Page 82 of Into the Mist (Into the Mist 1)

“’Kay, stay down and hold tight,” Mercury said.

The snowmobiles drew closer. Mercury didn’t know much about them. There really wasn’t any use for one in Tulsa—not even on her dad’s property—but at last year’s teachers’ conference at Timberline, she and Stella had gone on a snowmobile excursion, and she was only too aware that they were faster and more easily maneuvered than their truck. As they drew close enough to make out the men’s faces, Mercury could see that the two of them were wearing goggles to protect their eyes—and then she felt like she’d been hit by a jolt of electricity as she recognized the closer of the two.

“Fucking Alvin Rutland!” Mercury ground through her teeth.

He was only yards off their tailgate when Rutland bared his teeth in a feral version of a smile. The stubble on his upper lip was stained red by his perpetual nosebleed. He lifted his hand and pointed a Glock at Mercury. He shouted something and motioned with his weapon for the truck to pull over as he began to edge even closer. The driver of the other snowmobile didn’t appear to have a weapon, but he split off to Mercury’s left. It was obvious what they were going to do—crowd the truck and threaten them with the gun until they pulled over.

Mercury didn’t question her instinct. She didn’t hesitate. Stella had been right. There was no damn way she could let Al Rutland catch them. “Cover your ears!” She yelled over the engines, and then, with one smooth movement she lifted the rifle, sighted, and squeezed the trigger.

Rutland was close enough that she saw the shock on his face. His Glock fired immediately, but he’d flinched at her shot and he didn’t even hit the truck. Mercury didn’t flinch. She took aim again and fired—and even over the ringing in her ears, she heard the whine of the healthy snowmobile engine change to a clanking that sounded like the engine was eating itself. The snowmobile sputtered and slowed. But before it dropped out of sight, Mercury shifted her position and took aim at the second vehicle’s engine. Its driver was still staying even with the rear of the truck, but kept glancing over his shoulder at Rutland.

Mercury squeezed the rifle’s trigger. The driver jerked the wheel hard to the side, and the snowmobile’s outside runner hit debris from a wreck that Stella had narrowly avoided. The front of the little vehicle crumbled and the driver was expelled from his seat and thrown into the car on which the splintered top half of a fallen pine had landed.

Still Mercury didn’t relax. She kept the rifle up and ready, reminding herself she now had only three shots left. But no high-pitched engine whine echoed from behind them—and nothing malevolent materialized from the snow.

“Sh-should I tell Stella everything is okay?” Gemma’s voice was shaky.

Mercury kept staring behind them. “Not yet. Let’s get some distance between us and them first.” She continued to keep watch, the rifle resting in her lap, and the end of a blanket Imani draped around her shoulders, as the truck increased the distance between them and the deadly 216 turnoff.