The distant wail of police cruisers began to echo from the main road.

My father dropped the brick into the grass and turned toward the porch.

He tried the front door handle, but my mother had locked it behind her in her panic.

He began to pound on the glass pane of the door.

Then, the deadbolt on the front door clicked, sliding back with a loud metallic scrape.

My mother’s pale face appeared in the crack of the door.

She looked past my father, her eyes wide as the red and blue lights of the first police cruiser swept across the dry gravel driveway.

My father tried to push past her into the safety of the hallway, but two officers were already running up the path, their heavy boots crunching on the stone.

“Get on the ground! Both of you, now!” the lead officer shouted, his flashlight beam cutting through the dusk.

Wyatt’s truck screeched to a halt behind the police cars, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that tasted like copper and dry dirt.