Chapter 7 - The Logging Trail
The logging road was little more than two parallel ruts of frozen mud carved into the side of a sheer mountain cliff. To the left rose a vertical wall of Douglas firs; to the right, a drop of four hundred feet into the churning white water of the Rogue River.
""Tristan, stay on my bumper!"" Cole yelled into the radio as the Suburban’s four-wheel-drive system groaned under the strain of deep mud.
Elena grabbed the ceiling handle as the vehicle lurched violently. ""Cole, they're gaining!""
Behind them, the lead pursuit sedan was equipped with a heavy bull bar. It slammed hard into the rear of Cole's Suburban, sending a violent jolt through the frame. The steering wheel jerked in Cole's hands, the rear tires skating dangerously close to the crumbling precipice.
""Leo, get Elena down on the floor!"" Cole commanded.
Tristan’s Charger suddenly accelerated, pulling up along the inside lane between Cole's SUV and the cliffside wall. Tristan rolled down his passenger window, raised a compact flare gun, and fired directly into the windshield of the trailing sedan.
The magnesium flare punched through the glass, exploding inside the cabin in a brilliant, blinding white inferno. The sedan swerved erratically, lost traction on the icy mud, and tumbled sideways off the cliff edge, disappearing into the dark abyss below before a distant crunch echoed up the canyon.
""One down!"" Tristan called out over the radio.
""Don't celebrate yet,"" Leo said, looking at his radar scanner. ""The other two are military conversions. They're deploying thermal imaging.""
A burst of automatic fire peppered the rear tailgate of Cole’s vehicle. The bulletproof glass spiderwebbed into opaque white mosaics. Elena screamed as a round ricocheted through the door panel, inches from her knee.
Cole stomped the brake pedal.
The sudden deceleration caught the second sedan off guard. It rammed into the reinforced steel hitch of the Suburban at full speed, crumpling its hood and rupturing its radiator in a cloud of boiling steam. Cole instantly shifted into reverse, flooring the throttle and pushing the smoking wreckage backward toward the advancing third vehicle.
Tristan looped around the clearing ahead, cutting off the third sedan's angle. With no room to maneuver on the narrow trail, the third car halted. Three men in tactical gear stepped out, assault rifles raised.
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""Cole!"" Tristan shouted. ""They’re setting up an RPG!""
Through the cracked rear glass, Cole saw the unmistakable tube of a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher being leveled directly at the Suburban’s fuel cell.
