Chapter 270

Brett's Perspective A heavier barrage of fire raked the truck. The guards were pissed. Sparks flew as bullets struck metal. Suddenly, the passenger gunner jolted, a muffled grunt escaping him. He almost dropped his rifle. The fabric over his right shoulder darkened rapidly with blood. "Damn it! Lycotine rounds! Sneaky bastards!" he snarled, his voice tight with pain. That vile, wolf-specific ammunition designed to slow healing and cause agony. He immediately tore a strip from his shirt, tying a tight tourniquet above the wound, but his face contorted in pain, his return fire becoming slow and clumsy. The driver cursed, trying more erratic maneuvers, but with one gunner nearly out, the pressure skyrocketed. The SUVs closed in, even trying to flank us. Despair washed back in. Out of the frying pan, into a shooting gallery on wheels? Then, a new sound. Engines, from the road ahead and to the side. Not one. At least two, approaching fast. Bright lights, c