“We’ve got to go,” she ordered. “We’ve already got company.”
When we stepped back out of the room, I noticed that a few of the warehouse workers had started to wander in our direction, probably wondering what the hell was going on back here. Greta lifted her gun at them and began pointing. When they didn’t move right away, she fired two rounds right over their heads. This made them immediately start to scatter. We had Joe out the back door a few seconds later. When I realized he couldn’t walk at all, I lifted my father-in-law up over my shoulder to carry him to safety.
Just like he’d carried me for so many years.
FORTY-THREE
We didn’t even make it back to the security fence line where we’d entered the property before a green military-style truck screeched around the corner of the warehouse and sped right toward us. I looked over, spotted two guys with assault rifles in the back bed of the truck. They were about fifty yards from us but making up swift ground. They would be on us in seconds.
“We’re not going to make it!” I yelled toward Greta.
She turned, surveyed the situation. I tried to pull my own gun out of my pants, but it was too cumbersome while holding Joe. I set him down beside me while keeping my shoulder under his arm to keep him from collapsing. Joe kept grimacing and groaning and seemed incapable of aiding in his own escape. I wasn’t going to be able to help Greta in this gunfight. I would have to keep carrying the brunt of Joe’s weight.
“Get behind me,” Greta said, moving in between us and the approaching truck.
Greta aimed and fired her weapon. Bullets punctured the windshield directly in front of the driver. She must’ve hit him, because the truck immediately swerved out of control to our left, throwing the two men with rifles out of the truck bed. They hit the pavement hard and slid forward, their rifles flung in different directions. The truck kept speeding forward, where it collided into the security fence beside us and finally came to a stop. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel and not moving. He was probably dead.
I glanced back toward the other two men in the parking lot. They appeared to be badly hurt. One was still lying face-first on the pavement. The other was trying to pick himself up off the asphalt but grasping his leg. Before we could make our next move, another truck carrying more armed men sped around the same warehouse corner.
“What now?” I asked Greta, feeling panicked.
Greta yelled, “Get into this other truck!”
We hustled over to the truck next to us. Greta yanked open the driver’s door, reached inside, grabbed the driver, and pulled him out onto the concrete. He hit the ground with no resistance, clearly dead. I dragged Joe around to the other side, opened the passenger door, did my best to shove him up into the front seat of the vehicle, and then climbed in beside him. Greta was already behind the steering wheel, shifting the truck into reverse. The second truck came to a stop about thirty feet behind us. Gunshots started going off, and bullets started hitting the back window, shattering it. I pulled Joe down in front of me, causing him to yell out in pain, and then I slumped over the top of him to try to avoid being shot. Greta barely flinched. Instead, she punched down the gas pedal hard and thrust our truck backward right at the other truck. We rammed straight into the front of the other vehicle. It jarred me around inside the truck and made my head hit the side window hard. I was dizzy for a moment. Joe grunted in my arms.
Greta then put the truck into drive, stomped on the gas pedal again. We rocketed forward. I heard more gunshots going off behind us and could hear bullets popping through the metal all over our truck. Greta kept swerving left and right, trying not to give them a good target and bouncing us all around inside the cab. We were picking up more speed. I looked over and noticed that Greta’s right arm was bleeding. Had she been shot?
“Alex . . . ?” Joe muttered, trying to look up at me.
“Stay down, Joe,” I said to him.
“Brace yourself,” Greta said to me. “And hold on to him!”
Greta was not slowing down to make the turn to go back to the front of the building. Instead, we were headed right at the security fence again. I could see a busy city street on the other side of the fence. We were going to burst right through it to get out of here. I did what she said and braced for impact while wrapping both arms tightly around Joe.
The truck easily ripped right through the chain-link fence. We bounced hard across a bumpy sidewalk, and then Greta yanked the steering wheel right as we slid into the street. Cars swerved to avoid our unexpected entrance and began crashing into each other. Our truck nearly turned over before finally settling again with all four tires back on the pavement. Greta punched down on the gas pedal again.