42
Slowly, the distance between Foley and Rose and the two motorcycles began to widen. Foley pushed the police vehicle hard over the rough, dirt road corrugations. The speed was dangerous but worth the risk, he thought. He leaned forward, gripped the steering wheel tightly, and focused on the twin tail lights ahead as they appeared and then disappeared in a cloud of thick dust billowing behind the Harley Davidsons.
Sam gripped the hand hold above the passenger window so tightly, his fingers began to cramp. His free hand pushed against the dashboard in front of him, bracing himself against the incessant spine-jarring jolting as the car raced after the bikers. “How…far…to the highway?” he asked, his voice stuttering in concert with the noisy, staccato bumping of the vehicle.
“Almost there
