Chapter Nineteen Over the Bridge #2
The second Poppy closed the door, the driver slammed on the gas.
As he peeled away from the curb, the wail of sirens rose behind them, coming from the same direction as the column of smoke spiraling out of the museum.
Poppy pressed on Hasan’s back, trying to staunch the flow of blood, dyeing her gloves crimson.
“We have two options,” the driver said as he made a hard right, sending her careening into the window. “They’re sending men to secure Morning Bridge. We can either plow through them, or go up into the countryside, then around to Sanivali.”
“Sanivali?” Harithi asked. “Can’t we take him to Azha?”
“The cops are going to tear the city apart.” The man shook his head. “We need to get to the safe house.”
“Well, he won’t make it that far if we take the long way,” Harithi warned.
“Then we’ll have to push.” The driver set his jaw and met Poppy’s eyes in the rearview mirror for the first time.
His gaze felt familiar, though she couldn’t say why.
“You’ll need more pressure than that to treat a gunshot wound.
Take his jacket off. Ball it up and use it as a compress.
Kneel on it. As much pressure as you can apply. ”
“Zeyar!” Harithi shouted. “Ahead!”
The driver—Zeyar—snapped his eyes back onto the road. Two police cars barreled toward them, one in the oncoming lane. “Get ready.”
He swerved, the car hitting the curb, splintering the flimsy barrier designed to protect pedestrians.
As they passed the police vehicles, Harithi pointed her stolen handgun at the closer of the two cars, firing at the driver.
Red burst across the windshield as her bullets struck home.
The car swerved away, crashing into the other police cruiser with a hefty metallic crunch.
The mangled remains of both vehicles collided with the pedestrian barrier on the other side of the road and slid to a hard stop.
Zeyar pulled their car off the sidewalk back onto the road, making another hard turn.
This time, Poppy stayed grounded, kneeling in the footwell of the back seat as she wrestled the suit jacket off Hasan.
He was still conscious enough to carry his own weight, sitting up so she could slide the garment off.
“Thought you didn’t want a brute like me?” he slurred, but she barely heard him. His dress shirt, once white, was now drenched red with blood.
“Founder, help us,” she breathed, bunching up the ruined jacket and pressing it onto the wound.
“Pretty sure your Founder wants us dead,” Harithi remarked.
Up front, three more police cars were parked in a line, forming a blockade.
Their drivers had gotten out, aiming rifles at them.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Harithi fired at the officers, forcing them to duck behind the open doors of their vehicles for cover.
“I have this,” Zeyar said, “but it’s going to take all of my daivyakhi.
” He lifted one hand off the wheel, putting it out of the window and punching the air once, hard.
The police vehicles flew as though struck by an invisible fist. Poppy gaped at the open display of unnatural power.
The cops shouted in terror and dismay, but Zeyar tore past them.
Harithi leaned out of the window, the wind ripping her hair out of its bun. She fired at the few cops who pursued them on foot, striking each one with ease.
“I’m out!” Harithi swore, clicking the trigger pointlessly.
“There’s a rifle under the seat and a handgun in the glove compartment,” Zeyar barked. He glanced at Poppy in the mirror. “Not enough pressure, Miss Sutherland! Kneel harder. Put your full weight into it.”
“Look out!” she shouted. Another police car had hidden between two buildings, headlights off, nearly invisible in the night.
Zeyar swore, swerving at the last moment as the police vehicle rushed forward, trying to T-bone them.
The other car fishtailed, accelerating on their heels.
Harithi shouldered the rifle, firing at the windshield.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the glass, and the police car zigzagged as the driver attempted to prevent Harithi from shattering it.
“Hold tight,” Zeyar said. “I’m going to take a little shortcut.”
He wrenched the wheel into a hard right, driving up onto the sidewalk.
Despite his warning, when the car hit the curb, Poppy flew backward into the window.
