The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(2)

“I know,” he snapped, twisting the wheel to the left and cutting them off. The back of the vehicle swayed under the sudden shift in the truck’s gravity, and I heard somebody in the back, probably Jeff, give a grunt as they were thrown into something. Equipment in the back rattled and clanked angrily. I looked at the small man driving, noting the pallid color of his skin and the sweat trickling down his forehead to stain the collar of his shirt. “At this rate, it won’t even matter!” he sputtered. “No doubt a heloship is incoming.”

“I don’t think that’s likely!” Ms. Dale said, her voice carrying over the whipping wind flowing through my open window and the two bullet holes in the center of the window between Thomas and myself. “Elena’s going to need every soldier she can get her hands on in order to try and find anyone who saw that video!”

She had a point: the video we had uploaded and played in all the stadiums throughout Patrus was the counterpropaganda tool we had needed to expose the lies and deceptions Elena had used to gain control over the city. Obviously she had recognized its dangers—within minutes of its showing, she had ordered her soldiers to fire into crowds of helpless civilians, trying to keep the message from getting out. We’d done what we could to help on our way out of Starkrum Stadium, but the message had been broadcast all over the city. Who knew how many of the viewers in the other stadiums had made it out alive?

There was a pause, punctuated by more gunshots being fired at us as we sped ahead. “You’re absolutely right, of course,” Thomas announced in answer to Ms. Dale’s question, seemingly oblivious to the gunshots filling the air. “I forgot to factor in that part of the equation. Actually, it shifts the equation enormously, to a whopping—”

“Another time, Thomas!” I yelled.

I nearly bounced out of my seat as Thomas hit a pothole hard, the entire vehicle going airborne for a moment afterward. As I landed hard enough to make me run a tongue across my teeth, making sure they were still in place, the equipment clattered around in the cabinets and drawers installed in panels along the back sides of the vehicle. There was a heavy metallic clink, just behind me, and I focused on it, my mind working furiously.

It took the span of four heartbeats to remember what was positioned right behind my seat. When I did, I snapped into motion, climbing over the hump into the narrow passage that led into the already overcrowded bay. I motioned Jeff out of my way, and the older man squinted at me in confusion before standing aside, moving into the short, narrow passage I had just vacated.

I unhooked the red top strap that secured a large silver canister of oxygen to the wall. “Cad! Get ready to open the doors,” I shouted, grabbing the canister by the nozzle and lifting it out. It was surprisingly heavy for a tank that basically contained air. Anello Cruz was there within moments, helping take some of the strain off of me as we lifted it straight out. I had to bite my tongue to keep from insisting he let me handle it. After all, not long ago, he had been our kidnapping victim. But he seemed to have had a change of heart after witnessing the video… We hadn’t had trouble from him yet. Maybe he’d changed his mind about what we were doing for Patrus—he certainly seemed eager to join in on the action against the Matrians. Right now, I wasn’t going to question having another pair of hands. Later, though, I would definitely be doing a more thorough background check.

“I’m ready for you,” said Ms. Dale from her position behind Thomas. She had dropped to one knee, her gun out, her eyes trained on the doors, and I could see from the sharp light in her eyes that she understood my plan. Cad had his hand on the door handle on my side, Amber on the other. Cruz helped me adjust the canister in my arms and then stepped away.

“Ready! Count me down!”

More gunfire sounded behind us, and I heard the metallic thunks as the bullets impacted on the doors. Amber closed her eyes, and as soon as the fire paused, hopefully due to the owner needing to change out the magazines, her eyes snapped open and she began to count.

“Three! Two! ONE!”

Amber and Cad twisted their handles and pushed, dropping low to avoid catching a bullet. I staggered forward and heaved, tossing the oxygen into the air toward the vehicle maybe five feet behind our bumper. The silver canister twisted oddly in the air.

Ms. Dale squeezed the trigger twice, the sounds of her shots nearly deafening in the confines of the bay. The first bullet hit the side and ricocheted—but it opened up a small hole in the process. When the second bullet hit the container, it created a spark too small to notice as the canister exploded against the hood of the enemy truck, lighting up the night with orange for just a moment. Tires squealed and glass shattered. The truck swerved violently to the left, one wheel slipping off the side of the road onto the slope of the irrigation ditch on the shoulder. And then the whole thing flipped off the road, rolling out of my eyesight. It all happened so fast that I could still feel the jolting force of the explosion, and I was almost thrown off my feet as the rear end of the ambulance shook erratically around us, the back doors clanking in their frames.

Amber gave a small cry, thrown off balance, and I saw her pitching forward, toward the open doors—but Cad reached out and hooked her around the arm, pulling her back and over to his side. I pushed to the edge, using the metal frame as a handgrip as I leaned out and began pulling the left door closed. Ms. Dale was on the right side already, doing the same thing. Between the two of us, we slammed the doors closed, cutting off the sight of the dark road behind us.