Chapter 11: The Breakout
The heavy iron sliding door of the maintenance shed screeched in protest as Jack and Preacher yanked it open, letting the blinding, golden glare of the desert sun flood the dim interior. Outside, the mechanical thrum of the approaching helicopter had grown into a deafening roar, churning up a thick cloud of dust and red sand across the canyon floor.
Jack fired up the Ford truck, revving the engine until the exhaust pipes rattled against the frame. In the passenger seat, Maya strapped herself in tightly, her small knuckles white as she clutched the tattered leather vest to her chest like a suit of armor. In the back, Cale lay braced against the wheel wells, his rifle locked and loaded across his lap.
"Preacher, take the trail bike and hit the upper ridge," Jack shouted over the roar of the engine. "Kick up as much dust as you can. Draw that bird away from the valley floor!"
Preacher straddled a beat-up dirt bike, gave Jack a sharp two-finger salute, and twisted the throttle. The bike exploded forward with a deafening shriek of unsuppressed exhaust, shooting up the steep, rocky switchbacks toward the northern ridge.
A second later, a sleek, matte-black utility helicopter crested the southern canyon wall, its searchlight cutting a blinding beam across the arid landscape. The moment it spotted Preacher’s roaring dirt bike kicking up a towering rooster tail of red dust, the aircraft banked hard to the left, its nose dipping as it pursued the decoy across the jagged terrain.
"Now!" Jack yelled.
He slammed the Ford into gear and floored the accelerator. The truck leaped forward, launching out of the arroyo and onto the washboard dirt road leading north toward Farmington.
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Behind them, the canyon echoed with the harsh crack of suppressed gunfire from somewhere up on the ridge, followed by the deep, resonant boom of Preacher’s shotgun answering back. Jack didn't look in the rearview mirror. He kept his eyes locked on the twisting ribbon of dirt stretching out before them, knowing that every second bought by Preacher’s desperate distraction was their only chance at survival.
Maya turned her head, watching the distant dust cloud settle over the canyon, her lips moving in a silent prayer for the old man on the ridge.
