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He grabbed the nearest chair and carried it to the rear window. Remi climbed up and began squeezing out the window. Once she was down and clear, Sam followed.
They ducked into the tree line and began picking their way toward the Quonset hut. When the rear wall came into view through the trees, they stopped and took a few moments to scan their surroundings. In the distance they could hear the guards still shouting over one another.
Sam and Remi moved forward, Sam in the lead, his rifle lowered and tracking back and forth. They reached the Quonset hut. Remi whispered, “Door,” and pointed. Sam nodded. Remi now in the lead, they slid along the wall until her shoulder bumped the jamb. She tried the knob. It was open. She opened the door silently and peeked her head through. She pulled back.
“There’s two trucks inside, parked side by side. They look military—green, double tires, canvas sides, a tailgate.”
“Feel up to driving?” asked Sam.
“Sure.”
“You get behind the wheel of the one on the left. I’ll disable the other one, then join you. Be ready to start the engine and tear out.”
“Got it.”
Remi opened the door just wide enough for them to slip through. They were halfway to the trucks when they heard footsteps pounding on the road outside. Sam and Remi skidded to halt against the right-hand truck’s tailgate. Sam peeked around the corner.
“Four men,” he said. “They’re climbing into the trucks, two in each cab.”
“Part of their emergency plan?” Remi suggested.
“Probably,” Sam replied. “Okay, Plan B. We stow away.”
Almost in unison, the trucks’ engines rumbled to life.
Stepping carefully lest their shifting weight alert the guards, Sam and Remi mounted the truck’s bumper, then high-stepped over the tailgate. With a loud thunk, the transmission engaged, and the truck surged ahead. Arm in arm, Sam and Remi stumbled and fell face-first into the bed.
Their truck was in the lead. Lying flat in the relative darkness of the bed, with the second truck’s headlamps glowing green through the tailgate’s canvas flap, Sam and Remi allowed themselves to take a full breath for the first time in ten minutes. On either side of them, wooden crates of various sizes were strapped to eyebolts in the truck’s bed.
“We made it,” Remi whispered.
“Cross fingers.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I’m pretty sure this is a Chinese Army truck.”
“You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”
“I am. It seems clear King is in bed with someone in the Chinese military. The guards are Chinese, and so are their weapons probably. And we know what’s in these crates.”
“How far to the border?”
“Twenty miles, maybe twenty-five. Four hours, give or take.”
“Plenty of time to make our exit.”
“The question is, how far from civilization will we be?”
“You’re starting to spoil my otherwise sunny disposition,” she said, then laid back in the crook of Sam’s shoulder.
Despite the hardness of the truck’s bed and the constant jostling, Sam and Remi found the muffled growl of the engine soothing. They half dozed in the twilight, Sam occasionally waking to check his watch.
After an hour of traveling, they were jolted awake by the squeal of the truck’s brakes. The following truck’s headlights enlarged and brightened through the rear flap. Sam sat up and poi
nted the rifle toward the tailgate. Remi sat up beside him, her eyes questioning, but she said nothing.
The truck slowed, then ground to a halt. The following truck’s headlights went dark. Cab doors opened, slammed shut. From either side of the bed came the crunch of footsteps. They stopped at the tailgate, and voices began murmuring in Chinese. Sam and Remi could smell cigarette smoke.