Chapter 15 #2
“Shit!” Once my heart rate settles, I wave a finger around the map. “Somewhere in here.”
Taylor raises an eyebrow. “You said you could read it.”
“Yes, but you’re the one with the GPS on her wrist, smartass.”
She smirks and taps her wristwatch a few times. “Not too far outside the Montana border. Good, we made good time.”
Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I inquire, “Are we driving to Arizona after? Because my ass is falling asleep.”
“Don’t know. Theia will brief us after confirmation of Target Four’s elimination. There isn’t an official OrPro base close enough to Reed’s homestead so we will communicate via a cabin well outside the property boundaries.”
“Oh, goody, another cabin. Can I nearly get tetanus in this one too?”
“Probably.” She peers into the road ahead. “Pull over. There’s a checkpoint coming up soon.”
We stretch our legs and change seats, then embark upon another prolonged span of driving that allows my intrusive thoughts to barrel to the forefront of my brain.
Hands clasped in my lap, I peek at Taylor. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What happens after Wolfshield?”
Taylor runs her fingers through her hair and then grips the steering wheel. “Presumably, Hunter and I will assist Theia in coordinating troop efforts until all region forces are subdued. I am not sure. We have not discussed in any detail what happens when I complete my missions.”
“Why not?”
“The odds of my survival were, and are, slim.” Out of her peripheral vision Taylor watches me process what she’s said.
I fidget in my seat to stave off the awful feeling inside my chest. “Or you could not die.”
“Or I could not die,” she repeats with a smile. It fades from her face. “I am not actively pursuing my own demise. I’m—this should have been Hunter. She has the skills, Mason’s the engineer, and I am the spare.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’d rather be here with you than with her.”
Taylor shakes her head. “I doubt it. You will like Hunter. Everyone does.”
“I’m not everyone.”
The corner of her lips lifts in a weak smile before she turns her attention back to the road, where a barricade rises in the distance across the flat land.
A checkpoint well stocked with Reed’s police force—the Jacks—spreads across both lanes of the highway.
Heavy piles of timber on either side of the road prevent anyone from going around it.
“What do we do?” I ask aloud as Taylor presses harder on the gas.
“We are going to blow it.”
I blink over to her. “Excuse me? You did not just say some crazy nonsense like ‘we are going to blow it.’”
“Make sure your seat belt is secured.”
“You are really going to do this.”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to blow it.”
“I am going to blow it.”
Well, it’s not how I wanted to go, but I’ve had a good run. With a gulp I tighten my seat belt and brace myself for impact. The speedometer climbs higher and higher, reaching triple digits. Officers wave at us to slow down as the checkpoint comes into view.
“Hold on.” We approach a gap in the checkpoint where only a plywood caution barrier stands in our way. Jacks scramble to action and aim their guns at us. Taylor sighs. “I wish Mason was here.”
Barreling through the barrier, it splinters and explodes around us, pummeling the windows. Taylor struggles to right the hurtling vehicle to the sound of screams and gunfire. Once she’s regained full control of the car, she keeps up the blistering speed.
“Stealthy,” I choke out between gasps. “They’ll never see us coming now.”
“We will ditch this car once we lose them.” She checks the rearview mirror, and, lo and behold, several Jacks are in hot pursuit of us. “You need to drive.”
“I’m what?”
“Drive. I cannot shoot and drive. Well, I can, but I probably should not.” Taylor steadies the wheel and reaches below her seat, jerking the mechanism and sliding it back as far as it will go. “Push your seat back and go underneath me. I go over, you go under.”
“Holy shit, you’re serious.”
Taylor climbs over the armrests and I try and turn into a spider, carefully maneuvering under her body to get into the driver’s seat.
Once I’m there I take control of the car, nabbing the wheel to straighten us out.
Taylor withdraws a gun from beneath my seat and cocks it.
She rolls down her window and climbs out, sitting on the window’s edge.
She exchanges gunfire with the pursuing cars, ducking back in when they get a good bead on her.
Bullets fly by, one of which shatters the back windshield.
Taylor pops back out and fires again, and this time I watch as two cars careen into one another and tumble off the road.
Taylor takes cover behind her seat, gathers ammo, and reloads her gun.
