Miller pulled out a heavy-duty folding cutter and slashed through the hay’s netting. The first handful of straw came off in a pre-fabricated sheet, revealing rough plywood beneath, painted a muddy brown to blend in with the surroundings. Miller jammed a crowbar into a ventilation slit and forced it open. As the wood splintered, he clicked on his flashlight. In the harsh LED beam, he saw a terrified human eye staring back from the shadows.
“Oh my God,” Miller exhaled, recoiling as a muffled whimper echoed from inside.
Kovich’s composure cracked. The driver bolted for the cab, reaching behind the seat for a shotgun. With traffic moving nearby, Miller couldn’t take a clear shot. He shouted the only command that mattered: “Duke, Fass!”
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