The four of us screamed in unison – a primal, hateful thing that channeled hell itself and roared into action.
I stomped on what was left of the brakes closing the distance between us and the Russians in seconds and slamming us into the center jeep. Dreamer was out the window just after the impact and was the first to start unloading. He was close enough to nearly put his barrel into the startled Jeep driver's seat. Dreamer's icy reserve cracked away with each muzzle flash, replaced with white, hot, metal rage.
The crash into the jeep behind us had caught the Russians so off guard that a few had even dropped their guns. Yoga and Buck who had braced for the impact had clear firing lines into their front seat. Buck quipped something that I didn't quite make out then they opened up. The whole back seat of the Yukon was awash in belching fire from assault rifles. It was good that nearly every window was blown out in the SUV because the noise rolling off the thunderous hail of gunfire all around me was almost deafening.
A haphazard shotgun blast punched into my driver's side door from the last jeep which had used the distraction from the other vehicles to creep up on my side. The door frame ate most of the impact, but some deflected pellets and bits of hot, twisted metal raked across me drawing dozens of small cuts along the left side of my upper body and face. The jeep's driver kept his vehicle in my blind spot so I didn't have an angle to use the sawed off shotgun on my lap. Somehow through the din of gunfire all around me I heard the Russian's shotgun re-cock which meant that he was now too close to miss. The next blast was going to turn my head inside out.
“Hold on!” I screamed, jerking the wheel hard to the left. Curses, protests and a jumbled chaos of shifting bodies erupted around me from both my MC and the Russians that were trying to kill us as I smashed us hard into the jeep at my side. I was rolling the dice by putting both us and them at a disadvantage. The impact blew out both tires on my side which meant we were now riding on three flats. The SUV handled like a pregnant walrus on roller skates. It took everything I had to keep the damn thing from pitching hard to the right and flipping us.
The dice came up snake eyes as I realized they recovered before us. Another shotgun blast narrowly avoided my head as it bit into my front windshield spider-webbing it to the point that it was barely usable. I considered crashing into them again, but now they'd see it coming and being that their jeep was in much better shape than the Yukon they'd easily be able to avoid it. They would stay deadly close but this time they were in complete control.
“Somebody kill this motherfucker!” I yelled, emptying my sawed off shotgun blindly out the window. Blood from a dozen small cuts streamed down my face into my stinging eyes making it hard to see and impossible to actually hit anything with my shotty. Our gunfire had stopped completely. Despite the constant buzzing in my ears I could hear my brothers' dry fire clicks of empties as they attempted to reload and fire back. All my jostling around had mixed the full magazines with the spent ones which were now scattered all over the SUV. We were drowning in ammo but no one could fucking find any!
On impulse and adrenaline Yoga dove out the window behind me and grabbed the Russian's shotgun right as he was about to blow my brains out. Weak as he was, Buck mustered up the strength to clamp down on his legs and keep him from falling completely out of the Yukon. Yoga, a giant of a man in all ways, easily ripped the weapon out of the man's hand, and smashed him in the face with butt. With his whole upper body hanging out of the SUV he turned the shotgun. The jeep started to pull away, but it was too late. Yoga emptied the rest of the buckshot into the jeep's front seat and painted the walls red. With the driver dead, and none of the other passengers in a position where they could reach the pedals, the jeep did a long, lazy turn directly into the front window of a closed convenience store.
“Fuck me,” Dreamer exhaled with a grunt as he fell exhausted back into his seat. The come down from that kind of an adrenaline rush was more intense than any of the many, many drugs we'd tried. Some people got the shakes, some people felt nauseous or got super emotional. We all handled it differently. Dreamer always caught a wicked migraine after a heavy experience like that, needing quiet time to recharge. He wiped a hand over his face and closed his eyes.
“Not my type, but Yoga...” Buck wheezed after helping his brother back into the SUV. We all expected Buck to offer up a jab about Yoga taking Dreamer up on that offer, but an emotional surge of relief from terror suddenly washed over him and instead of finishing his joke he punched his brother in the face. “What the fuck is wrong with you diving out like that, you stupid fuck!”
“Yeah, I love you too, fuckhead.” Yoga wiped his mouth despite the blow not having much juice on it due to Buck's weakened state.
I glanced at them in the cracked but still there rear view mirror. Yoga pulled his brother in for a hug. It was during these small moments that despite their physical and personality differences it was impossible not to see the two men as twins.
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