End Game Read Free Page B

through the passenger side window in the direction of the guy on the stoop. The bad guy ducked back inside. She had no idea if she’d hit him, but that wasn’t really the point. She was buying time.
    While Graham dashed back toward the garage, Jolaine shouldered her door open and stood. Forming a solid base with her feet spaced wide, she extended the stock with a quick tug, tucked the butt plate into her shoulder, and switched the firing selector to full-auto. She fired a three-round burst toward the front stoop just to keep their heads down, and then pivoted her aim to the four vehicles that were clustered in the front yard. She fired long bursts—five or six rounds—into the fenders and hoods of each, hoping to take out tires or engine blocks, or maybe both. She’d take any advantage she could get.
    The bolt locked open when the magazine went dry, and she never broke aim as she fingered the mag release with her trigger finger. She pulled a fresh one from her pocket, slid it into place, and smacked the bolt release to recharge the weapon. Total elapsed time for the change was less than five seconds. Jolaine was astonished at how quickly her skills had returned.
    Sarah Mitchell met Graham halfway, stumbling over the wreckage of the garage door and lurching her way toward the BMW.
    “Quickly!” Jolaine yelled. The fact that the bad guys were no longer trying to come through the front door told her that they had developed a different plan. Once they got their shit together, the limits of her firepower would spell the end.
    Jolaine fought the urge to run forward to help them. Now that they were all exposed, her job was to lay down covering fire.
    As the Mitchells closed to within a few feet, Jolaine knew that Sarah was in trouble. Her face was ashen. She was bleeding out somewhere. Graham’s chest was bloody as well, but from the ease of his movement, she could tell that the blood was not his own.
    They were out of time.
    “In, in, in!” Jolaine yelled. Fifteen seconds ago, she’d never have believed that they could survive this long. Now that they were on the verge of getting away, time had slowed to an agonizing crawl.
    Graham pulled the front door open for his mother. “Be careful,” he said.
    “Be careful my ass,” Jolaine said. “Sarah, sit down and close your door. Graham, get on the floor of the backseat and keep your head down.”
    She saw movement in the darkness on the near side of the house and she reacted without looking, raking the area with a ten-round burst. This business of keeping heads down burned a hell of a lot of ammunition. Thank God there were no neighbors to get caught in the crossfire.
    When the family was inside, Jolaine ducked back into the driver’s seat. With the M4 jammed awkwardly across the center console, she didn’t bother to close her door before she pulled the shifter into reverse and stomped on the gas.
    The Beamer launched backward across the lawn for thirty feet. She shifted to drive. She heard shots being fired at them, and she felt a couple of rounds thunk into the car somewhere, but no warning lights came on, and no one yelled in pain.
    They were on their way. To somewhere.

C HAPTER T WO
    T he emptiness of the Indiana cornfields swallowed the headlight beams, revealing nothing but miles of darkness. “Graham, are you okay?” Jolaine shouted over the wind noise from the shattered passenger window. When he didn’t respond, she wrenched her body around in the driver’s seat to look in the back. The boy was still on the floor, his head wrapped in his arms. “Graham!”
    “Make it stop!” he yelled.
    “Are you hurt?”
    “Why are they doing this?”
    “Are you hurt? ”
    “No! I’m not hurt! Why are they doing this?”
    “I don’t know,” Jolaine said. “Mrs. Mitchell? Sarah?” She could smell the blood.
    “We can’t go to a hospital,” Sarah said. Her voice was soft. Jolaine didn’t know if it was because she was weak or because she didn’t want Graham