Chapter 11 The Golden Goose #2
Bolting out of the room, he ran for the servants’ stairs, retrieved the other pillowcase bulging with money, and rushed for the nearest door, only to stop and backtrack when staff members passed at the end of the hall.
Think!
The kitchen entrance would be busy this close to supper. The front door was impossible. But the garage…
Jack pressed himself into an alcove, holding his breath, two pillowcases clutched at his side. They didn’t look his way. Didn’t see the bloody footprints on the floor.
As soon as they passed, he raced down the hall. Past the door to the wine cellar. Down the passage that connected the main house to the garage.
The door was unlocked, but the knob slipped under his blood-soaked hands. “Come on!” It finally opened.
The cold air smelled of petrol and polish. Five vehicles sat gleaming like five golden rings. Jack had never driven a car. Had never even sat in the front seat.
The key box hung on the wall beside the door. He yanked it open, scanned the labelled hooks, and snatched a fob with trembling fingers. He pressed the unlock button, and the fourth car chirped in response, its lights flashing.
The Porsche.
He could do this. What choice did he have?
Opening the door, he threw the pillowcases into the passenger seat and dropped behind the wheel, hardly able to see over the dashboard. The interior reeked of the chancellor’s cologne, and his stomach lurched. He jammed the key toward the—
No ignition.
No keyhole.
Just a sleek dashboard.
“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!”
He pressed random buttons, smearing blood over the pristine veneer. Nothing.
Jack slammed his bloody palm against the steering wheel. “Start, you sonofabitch!”
His foot. The brake.
Dropping low in the seat, Jack stomped the pedals and jabbed the big button again. The engine roared to life, then screeched.
“Shit!”
“Hey!”
His attention snapped to the small door. One of the drivers came charging toward him. “Get out of there!”
Jack slammed the gear shift, and the car lunged forward. His face smacked into the steering wheel. Stars exploded behind his eyes.
A hand pounded on the glass. “Are you crazy?”
Jack blinked through a burst of white as a high-pitched ring exploded in his ears. The front of the car was smashed into a workbench, tools scattering across the dented hood. He tasted blood, and something warm and wet dripped into his eye.
“Unlock the door, kid—”
He yanked the gearshift back, and metal shrieked. “Shit!”
The car shot into reverse with enough force to throw him forward again when it smashed into the bay door, splintering the wood but not yet breaking it.
“The Chancellor will beat your ass for—” The driver dove out of the way as the car lunged forward again.
This time, when Jack reversed, he slammed his foot firmly to the floor and shut his eyes.
“No, no, no!”
The garage door exploded in a spray of splintered wood.
The Porsche catapulted into the snow, sliding wildly into the lawn. Gripping the wheel with slick hands, Jack sped over the wet mud and slush, tires losing traction and offering little control.
Voices shouted from the house. He caught a glimpse of men chasing after him in the rearview mirror.
How much do they know?
Jack stomped the accelerator, and the car lurched, stuttering then surging forward, spraying stones everywhere. He aimed for the drive, missed, clipped a hedge, and bounced over a flower bed. The fountain loomed ahead. He wrenched the wheel, but not far enough.
The Porsche’s flank connected with the fountain’s base in a spray of sparks as metal screamed against stone. But Jack kept his foot down, grip locked, blood in his mouth, and his survival the only thing on his mind.
Wrought iron gates loomed ahead, fifteen feet tall, closed against the world. Guards were already waiting, weapons drawn.
Hardly able to see past the wheel, Jack ducked lower. The speedometer climbed. 40. 50. 60.
The gates rushed toward him in a twisted, hungry grin. 80. 95. 110.
Jack screamed as the guards dove out of the way. Glass shattered as the impact threw the car. His shoulder hit the window. His head smacked hard from side to side as a hideous screech dragged under the car and wind blasted his eyes.
Air punched from his lungs. He couldn’t see through the blood dripping into his eye. The engine shrieked, and the car swerved as he wiped his eyes. The shattered windshield was webbed with cracks and hanging inside the car, but somehow still connected.
The car jerked and swerved as he looked behind him. The bent, broken gate lay tangled in his way.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” he screamed and laughed, shifting upward in the seat so he could see.
Free! He was finally free!
His hands shook so badly that he had a hard time keeping the car on the road. Blood seeped from a gash on his forehead into his eye, forcing him to keep wiping it away.
He didn’t know where he was going, only that he couldn’t go home. They’d look there first.
