoulder. Shoving the gearshift to reverse, he bullied the protesting transmission and drove backward into the trees as far as he could go.

He cut the engine and readied his weapons as Nicole tucked herself into the relative safety under the dash. He’d defended worse positions down range and lived to never talk about them.

Ideally, he wanted one of the bikers alive enough to tell him about Clifton. Probably wouldn’t go down that way, but it was better to think positively.

He heard the motorcycles rev as they closed in. Under that crotch-rocket whine he caught the sound of an agonized scream. So biker one was alive, but likely out of commission. He had to hope the guy was valuable enough to the gang that the other two would want to save him.

Rick eased open his door and slid to the ground, prepared for the inevitable attack. This crew was all urban if the bikes and weapons were any indication. He mentally crossed his fingers they expected him to behave like they would in his place. If he was lucky, that approach would make this as simple as a little extra target practice on a clear day.

* * *

Tucked under the dash, Nicole watched Rick methodically check his guns and roll out of the car. There was an eerie and lethal grace to his movements, as if he dealt with attacks like these every morning. It should probably frighten her. It didn’t.

She tried to follow his calm example and breathe, but her heart hammering against her ribs made the exercise difficult. Her thoughts bounced around, riding the surge of adrenaline. She hoped he killed them all, and quickly, and she didn’t feel the least bit guilty for wishing strangers dead. There was an odd clarity to be found in life-threatening situations and frankly, the experience was getting old. Memories of fires past and present flashed through her mind, interspersed with the images collected along the way as she’d repeatedly raced away from danger.

Her body quivered, cramped as it was between the dash and the front seat. The stiff carpet covering the floor was rough against her cheek and the bar to adjust the seat dug into her knee. The heat of the engine filled her nostrils, and she picked up the stale scent of spilled coffee and something else. Gasoline or oil, she couldn’t decide, but it was starting to smell more like a machine shop and less like a normal vehicle.

Rick’s phone shrilled with an incoming call and she struggled to reach it where it had landed under the seat. Her fingers found a straw wrapper and a pencil before finally securing his phone.

Gunfire blasted and the car shuddered under the abuse. A different gun sounded, quieter but no less lethal. She looked at the supporting structure under the seat and a rare fury bubbled up inside. No way in hell would her last view of this world be so confined, so ordinary.

She twisted around, smacking her head against the dash when another burst of gunfire raked the car. Her fingers fumbled with the door handle, but she got it open and pushed their bags out ahead of her. She waited until she heard Rick’s gun and slithered out of the car, staying low.

The damp ground was slick with leaves and they stuck to her hands as she slipped and scrambled deeper into the cover of the trees, dragging their backpacks along with her.

It wouldn’t be a hard trail to follow, but she convinced herself Rick would be the only one able to do so.

Maybe it was being out in the open and the fresh air clearing her head, but the intense battle seemed quieter and slower somehow. A motorcycle eased into her limited view, the muzzle of the gun flashing near the rider’s hip.

She saw Rick stand up, his arms stretched forward, gun leveled on the biker.

There was a scream, probably hers, as the bike stood on end, pitching the rider up into the air. Rider, bike, and gun went in different directions, but she didn’t see the landing because the car exploded and the blast knocked her back into the trees.

The kaleidoscope of red and orange leaves, a slice of blue sky, and a fluffy cloud was her last view before her world went dark.

It was so much better than the bleak underbelly of a car seat.

* * *

“Enough games,” Rick said to himself as he rolled to his feet. Two were down and he couldn’t let this last guy get away to report the crew’s failure. He fired once, and again, finally blowing out the front tire on the remaining bike. It was a dark high watching the rider, gun, and bike go flying, but his triumphant shout was silenced by the explosion of the car behind him. “Nicole! Get out of there!”

Fire engulfed the back quarter panel furthest from where he’d told her to stay, but flames reached out, greedy for more. Heart in his throat, he berated himself as he raced around the front end. He should have thought of this, should have prevented it. Should never have put her in this predicament.

“Nicole!” The fire and desperate panic scraped at his throat, He reached the passenger door, bewildered to find it open and Nicole missing.

Relief mixed with confusion. A good thing she hadn’t stayed put, but where had she gone?

He backed away as the car continued to burn. He was running out of time. Had to be. Even on the back roads, someone would eventually come along and see the mess of bikes and riders. And the car fire might as well be a flare. His need to finish the job and contain their attackers warred with the need to find Nicole.

He looked around for any sign, for a trail, but tracking without technological assistance wasn’t his strong suit. Nothing was a strong suit in the face of panic.

Think! He pushed the emotions aside. There hadn’t been more than the three bikers. They couldn’t have kidnapped her since they didn’t know where he might stop. He had to believe she’d left the car on her own and was safe. He prayed he wasn’t deluding himself. Talented as this crew was, they wouldn’t risk those motorcycles off-road even if they’d anticipated his decision to make a stand rather than try and out run them.

Just a few paces from the car, he crouched down, trying to imagine what had prompted her to leave her position. If he could find the motivator, maybe he could find the trail.

A bullet grazed his back just ahead of the sound of a gun barking. Rick dropped and rolled away, aiming his weapon toward the threat. One of the bikers had enough grit to try and finish the job. “Give me the girl,” he said with a sneer.

“Never.” Rick pulled the trigger only to hear the click of an empty magazine.

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