Page 167 of Hell Breaks Loose

But it doesn’t matter when I spray buckshot into the rubber of the car roaring up alongside us, blasting the tire to shreds and sending it bumping and leaping off the road.

“One down!”

Not nearly enough. The cabin comes into view, the old gate and sign I could never forget even though I’ve only been there twice before.

“There!”

“I see it. Should we try to lose them?”

“Alaya, where are you?” I mash the radio button down.

“Make the turn and gun it around the house, sweet cheeks!” she orders over the receiver.

“Yes, Ma’am!” Ora hollers, stomping her foot on the gas.

Thank you, seatbelt.

The back tires spray gravel and dirt as she slides through the turn, barely slowing in our race to the small wooden building at the end of the drive. The other cars screech behind us, smashing into one another or clogging up the entryway as they queue to pursue us.

But they don’t take long to get in line, back on our ass.

“Gonna be tight!” Ora warns, jerking the wheel and swerving around the house, the wall on my side and the trees on hers only a few inches away.

“Whoo! That was fucking awesome!” I cheer as she floors it one more time.

“Just call me Earnhardt!

“You’re such a redneck. Alaya is rubbing off on you.”

“Sometimes.”

“TMI!”

“I like her, okay?” Ora gives me a strange look as she skids to a stop.

“I… I know. I just?—”

“Need to give her a chance.” And she’s serious. For one of the only times in all the time I’ve known her.

Have I been the asshole about this?

Things to dwell on later…

We’re out of the car in a heartbeat, running for the bike we spot parked further out in the darkness. Alaya’s waving us on, underlit by a red light.

“Get down!” she orders.

We do.

The first car around the house hits something invisible, flipping straight up in the air and crashing down in an explosion of glass and crunching metal. Then she hits the button again as the next one veers around the wreck and the truck stops dead in its tracks. Only it lifts about four feet off the ground with the deafening thump of a landmine right under it.

“Holee shit!” Ora guffaws, clapping Alaya on the back.

“Don’t celebrate too soon. We gotta move.” Alaya’s already running, leading the way down a path through the trees.

And she’s right.

Behind us, too close behind, the sounds of screaming junkies fill the night. With their vehicles either blocked or destroyed, they’re on foot, like us.

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