Flanked

the hell did you go?” Devin hissed.
Joe took Devin’s hand and held his elbow, so their forearms pressed together. “I wanted to see if I could tell anything about the people.”
They veered toward the noise.
“Are you out of your fucking mind? We’re heading for them!” Devin threw on the brakes. Joe had some muscle to him, but he was a short man and Devin was way stronger. They wouldn’t move until Devin was willing.
Joe tugged at Devin’s arm. “There’s a median. We’re going to hide there.”
Devin had no idea what a median was, but he didn’t want to go toward the noises. He smacked at Joe’s hands.
More yells. This time, they were close enough that Devin could tell they belonged to at least two men.
Joe pressed against Devin’s chest and whispered, “If we don’t move, they’ll see us. I need you to trust me.”
Joe squeezed his hand, and Devin moved. He tripped a few times but kept both hands on Joe and let himself be led.
They climbed over a warm metal something. Dead grass crunched under their feet. A charred smell hung in the air. Devin was tempted to hold his nose.
“Crouch.” Joe tugged at Devin’s hand. “Watch your knees.”
“Can’t watch my knees.”
“Just sit.”
Devin did, his knees scraping the metal they’d climbed over. When he’d dropped low, Joe pushed him onto his ass. The burned smell got stronger. Joe nudged and maneuvered him to turn and curl in on himself, then Joe’s body pressed tight against him.
Joe’s lips brushed his ear. “Duck your head, papi. Stay low.”
The voices grew louder. One warbled in Spanish. Whatever he was singing, the man mangled it. His buddy laughed.
A breeze ruffled Devin’s hair and cooled the sweat-soaked back of his jacket. Tucked down as he was, he could smell his own armpits. The sweat stink mixed with the smell of fire until he was lightheaded from the fumes.
The singing man abruptly stopped and, in a low growl, said something about chicos.
Devin was barely eighteen, Joe nineteen. They could pass for boys. Had they been discovered? Devin was hit with the urge to throw his body over Joe.
Instead, Joe shifted beside him and whispered, “Give me the VICE-shot. My knife won’t help much against two people.”
Devin wanted to protest. The gun belonged to him, and with it, he had ideas of protecting Joe, not the other way around. But his blindness made him a liability. He fished the gun out of his pocket and handed it over.
Back before they’d left Austin, he’d set the gun to stun and hadn’t changed it. He’d only used it once, to fire a single pulse at Boggs, so he wasn’t sure it could be fired in rapid succession. They might be about to find out.
***
Joe inched closer to the guardrail at the edge of the median. He couldn’t be sure if Boggs had sent word to someone in this town to watch for them or if the men were random townspeople who’d spotted young-looking strangers. Either way, his and Devin’s best bet was to attack before the men reached them. He clenched the VICE-shot, warm and nearly weightless, in his hand and lined up his index finger with the trigger.
He peered over the edge of their hiding space and saw the two men.
With a giant full moon in a star-filled sky, their faces shone. They both seemed older, maybe even in their thirties, and both were thin. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. Brothers, maybe. Each with the barrel of a gun visible behind their backs. Their steps brought them closer, but they watched the road to the south instead of focusing on Joe and Devin. Perhaps they hadn’t been spotted after all, and they could wait out the danger.
The men stopped twenty feet away, still facing south.
Joe followed their gaze. His breath stopped cold.
Three more people approached from that direction, too far away to make out more than dim silhouettes. One was slightly smaller, and another’s rounded body was easily twice the size of the others. They were all short, though. Teens or women, maybe.
Seconds ticked by as the new arrivals drew closer.
Joe tried to breathe deeply, to saturate his blood and brain with oxygen, to stay calm. Devin’s foot bounced against Joe’s ass. Part of Joe wanted to stop it; another part found the steady smack reassuring, a reminder he wasn’t on his own.
The men nearest Joe pulled long-barreled rifles that had to be a century old. The things looked lethal.
The figures down the highway stopped when the weapons were drawn. Not friends, then. The men near Joe yelled for the others to put up their hands and come closer.
The trio did as told, and the bulk of the large person’s body fell away. Ah. The person had been carrying something large, maybe a bag. Now two of the approaching group appeared identical. Same height. Same body shape. Same frightened, familiar faces.
Oh, God. Joe swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. What the hell were they doing out here?
Recalculating quickly, he waited along with the men, who watched the boys approach. When one of the men laughed, Joe fired the VICE-shot.
The weapon whipped to life. Crackling electricity filled the night with dazzling light. The bright-white arc hit the man facing Joe. Surprise etched the man’s features before he twitched and fell. The other man turned, weapon at the ready, but Joe didn’t release the trigger of the VICE-shot. He kept the pulse firing and roped the man into the current.
When the second man dropped, Joe released the trigger and jumped over the guardrail. He picked up the rifles the men had carried and slung them over his shoulder. Only then did he turn to the south and the boys who had no business almost getting themselves killed.
The boys had scattered, and the two bolting east were about to reach the safety of the grass. At least they’d done one smart thing.
“Flix!” Joe yelled. “Marcus!”
The runners heading east stopped. Even the boy running south slowed. Behind Joe, Devin said,