Chapter 12 - Fire in the Briars
""Down!"" Mark roared.
He didn't draw his gun; he struck a road flare against the rusted bumper of the truck and hurled it directly into the gas tank of the logging vehicle, where he had just ruptured the fuel line with the tire iron.
The blast was immediate and deafening.
The rear of the Ford erupted into a rolling fireball of orange flame and black smoke, throwing a concussive shockwave that knocked the snipers’ scopes out of alignment and filled their night-vision goggles with blinding, searing whiteout.
Mark scooped Leo under his left arm, grabbed Sarah’s wrist with his right, and charged straight through the wall of smoke toward the steep logging embankment. Gunfire erupted behind them, blind rounds tearing through the burning truck frame and screaming into the night.
They tumbled down the muddy thirty-foot slope, sliding through brambles and wet dirt until they slammed into the bottom of a concrete drainage culvert running beneath the state highway.
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The blast had bought them thirty seconds of sensory chaos. Above, on the asphalt, Mark heard the screech of tires as Vanguard’s pursuit units scrambled to reposition.
Inside the concrete pipe, Mark collapsed against the damp wall, his chest rattling with exhaustion. Sarah fell beside him, her hands frantically checking Leo for injuries. The boy was miraculously unhurt, but Mark’s left side was soaked with a dark, warm liquid that wasn't water.
