“Shit, shit, shit,” I say.
The steering wheel is too high to effectively be able to knee-steer it. I try my best anyway, draw my pistol and aim it…except the window is still rolled up. Shoot through it? Or—
The window shatters at that moment, spraying me with glass, and another round sings past my nose, and a third buries itself in the seat an inch behind my shoulder. I aim across myself at the driver—crack off a shot. It misses, hits high. Correct the vector of the steering wheel, fire again. Wide.
At that moment, Corinna coughs, groans. “Whaaa?” Struggles to orient herself. “What? What happened?”
“You took a glancing shot to the forehead,” I say, pausing to squeeze off rounds—aiming this time for the bed gunner; I miss twice.
“I had to get you to safety, which meant the truck. We were taking fire, the helo was taking fire…”
I pause again, and crack off two more rounds, and this time I actually hit him, square on the chest, knocking him backward to topple over the side of the truck, flopping out of sight.
“Now we’re on the run in the deuce and a half, being chased by I don’t know how many of Spaulding’s mercenaries.” I glance at the truck and realize the driver hasn’t given up.
In fact, one of the passengers crammed into the single bench with the driver is climbing out of the window in an attempt to reach the bed gun.
Corinna gazes at me, still disoriented. “Yelena?”
“She’s safe. She’s with the girls. They’re all safe, on the Chinook.”
She wipes at her face, looks at her hand as it comes away red. “I’m bleeding.”
God, she’s dazed. “You are lucky as fuck,” I say. “Any slight difference in the angle, and you’d be dead.”
She probes at the wound, winces. “We’re alone?
“I nod. Just you and me, baby.” I gesture at the window. “And them.”
This gets her attention. She untangles herself from the M-16, orients herself on the bench, and takes stock of the situation. “Got it.”
She ejects the magazine, glances at it, and curses. “Almost out. My other mag is almost out too.”
“Then you’d better be accurate.”
She rests the barrel on the window frame, leaning partially against me, and then worming onto my lap in search of a good shooting position. “Don’t mind me.”
I can’t help but snicker. “Never.”
“Hold it steady.”
“I am.”
I brace myself for the sound, but it still makes my ears ring when she cracks off a shot, just one. I spare a glance and see that she has indeed landed a kill shot—on the driver. The truck veers and smashes into a tree, the rear tires flying up and forward, throwing forward the man who’d just reached the bed. He’s impaled on a branch, and then the wreck is out of sight.
“How many more are there?” Corinna asks, moving off of me.
I bark a laugh. “I have no idea. I had thought most of them were dead—there were only a handful returning fire from the roof, and I think you got them all in the underground area. But as soon as we got away from the fort, they just…appeared in pursuit from all directions.”
“Did Spaulding get away?”
“I think so. There was a helicopter fleeing the area as we began boarding the truck.”
She crawls to the other side of the truck, peering out of the window around the side, then leans back in. “Nothing behind us that I can see.” A glance forward. “Where the hell are we, and where are we going?”
I snort. “Like I know? I was just getting us away. I think these olive farms can stretch for miles, though—I’m not even sure which direction we’re going.” I think about it for a moment. “The helo was due west from the fort, and I believe it was oriented facing north—the Chinook was, I mean. And I drove directly away from the helicopter’s tail end, so…Ibelievewe are heading south.”
“Is there even anywheretogo?”
