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The fracking well was temporarily invisible, blocked by some badland formations, but as they came around a hoodoo at high speed, Skip could see the workers in their vehicles, pulling out of the flat and heading for the main road.
Edison floored the accelerator as they fishtailed on gravel and dirt. Two of the pickups had now reached their road ahead.
“They’re going to block the way,” said Skip.
Edison didn’t answer, his hands gripping the wheel, face tense.
The third pickup also halted on the road, which was now fully obstructed.
“We’ll go around them,” Edison said. “To the left.”
Skip could see what he was talking about: the left side of the road, while rough desert with scattered rocks and gullies, might still be passable.
The roughnecks had gotten out of the pickups. Several were holding metal bars. Skip could see their dirty faces sadistically grinning with anticipation.
But Edison did not slow down. A hundred feet before reaching the blockade, he veered off the road, their truck leaping a dirt ridge. He headed for a gap between two rocks, made it by mere inches, swerved and braked as they lurched over a small gully, then swerved again, the dust billowing up in huge clouds. Edison reached out of the window and gave the roughnecks the finger.
Skip heard some shouted obscenities. He turned back and got a glimpse of the men, piling back into their pickups.
“They’re coming after us,” he said.
“Of course they are.”
Edison veered back onto the road, once again going flat out. For a while there was too much dust for Skip to see behind them, but then they rounded a curve, and then he could see that, indeed, at least two of the trucks were giving chase.
Their vehicle was briefly airborne as they cleared a small hump. Edison gave a whoop as they slammed back to earth.
Skip consulted his GPS. They were now about halfway across the fracking area. Beyond, in the blue distance, the land rose asthe badlands gave way to a piñon-juniper forest. Even farther beyond that was the wilderness boundary, where even these dirt paths would end.
“See if you can figure out a way to lose those bastards,” Edison said.
There were so many roads up ahead, so many rock formations, that it would have been easy to shake their pursuers—were it not for the plume of dust they were sending up. It was like a running advertisement of their location.
“Take a right at the next fork,” Skip said.
He continued to give Edison directions, threading them through a maze of roads, dry washes, abandoned pumpjacks, fracking tanks, and hoodoo rocks, all the while headed toward the national forest. Skip wondered if the workers could continue to pursue past the oil field. He wished to hell Edison had not given those guys the finger.
Still, the two white pickups followed. And now, finally, they reached the end of the fracking area and dove into the piñon-juniper woodland.
“They’re still following,” said Skip. “Gaining.”
“Shit,” said Edison. “This damned truck is just too heavy to outrun them. Time for plan B.”
“Plan B?”
Edison popped open the glove compartment and removed a massive handgun.
“Whoa. No way,” said Skip. “That’s insane.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t shoot anyone,” Edison said, waving the gun around. “This is strictly for self-defense.”
“Maybe they’ve got weapons, too.”
“I doubt it. It would be against company policy. Anyway, I’m not going to show this unless we’re directly threatened.”
Skip was seized with apprehension. “Look—I didn’t sign up for this.”
“They have no right to chase us,” said Edison. “They aren’t cops. And did you see those iron pipes they’re carrying? We’ve got a right to self-defense.”