Ryan Westfield - Pushing On

It had taken Max a long time to hotwire the Bronco. For some reason, Mandy had needed the keys to the Honda that he’d been driving. Maybe she’d gone to get something out of it. Max couldn’t remember. Georgia had the keys to the Bronco.

The Bronco and the Honda were parked close to the compound. The concrete walls were close, and there’d been murmurs of sounds coming out of the compound.

He’d known the Bronco would be easier to hotwire. It was far older than the Honda, and hopefully less sophisticated.

Max had broken the window of the Bronco with a small rock. He’d held his breath, hoping that the noise wouldn’t be enough to alert anyone to his presence. No one had come running out of the compound. Max would have been ready if they had. He wouldn’t have hesitated to use deadly force again. Not with what was at stake.

Like most people, Max had never hotwired anything in his life. He understood the basic theory. The way he saw it, he’d open the area beneath the steering wheel, and connect wires until something happened.

It had worked, but it had taken Max a long time.

He’d heard the first gunshot, and he’d known that his friends needed help. Desperately. But there wasn’t anything he could do but keep his head down and keep connecting wires together until something happened.

He’d heard the second gunshot, and then another.

He hoped that it wasn’t already too late.

Max was sweating as he finally got the Bronco to start. The engine roared to life, chugging along obediently.

More gunshots. Loud in the cold, dark night.

Max didn’t hesitate. He jammed the Bronco into first and drove in a small circle, giving himself some space to get up to speed.

He hit second gear.

Now third.

He was going about 40MPH. He didn’t look at the dashboard, though. His eyes were fixed on the wooden door. On the other side, there’d be the guardhouse. Men with guns, ready to shoot him.

Max didn’t know what awaited him on the other side of that wood.

But he knew he had to drive through it.

He might get shot instantly. His act might not accomplish anything.

He would have preferred a subtler method for getting his friends out. But the gunshots he’d heard told him there wasn’t much time left. If there was any time left at all.

He had to take the chance.

The Bronco hit the wood with a jolt, crashing right through it.

Some of the wood splintered. Mostly the whole door got flattened by the Bronco.

Max didn’t have time to analyze exactly what had happened. He kept his foot on the accelerator, pressing down as hard as he could.

The door had slowed him down, but he drove into the compound fast.

Gunshots, loud, unmistakable even over the deep roar of the Bronco’s engine.

Max’s eyes darted around the compound, looking for the source of the gunshots, looking for his friends.

He saw them. Some of them at least. Maybe the rest were out of view. They were huddled inside the little guard station.

Max slammed on the brakes. The Bronco came to such an abrupt halt that Max slammed into the steering wheel, awakening old injuries and bruises. Pain flared through his body. After all, he’d never had the chance to heal properly.

Mandy’s head appeared above some wood of the guard structure, a handgun held straight, releasing rounds.

It seemed like bullets were coming from all directions. But they were sporadic. Hard to tell where they were coming from. The enemies were far away. For now. As far as they could be in a confined compound.

Bullets hit the Bronco. One hit the window, going right through it, lodging itself somewhere in the Bronco’s faded upholstery. A spiderweb of shattered glass stayed miraculously in place on the windshield.

Then Max saw it.

Georgia. Down a corridor between two concrete buildings. Halfway hidden in the dark.

She was running. But not very well. She was hurt. And hurt bad.

Men were behind her, shooting.

Another bullet went through the Bronco’s windshield.

Max ignored it.

Max threw open the door of the Bronco and jumped out. His leg flared with pain as he hit the ground.

He’d stopped the Bronco close enough to the guard structure that the door provided some cover for Mandy and the others.

“Is everyone here?”

“Everyone except Georgia,” shouted Mandy.

“Get in! And get down! Return fire when it’s safe.”

Max was in the guard structure. He grabbed Sadie from the ground and carried her into the Bronco. She was sobbing.

He practically threw her in.

“Keep her on the floor in the back!” he shouted at Mandy.

Mandy nodded.

“James!”

James was next, moving on his own into the Bronco.

The enemies were staying back, out of sight, hidden in the dark shadows of the cold concrete buildings. They were clever. The worst kind of enemy.

Max was crouched behind the open door. He surveyed the group in the car. Mandy, Sadie, and James were all there.

“Where’s Chad?”

“Dead.”

Max felt like he’d received a blow in the stomach. But he said nothing.

“Get my mom!” sobbed Sadie, completely uncontrolled wailing issuing forth from her shaking body.

Georgia was close. Not close enough, though.

Max needed a plan. But he didn’t have time to come up with one.

Max threw himself into the Bronco’s driver seat.

Max gunned the engine, threw it into first, foot depressing the gas pedal, releasing the clutch with a jerk, and the Bronco rocketed forward towards Georgia.

Georgia was in the shadows. She’d gotten behind a piece of the concrete structure that jutted out, shielding her momentarily from the gunshots of the people behind her in the corridor. She was returning fire, keeping them at bay.

Max drove the Bronco fast towards the entrance to the corridor. Georgia was maybe ten feet down inside it.

Georgia couldn’t make the rest of the way herself. Not without some cover fire. If she stopped returning fire herself, they’d have a clear shot at her as she ran the rest of the way.

Max slammed on the brakes, the Bronco skidding to a stop, kicking up the dry dirt from the compound ground.

Max had his Glock out the window, returning fire. His finger felt good on the trigger, squeezing. He felt a thrill rush through him. He felt alive, energized. All his pain lay in the background, dormant, forgotten. Adrenaline was his king, his motivator.

“If we return fire, she’ll be able to make it.”

Mandy took the cue. She used their one other gun to fire out the window, towards the men at the other end of the corridor. So did James.

Georgia turned briefly in the darkness.

“She sees us. She’ll make a run for it.”

“Come on, Mom,” muttered James, from the back.

Max saw some movement off to his side. Almost too late. But not quite.

It was a guy aiming a rifle at them. He’d snuck up from somewhere.

Max’s arm moved fast. He released a string of bullets. One of them hit the guy. He went down.

More would come. They were all over the place. Not just down the corridor. They didn’t have much time. They needed to get out of there.

Max turned back to Georgia.

Her face was in the darkness. He couldn’t see her expression.

But he saw her keel over, falling hard to the ground. The gun dropped from her hand.

Sadie screamed.

James made a noise of pain.

Max didn’t think about it. He just acted.

Georgia wasn’t getting out of there herself.

“I’m going in. Cover me, or we’ll never get out of there.”

“Max! You can’t go.” Frantic worry dripped over Mandy’s words.

“There’s no time.”