The Gender War (The Gender Game #4)(33)

I looked around, found Henrik’s knife and tucked it into my pocket, then found Viggo’s shirt and used it to wipe the blood streaming from the small cut in his back. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You did good.”

I dropped a kiss on his bare shoulder. “I hope we never have to do that again.”

“Me too. You should go back and check on the others. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I was about to suggest,” I said. “Stay safe. We’ll keep them off our tail.”

“I’ll do my best. You too.”

I struggled back through the tiny window, my aching body protesting, in time to catch a continued conversation among the rest of the crew.

“Who has the nearest safe room?” Owen was asking, clearly addressing Amber’s team.

“I have a safe room in Father’s Park,” shouted Quinn, sitting in the center of the truck, reloading his pistol.

“Why is this important?” I cried to them, and it was Owen who answered.

“Amber’s group was able to track the wardens’ handhelds. It’s only a matter of time before they think to check the Matrian ones we’re using now. We need a better, more secure handheld—you guys had to leave yours behind, so that means they’ll be with your bug-out bags, right?”

The last part was directed at Amber, Henrik, and Quinn, who all nodded, then ducked simultaneously as Ms. Dale shouted “Down!” and bullets riddled the tarp again.

I ducked too, then continued our conversation. “We can’t exactly stop for it, Owen!”

Owen looked grimly at me, seeing the problem. “Maybe if we can ditch the pursuit—” Quinn made a face, then crawled back toward Jay’s position, letting Amber take his place again.

I peered out around the tarp, finally having found my own weapon. The king’s vehicles were gaining on us quickly—they were smaller and faster than the huge old truck. The black tarp fluttered and flapped in my way as I tried to rest my left hand on the tailgate to aim. I grimaced, remembering Henrik’s pocketknife.

It was just as hard to click open this time, even though I’d wiped the blood off on my pants before closing it earlier. When I finally got the blade to slide free, I lunged forward and slashed a big hole through the tarp flaps, finally giving us an unobstructed view of the road behind us.

“Finally somebody’s thinking back here!” Ms. Dale said appreciatively, and we both fired at the windshield of the nearest truck, which was now clearly visible through the hole. But the rounds bounced harmlessly off. “New tech,” Ms. Dale said enviously. “Of course.” The nearest truck surged closer to us, and though I couldn’t see the driver in the dark, I could see the light glinting off the shotgun pointing at us out the passenger’s side window. This time I was the one to shout “Down!” and make us all duck as the guard fired. “How are we going to take them down?”

Before Ms. Dale could answer my question, Quinn and Jay bolted past me—Quinn clinging to Jay’s back in a cheery parody of the king’s earlier attack, his legs around Jay’s waist and one arm around his neck, the other hand holding a pistol.

“We’re going to get that handheld! Meet you at Father’s Park!” Quinn shouted to Owen as Jay put his foot on the tailgate and grabbed one of the metal frame’s supports. Then, ducking so as to not hit Quinn’s head on the frame, he pushed through the remains of the tarp and leapt from the back of the truck.

They seemed suspended in the air for a moment, and my eyes bulged as I watched Quinn grinning and firing his pistol down at the oncoming wardens’ trucks as they flew over. Everybody in the truck seemed just as stunned as me when Jay managed to grab onto a ladder hanging from a nearby building, his body slamming hard on the brick wall.

As our vehicle hurtled away, I barely had a chance to see the two scramble up the ladder—apparently Jay’s grip had held. Ms. Dale and I exchanged looks. “What did he say?” she asked, aiming for the passenger’s side window and missing.

I ran it through in my head, keeping myself low. “Father’s Park?” I was suddenly doubtful. “Is that some kind of code name?”

Amber came up beside me, fired a few more rounds, and gave a cheer when one of them struck the driver’s hand—which he’d stuck out the window to fire at us. The lead vehicle swerved wildly into the car just behind it, the two of them spinning out and crashing hard into the corner of a building, tires screaming and smoke billowing.

“No, it’s just an old city park,” Henrik called back to us, overhearing the conversation. “We were using it as a landmark for where we stashed our things. I recognize this area now that we’re out of that blasted tunnel. It’s maybe ten minutes away.”

I considered this for a moment while bullets continued to ring out around us. Then I nodded, hoping the boys could pull off this crazy stunt. “We’re going to have to get this vehicle off of us, and hope that we can avoid their backups for long enough.”

“Wait… I thought I saw…” Ms. Dale shuffled to the back of the truck and began pawing through several weapons left by the Porteque gang members. “I knew it!” She came back hefting a huge gun that could be only described as an assault rifle. “Those Patrian scumbags had a .50 caliber.”

“Looks like those ‘Patrian scumbags’,” Henrik muttered from behind her, “are saving our skins right now.”