Free The Ebola Wall by Joe Nobody, E. T. Ivester, D. Allen

rope in the bed.”
    “Good,” Paige said. “Let’s get going before someone comes along.”
    Three minutes later, the McMillan pickup was slowly pulling the patrol car up the slight grade. Paige walked along beside the law enforcement vehicle, bent at the waist, with one arm inside on the steering wheel.
    Reaching the peak, the older sister waved at her father to stop. Before he could exit the cab, Paige was in the bed, pulling out a 5-gallon can of fuel her father always kept for emergencies. “Move the pickup so that you can push the car over the edge of that ravine, Dad. I’m going to douse it with gas and then set it on fire. Push it over quick so the flames don’t hurt our truck.”
    Still in a daze, Mr. McMillan managed a nod, signaling he understood his role.
    Paige reached inside the still-idling cruiser and turned the wheel until the front tires were pointed at the steepest part of the ravine. It’s not much of a ditch, but it will have to do , she thought. 
    After verifying her dad was in position, Paige lifted the gas can and began to pour. It suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t have any way to start the burn.
    Setting down the can and rushing back to the truck, she asked, “Anybody got a match or a lighter? I don’t have any way to light the gas.”
    The two McMillians inside the cab made a hasty search, but came up empty. No one in their household smoked. The frustration of it all pushed them to gallows humor. “I knew there was a good reason why I shouldn’t have quit all those years ago,” the father quipped.
    The joke was well timed, a stress-reducing chuckle shared by all three of them. “Hey, wait,” Mr. McMillian said. “That cop was a smoker. I could smell it on his breath.”
    Smiling, Paige darted to the police car and began patting down the dead man inside. She emerged a few moments later, triumphantly holding up a package of cigarettes and a disposable lighter.
    “Bring those back here when you’re done,” her father shouted from the cab. “God knows I need a nicotine fix about now.”
    Paige continued emptying the gas can all over the police car, the sloshing liquid forming a huge puddle underneath the frame. Returning the empty container to the bed, she demanded, “Let me light this sucker and then push it over.”
    “Wait,” advised her dad. “If you get close enough to start the fire right now, you’re likely to get burned. There’s too much vapor. We need to figure out a way to light it from a distance.”
    Father and daughter paused, again trying to come up with a solution. Anna’s voice came from the cab, “Go ahead and push it over. I’ve reloaded my gun, and I’m pretty sure well-positioned bullets will ignite the gasoline.”
    Shrugging his shoulders, McMillian returned to the wheel and inched his pickup forward until it jolted against the patrol car’s rear bumper. He gunned the engine, and a few moments later the car began to roll down the roadside incline.
    It gained momentum, the McMillian clan watching from their perch above. No gunshot was needed to ignite the flames, the car erupting into a fireball upon impact.
    Without another word, Paige joined her father and the trio drove off.
    The tension inside the cab began to wear as the miles went by. Mr. McMillian’s focus turned more to reliving the last hour than watching his rearview mirror.
    Finally, unable to resist, he spun toward Paige and said, “Okay, I’ve got to know what’s going on. The two sweet, innocent, young girls that I sent off to college have changed. I told myself that I would let you both talk about what happened in Houston in your own time. Your mom and I were determined not to pry or meddle. But now… now, I can’t do that.”
    His oldest daughter sighed, almost as if she knew the conversation was unavoidable. “We’re the same, daddy. Honestly, we just had to grow up a little faster than we wanted to when everything went to hell.”
    The caring father tried to keep his