The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(93)

“Can you pick up the pace, please?” asked Lynne, her voice taking on a high-pitched quality. She was nervous, not that I could blame her, and—

“Violet?” Thomas’ voice in my ear cut my thought off before it had fully formed.

I pressed my fingers together. “What’s up, Thomas?”

“I got good news, bad news, and worse news.”

“What’s the good news?” I immediately asked, and then regretted it. Amber always saved it for last, and maybe it was better that way.

“I found Desmond, or rather, where she was as of two minutes ago. She’s definitely making her way to the plant, and you’re right on her tail.”

I let everyone know the good news, and Morgan smiled—more a baring of her teeth—and said, “Good.”

“What’s the bad and the worse news?” I asked.

“The bad news is she’s on a safer road than you, so you might be delayed. The worse news is that the rioting in your area has gone from bad to worse.”

I frowned. “Thomas, how do you know that?”

“I’m still flying my drone,” he replied. “Ms. Dale and the other groups don’t need it at the moment. I’ve gotten all the intel I could for them, so she had me come over to help you with…” He paused, and I waited, keeping an eye on the thick, roiling clouds blanketing the street.

He probably had gone to the other channel. I would’ve joined him, but now that my drone was down and I was in the field, I only needed to be in there if there was an emergency decision to be made. And even then, I trusted them to handle it. If I got on, it would only distract people from the can of worms they were about to open, if things were going according to schedule.

“It’s finally lightening up,” breathed Morgan, her spine relaxing a little as she continued to move the car carefully forward.

“Violet! Look out, there’s an enhanced human right in front of you!” Thomas’ line held enough alarm that I was already shouting for Morgan to stop, even before his warning was fully finished.

She slammed the brakes, and I jerked forward a little in my seat as we stopped, expecting at any moment to see a figure with a gun emerge. The haze in front of us shifted and swam. “Back up,” I whispered, slipping the gun out my pocket.

“Violet, you can’t shoot through the…” Owen trailed off as a bearded man lumbered into view, the mist parting and allowing us to see him face to face.

His clothes were ripped and dirty, and blood dripped down half his face, making it glisten in the headlights. He was definitely older—maybe mid-twenties—which meant he would be more unstable than the younger boys we’d faced in the past. Stumbling, he slammed into the car, and then screamed, spittle flying in large wads from his lips. He drew his hands together, lifting them high over his head, and then brought them back down.

“Reverse reverse reverse!” I repeated as my whole body clenched, going stiff in preparation for the oncoming blow.

Morgan clutched the gear shift and revved the engine, propelling the car backward just in time. The man stumbled forward as his target moved away from him, his fists landing on empty air. Morgan whipped the car around, and the man looked up and began to charge.

“Go go go!” shouted Lynne, and Morgan went, her foot slamming on the gas as she cut the wheel hard. The man dove for the rear window, and I clicked the safety off of my gun and pointed it through the window at him in case he could break the bulletproof glass. Morgan pulled away too fast, and the man fell and rolled across the pavement.

“Look at the map,” Morgan shouted, and Lynne rummaged in her bag, pulling out our map of the city. She spread it open as Morgan hit a hard left, and I found myself reaching for the handle, even though I was twisted around in the seat, watching the smoky fog. The car bucked as Morgan hit something, and Owen’s side of the car erupted in red as embers sprayed out across the window next to him.

The fog suddenly cleared, and then we were speeding away from a thick gray cloud. “Is he back there?” Lynne asked shakily.

I scanned the receding line, and started to shake my head, when the man darted out, leaping over an overturned car and landing on the other side. His face immediately moved toward us, like he was a dog who’d caught our scent, and he roared, cutting a path straight for us.

“He’s catching up!” I shouted. “Why are we moving so slowly?”

“There’s stuff in the road!” Morgan barked back as she yanked the wheel to avoid yet another obstacle.

The man drew closer, and I felt my heartbeat increase. As much as I didn’t want to hurt one of the boys, the inevitability of it was a looming shadow in my heart. Suddenly the gun felt heavy, and I wanted to drop it on the seat.

I looked over at Owen as Morgan swerved around something in front of us, the gravity in the car shifting, sliding me into his shoulder. “We need to slow him down,” I shouted. “Look for something—anything—we can throw from the back of the car.”

Owen looked at me from where he was pensively staring out the window, and then doubled over the backseat, opening a panel on the flat, felt-like shelf behind us. The panel was a long cutout, and as he lifted it, I squeezed my fingers under the crack to pick it up, the car bouncing under our knees.

We slid it forward, propping it against the backseat, and I looked up in time to see the man running a few feet behind and to the side of us, snarling and snapping his teeth. He pulled back an arm to strike at my window, and Owen pulled me back from his location, forcing his body between us.