Chapter Nineteen
In which there is the tragic and unreasonable destruction of more beautiful vehicles.
Caroline…
My question is cut off by a thunderous shriek of metal as an black truck tears across the intersection, plowing through a red light as it slams into us. It feels like a giant smashed his fist against the SUV, and I'm yanked violently against my seatbelt, my head snapping back.
The truck is enormous, with a steel grille that's biting into the metal of our door. The driver is still hitting the gas hard, a high whine of the engine as it tries to shove us off the road.
Nikandr recovers instantly, slamming the privacy panel open. Vasilisa is already pulling the driver out of his seat. He's unconscious, the side of his face crushed and bloody. She curses as she cuts him loose from the deployed airbag.
"I'm pulling him out on three," Nikandr says. "One, two, three-" He hauls the driver into the back and I grab an arm and help, the muscles in my back screaming in protest. The poor man is heavy.
Our heads snap back against the seat again and I flinch at the burst of light that blurs my vision for a moment. The goddamn truck keeps gunning its engine. The SUV's tires scream in protest, but it holds steady.
Looking behind us, I can see the chase car is engaged in active gunfire with another car that came up from behind them. Vasilisa gets us loose from the collision with the truck and we bullet across the intersection as our two chase cars scramble to catch up.
Vasilisa is cursing, fighting the steering wheel. "We have self-inflating tires," she says tightly. "But the front left one won't last long. I can tell there's metal rubbing against it."
Nikandr cups my cheek. "Put your head down to your knees, clasp your arms around your legs, and stay still. Do you hear me?"
I know how to shoot, but I don't argue, I nod.
He needs to be focused. He crawls into the front seat and opens the glove compartment, hitting a button there.
"This is a distress signal," he says over his shoulder to me, checking his gun.
"Since we're still downtown, it won't take long for help to reach us.
" The bodyguard's SUV directly behind us is on fire and it looks like after we escaped the truck, the driver did a suicide mission to crash into our guard's car.
Please don't let them be dead.
I already know some of their names and faces. Daniil, who brought me a chocolate croissant, and Iriney, who smiled at me, though I suspect they're not supposed to.
The dashboard comes alive and a voice crackles. "Chase car two is down, Sovietnik."
"Did anyone make it?" Nikandr asks.
"I don't know," the voice from the dash is grim. "The flames are too bright to see if anyone got out."
"We have to go back!" I blurt, grabbing Nikandr's shoulder.
He shoots me a glare. "Head. Down."
"At least let the other car circle back for survivors. Can't we draw the truck away?"
"Not just one," Vasilisa says, snapping the steering wheel to the left. "Two more are chasing us. They must have anticipated we would get past the first collision." She holds out her hand for a gun. I can see her arm shaking under the strain of holding the wheel straight.
"I know how to shoot," I say hastily, reaching my hand out. "I'm pretty good."
"The risk is too great," Nikandr's furious. "You need to keep your head down." I keep my hand out and he growls, pulling a .357 from the center compartment. "Do you understand how to use this gun?" he asks.
I check the clip briefly, keeping the safety on. "Yes." I wish the gun was something more powerful, but Nikandr probably doesn't have any surface to air missiles in the back seat.
"You’re handling your second attempted kidnapping in less than three days rather well," Nikandr says with an oddly timed chuckle. Maybe he's one of those guys who finds shootouts hilarious.
"It might be an attempted murder this time," I say. My hands are slippery with sweat and I wipe them on my dress before clutching the gun again. "Do you know who's after us?"
Vasilisa is the one who laughs this time.
"It could be one of a half a dozen groups," he admits. "We should have reinforcements within the next five minutes. Our job is to keep these fuckers off of us until then."
A low-slung car gets around Vasilisa's attempt to block it, coming parallel with us as they open fire with an AK-47, spraying the side of our SUV. It rocks violently and I grab on to the front seat to keep from face-planting into it. My window is webbed with a thousand cracks, but it's holding.
"Do not lower your window," he says harshly. "If they manage to shoot through it, stick your gun through the hole and shoot whoever is there. Empty your clip. Here's another one." He throws it into my lap and I nod.
The other car makes a second pass with the machine gun; my side door window is bulging ominously after another round of bullets catches it. Bulletproof doesn't mean impenetrable, I know this.
Sparks fly between the two vehicles as the car slows down and then speeds up to our left side, it's lower and more nimble than our monstrously heavy SUV. I flinch at another steady stream of bullets, this time on the driver's side.
"That tire won't last much longer," Vasilia says, knuckles white, gripping the shuddering steering wheel.
Our remaining chase car is getting riddled with ammunition; another truck is shooting at them before speeding up and slamming into their back bumper.
The SUV swerves, but Nikandr's guards are good.
The driver keeps it out of a spin, still following us.
I pull my head back just as a torrent of bullets shatters my window. I shove out part of the destroyed web of glass with my elbow and push my gun through. Nikandr curses, doing the same thing.
My bullets and Nikandr's tear through the driver's window, painting a violent Rorschach splatter of blood against the windshield.
It weaves frantically, smashing into the guardrail and veering back toward us.
