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Vega’s voice comes through the radio.

“I heard that.”

Taylor grins.

For about two seconds, I remember why we survived eighteen years together.

Then the van appears ahead.

White.

No rear windows.

Moving fast enough to bounce across the uneven ground.

My amusement disappears.

“There.”

Taylor accelerates.

A sheriff’s SUV follows behind us. Two more units are approaching from another road.

The airstrip comes into view beyond the ridge.

It isn’t much.

A long stretch of cleared desert.

A windsock.

A metal storage building.

And a small twin-engine plane sitting near the far end with its engines running.

“They’re going to make it,” Taylor says.

“No, they aren’t.”

The van reaches the airstrip.

The plane begins turning.

Vega’s voice cuts through the radio.

“State police are ninety seconds out.”

“We don’t have ninety seconds.”

“Campbell, do not engage unless necessary.”

The rear doors of the van fly open.

A man jumps out carrying a rifle.

Necessary just arrived.

“Gun!”