pistol and pushed it forward to the windshield pillar while simultaneously raising his right arm with his own pistol to the gangster’s face. Both guns went off at the same time. The gangster’s bullet exploded a spider web pattern across the passenger side of the windshield. L.C.’s bullet smashed into the thug’s cranium, dropping him beside the truck in an unmoving pile of wasted life.
L.C. bellowed, “Now!” as Zeke was already pushing the shifter up two notches into reverse and smashing the gas pedal to the floor. Plastic crunched as the front of the entrapping car was shattered by the pickup’s steel rear bumper. The motion was slow at first as the truck fought to overcome the friction between the road and the tires on the car. Once the small car began to inch rearward, giving way to the pickup’s weight and horsepower, the coefficient of friction between the car and the road decreased making it easier to push. Both vehicles picked up speed. L.C. dropped the gangster’s pistol, which he still held in his left hand, onto the dash and leaned out his window. He slowly and methodically fired at the delinquent beside the cruiser who had suddenly gained a keen interest in what was happening and hid behind the door like the coward that he was. The Civic pivoted around the rear bumper and slammed into the left side of the truck as Zeke braked and pulled the gear shift back into drive and once again smashed the gas pedal into the floor.
The engine roared as the truck surged forward and shot passed the hijacked police cruiser. L.C. fired one last round as the truck was even with the gangster, who was raising his gun in their direction. The shot flew true and the kid, who was in his early twenties, fell backward into the police cruiser. “Stop the truck!” L.C. yelled to be heard above Meagan’s screams in the backseat. “The cruiser still has the rifle and shotgun in the gun rack.”
Before the truck came to a stop, L.C. opened the door, jumped onto the asphalt road, and began to run the fifty feet back to the cruiser. Shots rang out from the red import. L.C. hunched down low as he ran and fired two shots. His gun went dry and he instinctively grabbed for the spare magazine in a pouch on his belt. Reaching the protection of the car door, he shoved the empty magazine into his pocket and put two more shots into the scraped driver’s side of the Civic.
Then, as if he had lost interest in the bullets slamming into the cruiser’s door, he reholstered his pistol and ducked into the car. Slivers of glass spewed into the interior as bullets pounded holes through the windshield. The interior began emitting a high pitched beep from the unlocked gun holder and L.C. emerged with an assault rifle in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, he began walking backwards toward the pickup while firing into the Civic with the rifle.
Whether it was because the overwhelming firepower had forced the shooter to take cover or because one of the bullets had found a meaty target, the gunshots from the Civic ceased. L.C. slammed the truck door closed and shouted, “Make like a bread truck and haul buns!”
Chapte r 15
This time Zeke didn’t slow below forty for red lights. Two times in the next mile and a half, cars pulled out of lots and accelerated to follow. Both times Zeke romped on the gas and accelerated to seventy miles an hour. Both times, the cars immediately pulled back into parking lots without pursuit, waiting for easier targets.
Shortly after outrunning the last of the car pirates, the road began to plug up with abandoned cars. Initially Zeke was able to weave between the empty vehicles discarded in the lanes, but eventually the road was completely blocked. Driving on sidewalks and in parking lots took them a little further. When no more progress was possible, he turned down side streets. They proved to be no better.
It
L.C. bellowed, “Now!” as Zeke was already pushing the shifter up two notches into reverse and smashing the gas pedal to the floor. Plastic crunched as the front of the entrapping car was shattered by the pickup’s steel rear bumper. The motion was slow at first as the truck fought to overcome the friction between the road and the tires on the car. Once the small car began to inch rearward, giving way to the pickup’s weight and horsepower, the coefficient of friction between the car and the road decreased making it easier to push. Both vehicles picked up speed. L.C. dropped the gangster’s pistol, which he still held in his left hand, onto the dash and leaned out his window. He slowly and methodically fired at the delinquent beside the cruiser who had suddenly gained a keen interest in what was happening and hid behind the door like the coward that he was. The Civic pivoted around the rear bumper and slammed into the left side of the truck as Zeke braked and pulled the gear shift back into drive and once again smashed the gas pedal into the floor.
The engine roared as the truck surged forward and shot passed the hijacked police cruiser. L.C. fired one last round as the truck was even with the gangster, who was raising his gun in their direction. The shot flew true and the kid, who was in his early twenties, fell backward into the police cruiser. “Stop the truck!” L.C. yelled to be heard above Meagan’s screams in the backseat. “The cruiser still has the rifle and shotgun in the gun rack.”
Before the truck came to a stop, L.C. opened the door, jumped onto the asphalt road, and began to run the fifty feet back to the cruiser. Shots rang out from the red import. L.C. hunched down low as he ran and fired two shots. His gun went dry and he instinctively grabbed for the spare magazine in a pouch on his belt. Reaching the protection of the car door, he shoved the empty magazine into his pocket and put two more shots into the scraped driver’s side of the Civic.
Then, as if he had lost interest in the bullets slamming into the cruiser’s door, he reholstered his pistol and ducked into the car. Slivers of glass spewed into the interior as bullets pounded holes through the windshield. The interior began emitting a high pitched beep from the unlocked gun holder and L.C. emerged with an assault rifle in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, he began walking backwards toward the pickup while firing into the Civic with the rifle.
Whether it was because the overwhelming firepower had forced the shooter to take cover or because one of the bullets had found a meaty target, the gunshots from the Civic ceased. L.C. slammed the truck door closed and shouted, “Make like a bread truck and haul buns!”
Chapte r 15
This time Zeke didn’t slow below forty for red lights. Two times in the next mile and a half, cars pulled out of lots and accelerated to follow. Both times Zeke romped on the gas and accelerated to seventy miles an hour. Both times, the cars immediately pulled back into parking lots without pursuit, waiting for easier targets.
Shortly after outrunning the last of the car pirates, the road began to plug up with abandoned cars. Initially Zeke was able to weave between the empty vehicles discarded in the lanes, but eventually the road was completely blocked. Driving on sidewalks and in parking lots took them a little further. When no more progress was possible, he turned down side streets. They proved to be no better.
It
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