Chapter 8 - The Stampede of One
The splintering double doors burst inward under the tractor's force, showering the barn aisle with jagged wooden shards. Daylight poured into the dark interior, illuminating Matthew Vance standing safely twenty feet back beside the county deputies, arms folded across his chest.
Instead of an injured woman and an elderly farm hand surrendering with their hands raised, what emerged from the billowing cloud of sawdust was twelve hundred pounds of furious, charging pale muscle.
Goliath didn't hesitate. Blinded by the sudden sunlight and enraged by the roar of the tractor, he lowered his horned head and slammed squarely into the tractor's steel front-end loader. The impact produced a metallic crash that echoed across the plains like a cannon shot. The tractor’s front wheels lifted several inches off the packed dirt before the front tire shredded against the bull's curved horn with an explosive hiss.
""Move! Get the rifles!"" Vance screamed, stumbling backward into the dry weeds as his polished shoes lost traction on the gravel drive.
The driver of the tractor bailed out of the cab, scrambling blindly toward the livestock trucks parked near the road. Goliath, unfazed by the collision, shook his white head, sprayed blood and tire sealant from his muzzle, and wheeled around toward Vance’s black dually pickup truck. With brutal efficiency, the bull drove his horn through the truck's driver-side door, tearing the sheet metal open like a tin can.
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From high up in the rafters, Nora swung down onto the upper deck of the feed loft. Through the rear loft door, she had a clear, unobstructed path down the hay slide leading to the back pasture where her grandfather's rusted four-wheel-drive farm truck sat concealed beneath a camouflage tarp.
She landed in the loose dirt outside with a sharp cry of pain, clutching the canvas sack to her chest. Behind her, the sounds of shouting men and frantic gunshots split the midday heat. She had bought herself ten minutes, but the road out was blocked, and the fuel gauge on the old farm truck read nearly empty.
