A white Honda Accord pulled out of the parking lot behind us. Farther down the street the black van pulled behind the Honda. We now had two tails. Lilly kept an even speed and drove toward the warehouse district of Fredericksburg.
The late afternoon sun glinted dully in the dust-covered windows and crafted long shadows cast upon the ground by the ramshackle buildings that polluted the area. It was a great area to spring an ambush.
From the side mirror I watched as the black van made a sudden left turn, and the Honda Accord slowed down. My eyes drifted down the road to a pile of rocks on the right side and abandoned water truck down from the rocks. Every instinct I had begun to tingle.
“IED,” I snapped, “veer left!”
The water truck exploded in front of us, shrapnel ripped the vehicle apart. Debris slammed into our windshield, and the black van emerged from the left as Lilly gunned the engine. She banked off the van and ricocheted off it like a cue ball trying to hit the eight ball at the top opposite corner.
“Mmm,” I grunted.
Behind us, gunfire tore into our sedan. “Get ready,” Lilly snapped. “I’m gonna whip into that parking lot and give you a shot at their windshield.” I dropped the standard 15-round magazine to the floorboard and inserted an extended mag and rolled down my window.
“Do it,” I snapped back.
Lilly jammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel hard to the right. The Honda still accelerating rushed toward us. I fired off half the magazine into the windshield, and the driver yanked the wheel. The vehicle swerved away from us. Lilly and I watched as the driver over-corrected, and the vehicle rolled.
I stepped from the car and unloaded the rest of my magazine into the Honda.
“Stay here, Lilly. Keep an eye out for that van.”
I dropped my empty magazine and inserted another. The passenger, a woman with blood pouring from her mouth, tried to crawl out from under the crumpled cab.
It was time to have a talk with our assailants.