This time when she shoots, it’s between us out the back windshield.
“Oh, geez, there’s a big bend in the road.” I look to her. “How do I take this?”
“Listen to me and concentrate. Do not slow down.”
“That goes against every survival instinct I have, but okay.”
“Trust me.” Taylor shoots out the back again and turns to me.
“Keep on the throttle.” Out the front windshield, she narrows her eyes at the turn.
“Good, you are doing fine. Keep us centered. Turn when I tell you.” I wait for her signal, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Now, turn hard. Keep on the gas.”
I sharply yank the steering wheel to the right and the car spins out behind us. Any wrong move and we will be upside down in a ditch. I have our lives in my hands. I should not. I am not qualified to hold any life in my hands. Not even a potted plant.
“Okay, counter-steer against the way the car is pulling us. Not as hard as before. Feel the balance.” Barely turning the wheel, we drift along the bend and squish against the side of the car. Taylor fires off more rounds, causing my ears to ring almost as loud as the popping noises behind us.
“Straighten out,” she says calmly. “And you can let off the gas. Don’t brake.”
I gladly let off the gas as I straighten the car on the road, sweaty palms gripping the wheel as tight as I can. Taylor slides her gun back beneath the seat and sits forward. “We lost them. You can stop if you want.”
“Yes, I want. I very much want.”
The car stops in the center of the road, and I fling off my seat belt and storm out. My heart is either going to give out or burst from my chest, and either of those deaths are a welcome reprieve from the fear. I pace along the side of the road, adrenaline and anger coursing through my veins.
Screams fill my lungs but they don’t come out.
Instead, I emit a frustrated groan into my palms. Around the bend, the remains of the cars giving us chase smolder.
Their tires flat against the ground, and at least one body hangs out of a passenger door.
Souls who’ll go no farther than this desolate stretch of road. I pity them, and I envy them.
Unnecessary frenzy doubles my heart rate and churns my stomach. I close my eyes and block out the world. Let the fear pass through me. I scour the road for objects to name. Car. Fire. Trees. Asphalt. Painted lines. Our car. Taylor.
Taylor. Instead of running laps or some other obsessive behavior, she’s slumped in the passenger seat, facing out.
Cautiously, I advance from the side, I find her breathing heavily, head hung between her knees.
My boots skip the gravel in warning of my approach, and I round in front of her and crouch down.
When she finally flicks her eyes up at me, they’re filled with helplessness and despair.
Her sadness is so pervasive it seeps through my pores and arrests my heart.
What I suspected in the hospital room is confirmed, much to my dismay.
Even those with the strongest mental fortitude are not immune to the lasting horrors of war. The brand of battle is for life.
“Did you talk to anyone at the hospital about this?”
“No.” Her trembling hands obsessively rub the material of her pants.
If only suffering was like venom, to be sucked and spit out. I’d do it without hesitation. “How long has this been happening?”
“Since Detroit, I guess.”
“Do you get the nightmares too? Flashbacks?”
She nods. “It has to stop. I need to make it stop.”
“I’m not sure it does. It can get better, but I don’t know if it ever stops.”
“I’m tired,” she confesses in a whisper. “I’m so tired, Lucy.”
In an instant, my heart is torpedoed down the center.
I want to get in the car and drive until we cross into California.
Settle somewhere peaceful and quiet, where the ocean laps at the shore and our only worry is how to get sand out of our hair.
But one look at the warrior in front of me and I know that isn’t in the future for us.
I cup her jaw in my hand and stroke her cheek. “So shaken as we are, so wan with care. Find we a time for frighted peace to pant and breathe short-winded accents of new broils to be commenced in strands afar, remote.”
The touch grounds her and she stares into my eyes with an undisguised vulnerability.
She knows that I see her. That I saw her, back in Detroit.
I saw the decisions she had to make, the death she wrought, and I’m still here.
Taylor closes her eyes and leans into the contact to let what pitiful consolation I can provide soothe her troubled mind.
“Sometimes, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I’m not shocked she feels that way, but I am shocked to hear her say it out loud. My thumb rubs her cheekbone. “Yeah? Want to run away with me?”
A genuine, sad smile comes to her face. “What a life that would be.”