Martial Law by Bobby Akart Page B

Something is wrong.”
    The winds began to pick up again, and lightning was now illuminating the sky. As the vehicles inched forward past the overturned rig, Ripley maneuvered to the inside shoulder along the guardrail. The other Suburban attempted to follow but was almost hit by a pickup that inserted itself between them.
    “Come on, Jonesy, keep up,” Ripley muttered to no one in particular.
    “Doesn’t matter, I’ve got you in sight,” said Jonesy.
    Ripley continued to inch forward when the sound of gunfire came from ahead of them.
    “Were those gunshots?” asked Rhona.
    “I think so, but it’s hard to tell through the thunder,” replied Ripley. Then he heard the unmistakable loud report of a shotgun, visible with its bright muzzle flash.
    “Shots fired, shots fired ahead,” screamed Ripley. He quickly looked in all directions. They were pinched against the guardrail. The only opening was behind them—where the semi had jackknifed.
    Suddenly, the reverse lights on the minivan in front of them lit up before it crashed into their front bumper. Apparently panicked, other cars were now attempting to go in reverse. The van effectively pinched them into the pickup truck to their rear.
    “Drew! We’re wedged in, and we’ve got shots fired ahead!” screamed Ripley.
     

Chapter 13
    September 4, 2016
    1:32 a.m.
    I-75–I-10 Interchange
    Near Lake City, Florida
     
    Drew’s view was obstructed by the truck in front of them. Placing his communications unit on speaker, he replied to Ripley’s call.
    “Copy,” replied Drew. “Jonesy, can you see around this truck in front of you?” Drew sat up in his seat, attempting to get a visual of Ripley and the lead vehicle.
    “No, I can’t,” replied Jonesy. The blowing rain was continuous now as the feeder bands passed over more often.
    “We need to get out of here,” muttered Drew as he swung his attention in all directions. The only possible exit was through the guardrail torn open by the jackknifed rig. There was no guarantee that they could get through the water-saturated median to the westbound lane, and they would still face the obstacle of another guardrail blocking their access. It was their only option .
    “Jonesy, I don’t like this at all, but we don’t have any options here,” started Drew. He gestured as he continued. “We can still cut through the torn guardrail here and double back to the last exit. Make our way from there, right?”
    “But Ripley is beyond the opening. He says he’s stuck between this pickup and another vehicle.”
    “Right,” replied Drew. “We need to get ourselves through the rail first with the goal of making it through the median. Then, we have to direct traffic and get the pickup out of the way. Ripley will have the opening he needs to follow.”
    “Got it,” said Jonesy. He checked his secret-service-assigned weapon—a SIG Sauer P229 chambered in .357. “You’ll take the wheel. Sir, I have to ask. What are the rules of engagement?”
    “Well, it isn’t passive,” replied Drew. “Let’s make this happen and hope it doesn’t come to that. Just stay frosty oscar mike. Join them once you clear the guardrail. Double back to the last exit as our rendezvous point.”
    Drew unbuckled his seatbelt and checked his weapon. “Did you copy that, Ripley?”
    “Roger,” he replied. “Listen, there’s not an inch between us and the vehicles fore and aft. By the way, the gunfire has ceased.”
    “Let’s go, Jonesy!” As his driver exited the vehicle into the storm, Drew immediately climbed over to the driver’s seat.
    “Will this work?” Abbie asked apprehensively.
    “It’s all we’ve got, Abbie,” replied Drew. “There’s something wrong up ahead, and we need to move. Please lie down on the seat with your seat belt buckled. We have protection from small-arms fire, but not from vehicles being used as battering rams.”
    “Okay.”
    Drew put the Suburban into reverse and eased backward to the blare of horns