His mother. He should warn her. What if they hurt her to punish him?
Lights appeared behind him. Two. Then four. Then six.
“Shit.”
Black sedans, moving fast.
Jack pressed the accelerator harder. The Porsche responded, engine howling, needle climbing past 80. The world blurred at the edges, streaking past in smears of black and green.
He turned at random, plunging down lanes barely wide enough for the car, scraping hedgerows, sending gravel spraying, clipping anything in his way.
The headlights stayed with him. Gaining on him whenever he slowed. Making it impossible to pause or think.
He pushed the car to 90.
It didn’t help. They were on him. Closer now. Hunting.
Another turn. A narrow road through farmland. Jack took a curve too fast, and the car shuddered, tires screaming. He spun, overcorrected, and the back of the Porsche jerked. He thrashed from side to side, losing his slick grip on the wheel.
His head smacked the window hard, and his vision winked. He was going to die.
This was it. Fourteen years. Eight passed in hell.
The black sedans were joined by a dark SUV.
The road forked. Jack swung left, plunging deeper into the darkening countryside. Trees pressed close, branches scraping like skeletal fingers as he barreled over hills.
He checked the mirror. The headlights were gone. Two seconds later, they were back.
His foot slammed the gas, and the engine roared. Red lights flashed ahead. He didn’t understand until it was too late.
“Oh, fuck—”
Wood exploded as he crashed through the railway crossing gate, a train barreling toward him at the speed of light. He screamed, punched his foot to the floor, gritted his teeth, and shut his eyes!
The deafening roar swept behind him in a blaze of horns.
Jack opened his eyes, still speeding ahead. Not dead. Not pulverized.
He looked back, weaving off the road, then quickly righting the wheel. The train was still crossing, and the other cars were stuck on the other side.
“Holy shit!”
His heart never beat so fast.
He drove for another thirty minutes, too scared to rest. If they caught him, his life was over. No coming back from this.
He had no idea where he was or where he was heading. The headlights weren’t working, and it became impossible to see in the dark. Having no choice, he turned toward the streetlights.
His eyes strained, growing heavy as the dull ache in his head continued to throb. His vision swam with exhaustion as his adrenaline crashed.
The fuel gauge hovered just above empty when he reached some sort of ancient, abandoned road.
How long had he been driving?
His heart raced spastically, and his head was killing him.
He needed to ditch the car and find a hiding place for the night. Somewhere to rest.
His eyes closed. Maybe for just a second. He shook his head. His vision swam.
A sign emerged in the distance—LONDON - 12 MILES.
London. Crowds. But also anonymity.
Find a place to hide.
He thought of the rats, of all the places they lived. Out of sight. He could go to the sewers. Go somewhere Aurin’s men wouldn’t find him.
Jack followed the signs.
The city rose around him gradually, and soon he was weaving through the grey sprawl of the metropolis. A spray of sparks followed him.
His driving skills hadn’t improved, and he was attracting too much attention. Too many obstacles. He needed to ditch the car.
An underground car park materialized ahead. Jack yanked the wheel and plunged into concrete darkness. The Porsche scraped against a pillar as he took a corner too tightly. He shoved the gear shift into park just as the front connected with a cinderblock wall.
He killed the engine. Sat in the sudden silence, breathing heavily. His lungs crunched and rattled.
Move.
His body wouldn’t cooperate.
The crash was hitting him now. Just like it did whenever the chancellor left his room. First, the shakes. Then his muscles turned to water. Cold. So fucking cold.
He couldn’t stop shivering.
His thoughts dripped, slow and thick.
Move, damn you. You have to keep moving!
Jack fumbled for the door handle. His hand crusted with a mixture of dry and wet blood, his fingers numb and unsteady.
When he finally caught the handle and pulled, his body spilled out of the car. He landed hard on his hands and knees, the ground unsteady beneath him.
Vision swirling, he moaned, then vomited.
He just needed to close his eyes for a second, then he’d be ready to go.
One second…
His eyes popped open, and he was lying on the cold ground, face wet with vomit. He wiped his mouth and groaned, wobbling as he tried to push himself up.
His eyes tried so hard to close again. He slapped his cheeks, forced himself to sit up, but the pounding in his head intensified with every move. He crawled into the car, so tempted to curl onto the glass-covered leather and sleep.
“No,” he growled, forcing his fists to close around the pillowcases.
He needed to find a place to hide. Then he could rest. Forcing himself to his feet, he slipped in the pile of puke.
“Fuck!”