“Goddamn machines,” Rodney said, leaning forward to look out the windshield. “I don’t want to be stuck here.”
Don looked in the side mirror. A sedan had pulled up behind them, practically kissing their rear bumper. “It looks like we don’t have a choice.”
Up ahead, people were getting out of their cars, standing on their tiptoes or with their hands on their hips. Some spoke to each other. Others looked panicked.
“Stay here,” Rodney said. “I’m going to see what’s going on.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“You think of anything else?”
“No.”
“Okay,” Rodney said, and got out of the RV. He grunted as he stepped down to the pavement. Looking back the way they’d come, he shook his head. Hitching his pants, he marched toward the people gathered a car ahead. Don rolled down the window to hear as best he could. In the distance, the sound of honking horns. It smelled of exhaust and cow manure.
Rodney reached three men and a woman standing next to a blue sedan. He greeted them and asked if they knew what the holdup was, and how long it was going to take.
“Trailer jackknifed a few miles ahead,” the woman said. “Blocking both lanes of traffic. Apparently, the cops were called, but that was an hour ago.”
“Any other way around?” Rodney asked.
One of the men shook his head. “Not unless you plan on going off-roading. Too many people have gotten stuck and had to abandon their cars.”
But whatever else they said was drowned out by the sound of a revving engine. Don turned his head to the left. Next to their RV, a truck. Older model. Half the size of the RV. Inside, Don saw a man behind the wheel. Couldn’t see his face, just his thick arms with dark hair. In front of the truck, a white two-door car, empty, the occupants standing on the road.
Don frowned as the man revved the engine again. He was about to call for Rodney when the truck shot forward, smashing into the back of the white car, knocking it askew. Windows shattered, metal crumpled, and Don jerked away, hitting his head against the frame of the door.
The truck reversed, tires squealing, bumper tearing off and landing on the ground. Don watched as Rodney whirled around, eyes wide.
No one ran.
One of the men Rodney had been standing with started screaming, his face splotchy, spittle flying from his mouth. “What the fuck! What the fuck! That’s mycar, you piece of shit! What the hell are you doing?”
The truck roared again as it plowed forward, striking the white car once more, knocking it into the vehicle in front of it. In that car, teenagers, two of them, both staring over the back seat to see what had hit them.
The owner of the white car pulled a gun out from a holster on his side.
Don’s throat closed, breath whistling. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t shout in warning.
“What the fuck!” the man shouted again, pointing the gun at the truck. “What the fuck!”
He fired, the sound a sharp crack.
A moment of silence, as if everyone held their breath. Then:
Nowpeople began to scream.Nowpeople began to run. As the bullet struck the grille of the truck with a comicaltwang—like Looney Tunes, Don thought through a haze of panic—the driver of the truck reversed again, much faster, crashing into the vehicle that had come to a stop behind it. The truck’s front was crumpled, bent brackets and torn metal twisted into sharp points. The man with the gun fired again. Spiderweb cracks appeared on the windshield of the truck.
Don screamed when the door to the RV flew open. Rodney scrambled inside, staying low. “Getdown,” he snarled at Don, twisting the key to the RV. The engine whined as it clicked over, but Rodney didn’t wait for it to settle. Glancing back and forth at the side mirrors, he quickly reversed, the RV shuddering. They smashed into the car behind them, Rodney and Don jerking in their seats.
“Oh my god,” Don whispered as another shot was fired, then another. “Oh my god.”
“Hold on,” Rodney said, putting the RV in drive and twisting the wheel to the right. They shot forward, hitting the ditch on the side of the road, both bouncing in their seats. “Seat belt, now!”
Don belted in. Behind them, screams. In the side mirror, Don could see people running down the road or huddled behind their cars. The gunman approached the passenger side of the truck. He raised the gun. He fired, the window shattering. And then he fired again.
The American Dream, Don thought as tree limbs scraped against the sides of the RV.Death by gunfire.
The RV bounced up and down, the seat belt pulling painfully against Don’s chest. The ground seemed to be holding, not like the swamps they’d had to avoid. He didn’t say a word, not wanting Rodney’s concentration to be broken.