Arcana Rising (The Arcana Chronicles #4)(41)

“Go, go!” I fired blindly over my shoulder. A yell told me I’d hit somebody.

As Matthew started away, more bullets peppered the metal wall beside us.

He was all but carrying me as I hobbled along on one leg, slowing him down. Fucking hated being dead weight! I blindly fired again. Click. Click. Out of ammo!

The slavers stopped shooting their precious bullets, probably ’cause we were headed into the mine. We’d be trapped. The only other way out was the impossible exit: the vehicle bay.

Coo-y?n led me deeper into a maze of corridors. We turned right. Then left. Right again. Unless some allies were back here waiting for us, we were just running toward our doom.

The corridor opened up to a wider area. He dragged me along, then propped me up against something. A six-foot-tall truck wheel? He’d stopped at one of those monster-size haulers.

“Here, Hunter!” He waved toward something.

A set of blurry steps jogged in front of my eyes. Must be ten feet up to the hauler’s cab. “Leave me. I can’t make those—”

Matthew swooped me up in a fireman’s carry and bounded up the stairs. Just like I’d done with him in his flooded basement—the first time I’d saved his ass.

Coo-y?n was loading me? Up was down. He dumped me on the floor behind the pilot seat. The world spun. Stay conscious or die. “You doan know how to operate this thing!” I had only a general idea. Back when I’d plotted my escape, I’d studied the drivers and how they handled these loaders down on the slave level. “You’ve never even driven a car, non? I gotta get behind the wheel, me. Is it automatic?” No way I could use this leg for the clutch.

“Not automatic.”

Damn it! “You got any idea how to drive a stick?”

“In theory!”

If I could somehow talk him through this, we might—might—have a shot at breaking out through the vehicle bay. “Battery switches . . . outside in a box. Flip every one.” Please doan let the box be locked.

He set off. A minute later, lights in the cab blazed on.

More shouts, still in the distance. They didn’t know where we were. For now.

When Matthew climbed behind the wheel, I said, “I’m goan to help you drive this thing.” I tried to sit up. Bad move. Definitely about to black out. I collapsed back. But this meant I couldn’t see anything above the dash. “Look for an engine ignition.”

Coo-y?n started pushing every button and yanking every lever. The heavy-duty hauler bed groaned as it chugged higher and lower. Belts hummed. Blinking lights flashed.

“Damn it, you just let ’em know where we’re at. You didn’t see that coming?”

“Told you. Power. Empty.”

“Find the ignition, and lay off the buttons!”

Too late; bullets riddled the truck door. Men yelled for backup.

“Ignition?” Matthew asked. The engine rumbled to life.

My eyes went wide. “Hell yeah, now take off the brake!” Between gulps of air, I coached him how to work the pedals, how to work the gearshift to one.

Grinding. Metal on metal. Cogs sounded like they were about to buckle. Then . . .

We were moving!

Backward?

BOOM!

We’d collided with a giant pillar. A support pillar. “Work the gearshift opposite of R!” I heard rock cracking. “Fast, fast!”

Grinding again. We were moving . . . forward. “That’s it, boy!” We had to be headed toward the vehicle bay! By now the slavers would be lining up trucks to block us in.

As we picked up speed, we bounced off the mine walls like a pinball, coo-y?n overadjusting the steering wheel.

“Try NOT to hit the sides!”

He craned his head back and cast me a grin.

“Eyes forward!” We scraped another wall. “Doan try to shift. Keep it this speed.”

The lights grew brighter in the mine. Shouts got louder. More gunshots. We had to be getting close.

“They parked a line of trucks,” he said. “Blocking the bay doors.”

“Is there a load in the back of this hauler?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“Get up some more speed!” Maybe with the size of this truck and the weight of a full bed, we could bust through. “Aim for the space between the two smallest trucks, but hit it head on. Doan angle it, and do not let off that gas—you hear me?” I braced my good leg against the side of the cab. “Faster! Redline this engine!”

“Hold on!” He laid on the horn—

BOOM!

We rammed the blockade. I barely kept myself from slamming into the back of Matthew’s seat.

His head snapped forward, face smacking the steering wheel. Had he let up on the gas? “We’re stuck between trucks, Hunter.”

Bullets pinged the door. Shattered the windshield. The hauler heaved, made like it’d stall. “Drop the hammer! More gas!” Metal shrieked. The engine strained. The cab vibrated till my teeth felt like they’d rattle out of my head. “Pedal down!” More straining. More bullets. Engine about to blow.

I heard a couple of men yelling, latching on to the hauler, climbing to the cab. “Coo-y?n, find the lever that raised the bed!”

He reached forward. “This one?”

The hydraulics engaged. “Rev that one too!” Shafts spun. Pistons pumped. The bed rose faster, dumping salt.