The truck came hot out of the trees, their tires barking on broken asphalt, a light bar taped across a cracked windshield.
The cage welded over the hood caught the sun and threw it straight into Elias's eyes for a split second. But it didn't matter. He already had the rifle up on the open window frame, his left hand steadying the barrel, his cheek settled, and the sight picture perfect.
The shot to the front passenger tire landed first. The truck swerved for a moment, but the driver managed to correct it and kept coming. Men in the bed grabbed roll bars and whooped like they'd already won.
But this truck was just the first of many. More engines sounded from behind it as a second truck heavier than the first appeared.
