Free Walking in the Rain: Surviving the Fall by William Allen Page A

the truck was left unattended. 
    “What if they shoot at us?”  Ruth asked, and this time I had an answer of sorts.
    “Stay low and drive through.  If they’ve got two cars or trucks parked end to end, aim for the gap in between.  Everybody else, get fire out while staying low as well.  These doors and side panels won’t stop a bullet, probably, but they’re better than nothing.  While Ruth is getting us through, stick your weapon out the widow and shoot, fast as you can pull the trigger.  I don’t care if you hit anything, just get their heads down.  Start with the shotguns and switch to your rifles when you shoot yourselves dry.”
    “And if they hit the engine?”  Amy asked.
    “Ruth will get us as far as this beast will get us, then grab your rifle and bail out bag and haul ass into the woods.  Don’t stop at the edge.  Get in there and regroup.  Stan, you get Sophie.  I’ll cover as best I can from the truck before following.”
    I tried to sound like I knew what I was talking about, but really I was relying on some stories my father had shared and pulling the rest out of my ass.  All the sudden, driving nearly a hundred miles with a target painted on our backs didn’t seem like such a smart idea.
    The sight of the road block ahead, suddenly visible as we topped a low ridgeline, prompted a flurry of activity in the cab of the truck.  I drew back the charging handle on the big CETME, and from the sounds coming from the backseat, Amy and Stan were following suit.
    “Load another shell in the tube, Amy,” I said without turning,” and finger off the trigger.  Don’t point the barrel out the window yet, or at me, okay?  Let’s just be cool.”
    Be cool. What a joke.  I was sweating like a whore in church.  That was one of my father’s little sayings that just drove my mom crazy.  She wasn’t real religious but she thought that expression was a bit crude for my teenage ears.  If only she heard some of the stuff I picked up at school.  I realized I was just delaying the inevitable and finally spoke up.
    “Ruth, pull on up slowly and stop about twenty yards from those two trucks sitting nose to nose.  Stan, you recognize any of these guys?”
    “Not yet.  Still too far out.  I count six though.”
    I agreed with his count.  Six that we could see, which meant they likely had at least half again that many we couldn’t.  Sniper nests would be my guess.
    “Time to get this show on the road,” Amy announced from the back seat and I felt myself start chuckling silently.   She sounded so determined.  Ruth glanced over cautiously and I just shook my head.        
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
    After that big buildup, the roadblock turned out to be pretty anticlimactic.  One of the guards, a uniformed deputy with a handlebar mustache and a few days growth of beard came out to meet us and asked Ruth her destination.  The deputy gave us all the once over, noting our weapons close at hand I’m sure, but quickly turned his attention back to Ruth.  He seemed to think she was a citizen of Harrison and Ruth did nothing to dissuade him of the notion.  She explained that her family (including her little brother and sister) were headed to the family farm to ride out the trouble.  Deputy Savis didn’t ask what she meant by trouble and Ruth did not volunteer.
    “Did you register your trip with the town council?  So nobody thinks you folks went missing.”
    “Yes, sir.  All good to go.  I’ve got some paperwork right here…” Ruth said, holding up some wrinkled sheets of paper and included the envelope with her family’s address, but the deputy just waved her through.
    “Just hold onto it ma’am.  And be safe.  I see everybody in this vehicle is heavily armed, except the baby,” he said with a wry smile,” so ya’ll better be ready to use them to defend yourselves.  I hate to say it, but