Three (Article 5 #3)(88)

Across the bridge were three Bureau cars, blocking the way. My heart slowed, but began to pound twice as hard. With damp hands I reached for the gun I’d placed between us on the center console.

“I believe it’s time we split up, neighbor.”

The rain pounded against the windshield, too hard and fast for the truck’s shredded wipers to keep up.

Our options were limited: we couldn’t outrun them, not in an old beat-up moving truck while they were in cruisers, and not on streets marred by potholes and debris. If we ran, they’d hunt us, and we’d never make it to the printing plant. As I watched, one soldier got out of the driver’s side door, talking into a handheld radio.

“The warehouse is five miles northwest—through the trees. Look for the lights.” Jesse reached across my lap and opened the door. “Get out.”

“They’ve seen us!”

“I’ll cover you.”

I stared at him in horror.

“My nephew did good when he chose you.”

With that he pushed me out of the seat. I scrambled to stay upright, crouching in the shrubs beside the road. Now my pulse was flying, and the rain that fell sizzled against my hot skin.

A second later Jesse gunned the engine, aiming straight toward the cruisers.





CHAPTER


22


THE truck hit the bridge with a squeal, and even through the rain I could hear the shouts of surprise from the other side. Thirty feet below roared the swollen creek, brown and frothy, like the chocolate milk I used to drink as a child. The fastest path was straight down the hill, but the way was steep and treacherous.

Without looking back, I aimed for the water, legs churning to keep up with the barreling pace of my body. The loose gravel gave way beneath my boots and soon I was rolling, crashing through the prickly shrubs and sharp rocks that tore at my clothes and my skin. The gun was torn from my grasp.

With a splash I hit the bottom, gagging on a mouthful of silt. My empty, reaching hands found the bottom and pushed up, and as my head bobbed above the waterline I heard it, metal slamming against metal.

My view was blocked by the underside of the bridge but the shots could still be heard, firing fast, mixed with male voices raised in confusion. I planted my feet; the current was fast but not deep. I dragged my waterlogged body beneath the bridge just as the shots began to rain down.

“One of them’s getting away!” shouted one of the soldiers.

I dove, the chaos above suddenly muffled by murky liquid. My boots were heavy, my clothing slowed me down, but I kicked hard, driving myself to the bottom. The flashlight beams from above carved darting rays into the gold-flecked water I swam through. The surface was dappled by the rain and punctured by bullets, tiny streams of bubbles streaking behind them. I passed beneath the shadow of the bridge to the opposite side.

My lungs felt like they might explode but I didn’t dare lift my head. From behind came a splash, and I looked back, unable to stop my mouth from opening to scream. I swallowed water, choking, panicking. A soldier had fallen in, a man whose eyes were still wide open in shock. His blue uniform and flaxen hair floated weightlessly around him as the water turned dark with his blood. I kicked deeper. He passed over me as if flying, a black shadow in the gloom.

At the last second I reached up and grabbed a handful of his jacket, and then I swam with every bit of strength I had left, using his lifeless body as cover.

I didn’t see the fallen log until I nearly collided with it. Feeling my way beneath its slippery bark, I released the soldier and squeezed beneath it. On the opposite side I finally lifted my head above the water and gasped.

Another crash of metal came from the bridge. As I watched, hidden behind the log, the truck rammed the tight space between two cruisers. Smoke rose from their squealing brakes. The soldiers fired at the windshield but Jesse persevered, and soon had punched through the barrier. I caught a glimpse of a gun out the window as he shot once again and sent a second soldier over the edge of the bridge into the water.

With a growl of the engine, he sped off. Two cruisers followed, blue lights flashing, sirens wailing. The other car didn’t move, nor did any soldiers emerge from it.

The shore was just to my left and I slogged up the bank, hitting dry ground and stumbling up the steep hill. My side screamed where the scab had broken open again but I didn’t stop. I’d lost my gun in the fall and had nothing with which to defend myself.

The trees were thick at the top of the embankment. My eyes burned, as did my throat—I coughed, gasped, coughed some more. The blanket of pine needles made the ground slippery, but there was no stopping.

Jesse had risked his life to create a diversion so that I could find Chase. I would not fail either of them.

I tried to make a mental note of the time. We’d driven at least four hours. Maybe five. Less than twelve remained before Three began bombing the bases.

Hold on, Chase.

A dot of dim yellow light in the distance guided my way. As I ran it grew brighter, larger, spreading its fingers around the trees until finally the source came into view: a brick industrial building, surrounded by a high chain-link fence rimmed by a spiral of barbed wire. For the first time I slowed, staying low, scanning both sides for any sign of movement. Nothing stirred on the moat of asphalt surrounding the structure.

There were no holes in the fence permitting easy access. I was going to have to crawl through the barbed wire.