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Brian swiftly drove Bill’s Chevelle down the faded black asphalt. The engine roared powerfully as the car raced along the highway. Ray sat in the passenger seat, putting a fresh clip into his rifle and reloading his partner’s weapon.
“You think we’ll catch up to them?” he asked hopefully, itching to kill their prey.
“Here,” Brian answered by passing Ray his phone from his pocket.
“Text Michael and ask him where they are,” he ordered. “Actually, just call him. That way we’ll know where we’re going right away.”
The long-haired man grabbed the cell phone, resting the guns that he was holding between his legs. “All right,” he agreed, looking at the screen. He swivelled his head toward the other man and asked, “What’s your password?”
“1983,” Brian replied without taking his eyes off of the road.
Ray called Michael. He heard the line ringing for a long time.