main road. He scanned the compound, and his eyes fell on Donal’s body and the motorcycle lying next to it.
He sprinted toward the bike, scooping up a revolver as he ran.
The second she saw the sign—BOQUERON, 2 KM—Maria smiled.
We’re going to make it, she thought. Two kilometers, that wasn’t much more than a mile. The truck was gaining, the truck was close, but the road was too narrow for them to try to pass, and the trailer too big for them to shoot around or over with any kind of accuracy.
And there was a police station in Boqueron. She’d only just remembered it—a little building, not much more than a hut, really, right at the start of the little commercial strip as you first came into town, Maria would find a way to get Will and herself into that building, among whatever officers were there, even if she had to drive the Jeep right through the front door to do it.
She looked up the road. Off to her left was the ocean, and coming up, just ahead, the pier—De Soto Pier. God, had it only been yesterday when Frank and Will were diving off it? She’d thought that was dangerous, ha-ha; Will could do as much diving as he wanted from now on as far as she was concerned, and she reached down to touch her son’s hair as the road curved to the right at the pier entrance, a long, sweeping curve sharp enough, she suddenly realized, to give the men behind them a clear view of the Jeep.
She ducked, just as glass shattered, and the cab filled with the sound of metal on metal, the thud-thud-thud of bullets hitting upholstery, a muffled explosion from outside the Jeep, and a horrendous screeching sound, metal scraping on pavement—
All at once, she lost control of the vehicle.
The tires, she thought. Oh, God. They’d shot out the tires.
She slammed on the brakes as the Jeep started to roll.
Donal must have been crazy when he rented this cycle.
For one thing, it was a monster. They didn’t make them like this anymore, and for good reason—the bike was too big for most people to handle. Castle, who’d driven almost every class of bike and ATV that had ever been built, was having trouble keeping it on the road. Which was a whole nother problem, the road, potholes the size of garbage can lids; he needed to concentrate 100 percent on the surface in front of him, which was just not possible because he needed to keep an eye on the road ahead as well, an eye out for the truck chasing his wife and son, and for the gunmen in it.
And then there were Will and Maria, who were really all he could think about at the moment.
The smile on his son’s face as he broke the water after the free ascent yesterday. As he gave Frank that stupid T-shirt. The look in Maria’s eyes as they’d made love on the beach last night. As she handed him that cup of coffee this morning . . .
As she’d raised up on her toes to kiss him that day he’d left for Kuwait, her bangs hanging down over her forehead, her eyes misting over with tears.
“You’re my hero, Frank Castle,” she’d said.
He heard her voice in his head now, over and over again, as he gunned the cycle forward.
Glass smiled as John Saint backed the truck down the road.
The Jeep and trailer had rolled over at least six times. So much for Castle’s wife and son. The thing they had to do now, the thing John was, in fact, doing, was get turned around and hustle back to the compound. Hopefully, Cutter had at least found Castle by now, if not taken care of him. He wished again that John had stayed back on this mission; if he had been here alone, in charge, Glass would have split their forces differently, would have had Dante or Spoon or maybe even both of them stay back with Cutter to take care of their primary target, and he would have finished off the woman and child himself.
But, of course, after what had happened to T.J., no way were Dante and Spoon leaving John exposed. They were probably under direct orders from Howard not to do that, in fact.
Glass sighed. Well. They’d just have to make do. At least there was plenty of ammunition left for Castle, since it hadn’t taken more than half a clip to take out the Jeep and its passengers.
He looked at the vehicle again. It had come to rest directly at the end of the pier, blocking the way out onto it; he wondered if he should send Dante or Spoon to make sure that neither mother nor child had survived when a head popped up from behind the overturned vehicle. The woman’s head.
A second later, both she and the boy were running out onto the pier, waving their arms, screaming for help.
“For God’s sake.” Glass shook his head in disgust. He stuck his head out the window and turned back to Dante. “Go get them, will you?”
“No. Hold on.” John Saint stopped the pickup, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I got a better idea.”
“John.” Glass shook his head. “We really don’t have time. Let’s just—”
“Hey, we’re low on ammo, right?” Saint said, turning them so they were pointing directly at the wreck.
“Yes, but—”
“So I’m gonna save us a few rounds,” Saint said, and he gunned the vehicle forward.
Just in the nick of time, Glass realized what he was intending to do, and he put his hands on the dashboard, bracing for impact.
“Help!” Maria screamed. “Help us!”
She ran, eyes scanning the pier wildly, searching for any signs of life, anyone at all. How was it possible that the entire dock, which only yesterday had been alive with tourists and natives, musicians and street vendors, was now completely and totally deserted?
Even the bait shop was closed—she remembered coming here five years ago, for the last reunion; it had been open at six in the morning, every morning. Why—
A huge crash came from behind her.
She turned around and saw the pickup pulling back from the Jeep, getting set to ram it a second time.
“Mom.”
Maria stopped in her tracks. Will was pointing to the end of the dock, the cut on his head where he’d struck it on the window frame as they’d climbed out of the Jeep still bleeding. Surviving that accident had been a miracle.
But now, it seemed, they needed another.
She looked where Will was pointing—to the ramp at the very end of the pier, the one that led down to the refueling dock—and her heart leapt.
The launch Frank Sr. had pointed out yesterday, the one he’d intended the boys to use for their dive, was still moored there.
“Run, baby,” she said, grabbing her son’s hand. “Run as fast as you can.”
They rammed the Jeep a second time—Glass heard Dante curse out loud behind him, heard something slam into the roof of the cab, and smiled, probably the man’s head, or some other body part—and then suddenly the way to the pier was clear.
Halfway down the long wooden dock, he saw Castle’s wife and kid, running toward the end of the pier. Correction. You couldn’t exactly call what they were doing running, it was more like a series of controlled stumbles.
He turned to John Saint, who was smiling.
“Cake,” Howard’s son said, and dropped the pickup into gear.
Will tripped. Maria caught him even as he was falling, helped him stay on his feet.
“Come on,” she said. “We can do it.”
Her son nodded, and started running again.
All at once, she felt the pier beneath them vibrate, and she turned.
The truck was coming.
She faced forward again and stumbled herself. Now it was Will’s turn to help her rise.
She’d thought, prayed, hoped against hope, that their pursuers would stop and come after them on foot, thinking that the pier couldn’t hold the big pickup’s weight, which of course it could, she’d seen a big tractor trailer on it yesterday, resupplying the refreshment stand. Where the hell was that trailer now?
The vibrations grew stronger.
What kind of monsters would do this? she thought. Kill innocent people, innocent children, what possible
