I BARRELED DOWN a dark two-lane road, gaining ground quickly on the Land Cruiser. A deep drainage culvert curled along our left side. I came up on the Cruiser's taillights, and the driver appeared to panic. Suddenly it flared to the right, then cut back nearly ninety degrees without slowing. Then the Land Cruiser flew straight toward the ditch.

    For a second I thought he'd make it across. The Land Cruiser had air under it, but the front end came down too fast. It crashed hard and loud, the undercarriage fracturing.

    The front wheels were lodged into the far bank. The rear tires continued to spin fiercely.

    Bree and I were already out of our car and crouched behind the open doors.

    “Out of the vehicle! Now!” I yelled across the ditch.

    Finally, I could see bodies moving inside the Land Cruiser.

    The adult was in the driver's seat. Next to him was someone barely tall enough to be seen.

    The smaller figure reached through the passenger-side window. He put one palm on the roof, then the other. He started lifting himself up and out.

    “Down on the ground! Now!” Bree shouted at him. “Get down, I said!”

    But he didn't! He torpedoed himself up onto the roof, skinny and cat-quick. His gun was out now, pointing our way. He slid across the roof, firing three quick shots at us.