Vasilisa swerves into another lane to avoid it and we keep shooting into the car, making sure no one can take the wheel.
The car hits the guard rail again and flips twice, flames streaming to the gas tank and it lands on its roof in a spectacular explosion.
The truck abandons our chase car and speeds up to catch us.
I let out a shriek as our back window finally gives out from a torrent of ammunition that punches through the bulletproof glass, one streaks through the car and rips through the windshield, too.
"Armor-piercing rounds," Nikandr says grimly.
"Too bad we don't have that cargo we took from Ricci," Vasilisa says.
I empty my clip, shooting through the destroyed rear window. My second clip is gone.
"Shit shit shit shit!" I hiss, leaning over, desperately running my hands over the floor, trying to find it. The high whine of a bullet goes over me, right where I would have been. I hear a pained grunt from Nikandr, there's blood streaming from his shoulder.
"Caroline, are you hit?" he shouts.
My shaking fingers finally touch the cool metal of the clip and I jam it into the .357.
"Caroline!"
"I'm fine!" The truck is alongside us now and I'm firing blindly, the wind through the broken window and the haze of gunfire making it hard to see.
There are headlights coming up on us.
Oh, fuck. We're going the wrong way.
Car horns frantically blare as traffic peels off on either side of us, struggling to find their way back onto the road.
Nikandr and I keep shooting and this time, the truck doesn't do anything dramatic, no explosions. It simply slows to a stop - I'm fairly certain everyone inside is dead - and tilts against a lamp post.
Vasilisa pulls the SUV out of traffic as our backup car catches up. Bodyguards pour out of the battered SUV, racing over to us.
"Are you all right?" Nikandr touches my cheek. "You're bleeding."
"I think it was from a bit of glass or something," I say. "I'm fine. You were the one who got shot!" The sleeve of his jacket is soaking. He glances down, as if noticing it for the first time.
"I'm fine."
"Liar." A bodyguard is bracing his feet against the wheel, trying to rip open my door, all battered from being hit so many times. Nikandr crawls into the back seat and kicks the door open, sliding out first and reaching for me.
Three Range Rovers race toward us. Oh, shit. More of these bastards? They all skid to a stop and Alexsey is first out, holding an enormous gun.
"A little late, I see," he says, looking at the flaming car, upside down in the median and the battered truck. The shattered windows are coated in blood, the decimated radiator hissing and smoke curling up from the hood.
Nikandr puts his arm around my waist, taking me over to Alexey's convoy. "Take her to the safehouse," he says to a guard, who already has the door open for me.
"You're coming, right?" I ask.
"Soon," he says, looking at the two men his guards dragged out of the ruined truck. They're still alive, bloody and barely conscious. "You'll be safe."
I'm not sure if he means it as reassuring or dismissive, but I look away, putting on my seatbelt.
"I'll get this taken care of," Alexsey says, looking between me and Nikandr. "Cousin, let me do this. You need to go with her."
"What I need to do," Nikandr says, "is to take those two men and peel their skin from their bodies and dissolve what's left hydrochloric acid. I need to –"
The guards jam the bloody men into another one of the Range Rovers and Alexsey takes Nikandr by the arm and shoves him into the SUV with me. "Go," he says. "Don't be a zasranets."
The ruins of our heavily armored SUV took hundreds of rounds of ammunition. "It looks like a spaghetti strainer," I mumble.
Cars are beginning to pull over to stop and stare. I can hear the sound of sirens rising in the distance.
"Go," Alexsey snaps, and our Range Rover pulls away.
I'm staring straight ahead, spine stiff, but my treacherous hands are trembling violently. Nikandr takes them and presses them between his own. His hands are sticky with blood, but they're warm.
"You did well," he says, clearing his throat.
"You were very brave." We both stare out the window as the car pulls off the main road and heads into a neighborhood.
The houses are well cared-for here. Flowers and neatly trimmed grass, lights shining in windows where families are no doubt having a late dinner together or watching TV and not shooting at other people with armor piercing bullets.
We pull up behind a quiet two-story brick house and I blink. "Aren't we going back to the Tsaritsa?"
Nikandr gives me what I think is meant to be a reassuring smile. "That's where they will expect us to be."
"Oh, okay." I know I sound a little robotic, he's looking at me with a concerned frown. That little cut on my cheek has already stopped bleeding. I wish I could say the same about the bullet hole in his shoulder that he's choosing to ignore.
Vasilisa and one of Alexsey's men have already moved ahead of us, flipping on lights and checking the security system with brisk efficiency. The house is basic, furniture and basic comforts. I can see why there was no need to decorate.
"I can treat your shoulder, if you want." Nikandr looks at me, holding a bloody towel on his shoulder. "I used to clean my brothers up all the time when they'd come home after some colossal screwup-"
Before they betrayed our cousin.
"We're secure," Vasilisa says. "Why don't you go get cleaned up?" She smiles at me. "Check that this is not his only injury, would you? He is notorious for being hurt and not bothering to pay attention to it until hours later when it's infected."
I'm so relieved to have something to do, and I head toward the bathroom down the hall. "Where's the first aid kit?"
***
Zasranets - Russian for asshole