“Cell signal drops out here.”
“I know where we’re going," Sterling said. "I've lived here for more than half a year, and I've looked at the map."
“Of course.” Nick put it away.
Sterling checked the rearview mirror. “Gray F-150. Cracked right headlight. Mud on the tailgate.”
“How long?”
“Since the bridge.”
Sterling eased off the gas.
The pickup stayed the same distance.
He took the next right onto County Line Cutoff, a two-lane road that had more patch than pavement and no business pretending it had shoulders. Water sat in both ditches, thick with weeds and sun glare. On the left, a line of cypress trees leaned over the canal like old men eavesdropping.
The pickup turned behind them.
Pop!
"Fuck," Nick muttered.
The shot blew out the passenger-side mirror. Glass shards flew in through the open window and sprayed across Nick’s shoulder.
Sterling hit the gas.
The truck lunged forward, and the engine roared. Nick ducked low and snagged his weapon from under the seat.
Pop!
“Passenger's got a rifle,” Nick said.
The road bent hard left, then back right, quickly. Sterling took it fast. The rear end floated over gravel, and the right side dropped close to the ditch before the tires grabbed again. Water flashed below them.
Once the truck leveled out on the straightaway, Nick leaned out the open passenger window. He fired three rounds.
The pickup jerked left, then corrected.
Sterling kept his foot down and his gaze on the pavement. The road narrowed and dipped through a low spot where muddy water had crept across the pavement. The truck hit it hard. Brown spray exploded over the windshield. For half a second, he saw nothing but water and sun.
A tractor rolled ahead of them in their lane, pulling a flatbed stacked with pallets.
“Hold on while I pass this guy,” Sterling muttered.
Pop!
Another shot hit the rear window. The glass starred white but held.
Sterling swung left. The oncoming lane was empty for maybe two hundred yards. Beyond that, a delivery truck came around the bend, white box flashing in the sun.
Nick braced a hand on the dash.
The truck surged alongside the tractor. The flatbed bounced. One of the pallets shifted and dropped three inches with a crack of wood.
The gray pickup tried to follow, but the tractor drifted half a foot left, crowding it out.
Sterling cut back in front of the tractor with less room than he wanted. The delivery truck blasted past going the other way, horn screaming, wind rocking Sterling’s truck hard enough to shove it toward the ditch.
