I hit something big with the truck. Person big. Or maybe just a pile of trash. Hard to see without the lights.

I glance back at Red. He's still there. Clings to the sides of the truck bed with his good arm for dear life.

Another volley of gunfire detonates behind us as I pull into a main Man Camp artery. It keeps my foot on the gas. Les's guys don't seem to care about collateral damage. Figures.

I turn the wheel by memory. Cut across a narrow aisle of tattered campers and shitty RVs. Red shouts something. I can't hear.

I realize too late he's trying to warn me. The truck hammers through a quilt of power cords and garden hoses. The Man Camp is stitched together with them.

The force of the truck tugs at the web. Campers and RVs tip into the aisle behind the truck. Everything slows to a crawl. A shotgun slug vaporizes a side view mirror.

I beat the gas pedal with my foot. There's a pop either from the truck or the mess in the aisle. Either way, I'm moving again. The tires churn in the clay as the truck careens forward.

I quick look back at Red. He's plastered against the bottom of bed. Tries to stay small to avoid the gunfire. Looks like he lost his arm sling. Oh well.

I finally turn on the headlights. Much better. The wreckage behind me will keep the guards away for a bit. But the headlights only illuminate the fact I have no clue where I am.

I've driven through the Man Camp plenty of times. But I just toppled several of the landmarks I normally use. It's only night, prairie and heaps of roughneck trash now.

I drive to the edge of the Man Camp, head up a small hill and make a quick U-turn. Gives me a better view. It about knocks Red out. He's hanging on like a rat in speedboat.

I spot a line of dancing flashlights in the distance. It's headed for me. Les's guys.

My eyes follow the lights back into the Man Camp. Les keeps his RV surrounded by his strong arms. That must be where they're keeping Sam. Follow the flashlights and I'll find Les. Or so I hope.

I gun the truck straight into the line of flashlights. Outlines of surprised faces scurry out of the way. There's a report from a shotgun somewhere. I just go faster.

I swerve to clip the first one. He's standing next to a pile of trash at the entrance to an aisle. In an instant he's on top of the heap.

There's another one up ahead. He's frozen in place. Probably never faced down a truck before. Thump. And he now he won't have to worry about doing it again.

I watch the rest of the flashlights go out. They'll probably wait me out. Start shooting once I stop. It's going to be tricky to get out of this place.

I spot Les's RV straight ahead. Or rather, I see the reflection of a wheelchair next to an RV. Must be him.

I hit the brakes, but not too hard. Let the truck coast into the wheelchair first. The mangled metal rockets off into the night.

I'm already out the door, revolver in hand, when the truck finally stops. Red moans something from the bed. I'm surprised he can even breathe.

"Stay here. Just have to make a quick stop," I say to him.

Red starts crying about something. I'm moving too fast to hear or care.

My legs sprint to the RV door. Adrenaline convinces me it'd be quicker to kick it in. My foot hits too hard. Make a hole in it instead.

I try the handle instead. It's unlocked. So much for dramatics.

I'm prepared for something awful inside. But I'm still surprised by what I see.

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