The blazer fell from Hasan’s back. Zeyar threw the car down a flight of pedestrian stairs.
The sideview mirrors scraped the railing with a screech, sparks flying.
Poppy couldn’t help the shriek of alarm that escaped her lips.
“We’re in the last stretch,” Zeyar said.
True to his word, the turn for the bridge was up ahead on the left. But that wasn’t the only thing in front of them: A cavalry of police vehicles hurtled toward them from the opposite direction.
“We have to get to the bridge first,” Poppy said, pressing the blazer back onto Hasan. The hem of her dress bloomed red as she did what Zeyar had instructed, pressing her knee to the wound.
“Nathria, get me there,” Zeyar muttered.
He laid into the gas pedal, the engine roaring in response.
Ahead, the police vehicles accelerated toward them, approaching dead on.
There wasn’t enough room to swerve around them.
If Zeyar didn’t make the turn, they would collide at a speed they wouldn’t survive.
“Zeyar,” Harithi said, her voice wavering, “you’d better know what the fuck you’re doing.”
“I got this.” He brushed her off. “Trust me, Harithi.”
Zeyar hit the brakes so suddenly that Poppy was nearly thrown for a third time.
The smell of burned rubber filled the car.
As he turned the wheel, he eased off the brakes.
The car skidded onto the bridge with a hard bump, the trunk scraping one of the bridge posts.
Zeyar straightened, slamming back onto the gas as the police cars behind them either sailed past the turning point or turned too soon, spinning out of control and through the guardrail, falling like boulders into the river below.
Then one of the police cars cleared the turn, getting onto the bridge. Poppy watched through the rear windshield as, slowly but surely, the rest of the cop cars made the turn, learning from the mistakes of those who had failed earlier.
“Zeyar,” she said, “they’re behind us.”
“Harithi,” Zeyar gritted out. “Your daivyakhi. Can you destroy the bridge?”
“Not in your wildest dreams,” Harithi retorted, “but I can do my best.”
She leaned out of the window again. This time, Poppy studied her, determined to see how she used her power—daivyakhi, Zeyar had called it.
Harithi inhaled deeply, splaying her fingers wide.
She brought her hands together, interlacing them.
A low, grating sound filled the air. Before Poppy’s eyes, a deep, uneven crack shot through the bridge.
As Harithi knotted her hands together, the pavement on the two sides of the division pressed together with a groan before rising up into a sharp, jagged ridge.
Now that was a true display of power, one that reminded Poppy vividly of the tales that Nanny used to tell, about kings and queens who could move the earth at their whim.
Bang. The first car hit the ridge, front tires exploding as the spikes punctured the rubber. The other cars slammed on the brakes, but it was too late—they struck Harithi’s barrier first, then each other, piling into a glittering mass.
Harithi sighed, rolling the window back up as they zipped through the Virian quarter unchallenged. She didn’t look ill, though what she’d done had been far more complex than bursting a pipe. Poppy’s heart sank. Was she broken? Why couldn’t she do that?
Zeyar raced past the docks, turning out onto the highway to the countryside.
They might have driven for an hour, it might have been the whole night.
Later, Poppy would only be able to recall flashes: Her knee, pressed on the Jackal’s wound.
The copper scent of blood, sticky on her skin.
Stiff red gloves, no longer white, discarded in the footwell.
Finally, the car slowed to a stop underneath a streetlight in front of a nondescript country house, with a thatched roof and weather-beaten wooden shutters over the windows.
After killing the engine, Zeyar turned around fully, giving Poppy her first full look at his face.
“How’s he doing?” he asked, his brows knitted in concern.
His right eyebrow was split, scarred in a way that mirrored Hasan’s.
That little detail jiggled something in her brain, and then all Poppy could see were similarities: the same dark eyes, serious and intelligent; the same proud nose, albeit unbroken; the same full lips, pressed tight with worry.
She sucked in a breath. “You’re his brother.”