Page 65 of Just Dare Me
“Left guard, Nora and Ilren, give me the word.”
“Green light,” Nora says.
“And right guard, Russo and Hillerman, what do you say?”
Russo puts his knuckles against Jay’s window. “I say…this one’s for Haley.”
I’m caught off guard by the thoughtful remark. After waiting for so long—years of working and sacrificing—Jay’s tour of vengeance on behalf of his sister is finally coming to a head. The voices of our entire team join in unison to say, “For Haley.”
Jay bumps Russo’s knuckles against the window and says with a gruff, emotional voice, “For Haley.”
Well, shit, now I can’t get any words out through the lump in my throat, so I smile and give one final boost of morale by switching my stereo on, blasting The Pointer Sisters at a volume that fills the elevator like a bomb exploding. Nora and Russo respond with revs of their engines, a war cry that gets our blood racing.
There’s shouting outside the elevator as we finally come to a stop with a deepThunk!Nolan and Darby take fighting stances, lowering their heads and snarling at the elevator doors.
“What the hell’s with all the noise?” an angry voice screams. Two annoyed demons yank open the elevator doors, squinting in surprise when I turn my headlights on. The last thing they ever see is Nolan’s and Darby’s teeth snapping at their faces, tackling them, clearing the way for me.
I rip the clutch and stomp the gas.
Blast off.
My Crap-pile shoots from theelevator with a deafening rip of the engine. Shockwaves of surprise ripple through a junkyard village of East Side bums. They leap out of my way, retreating behind the shells of old cars and leaping under blanket tents. Cockroaches scattering from the sudden appearance of light.
“Checkpoint dead ahead,” Jay calls out.
“I see it.”
Two forklifts facing each other with their thick prongs forming a barricade. Their operators leap from the cabs and flee. No going through. Gotta go around. Jay braces against the dash.
I crank the wheel and we careen through the crowd, sideswiping anybody not quick enough to scramble away.Thump, thump. One guy goes flying across the hood; another rolls up the windshield and tumbles down to the trunk. A few of them raise guns and get shots off, pinging the sides as we pass.
“That’s right, take that paint off,” I grunt through clenched teeth as I work the wheel, shifter, clutch and gas all at the same time. “Back to sleeper status for the Crap-pile. The shittier, the better.”
As if in response to my request, the junkyard presents a tight squeeze between two burnt-out trucks. Without time to redirect, I line up to thread the needle. Jay flinches away from his window as we scrape through, showering sparks on both sides with an ear-splitting screech. The side mirrors are bashed in, their glass shattering.
Shooting out from between the trucks, we’re suddenly in the clear, sliding across a road. I overcorrect, fishtailing back across the road, then straightening out, racing away from the shanty town.
We’re in a large, rectangular tunnel cut with perfect square angles. The walls, the road, the ceiling, all of it cut out of solid, rock-hard salt. Various cables are strung along the walls, feeding power to green light bars that give the mine a ghoulish ambience.
“They still with us?” I ask, concentrating so hard on driving that I don’t want to risk a glance in the rearview mirror.
Jay spins around in his seat. “Coming up fast.” Sure enough, the headlights of both motorcycles are soon glaring in my mirror.
“A-team, hard right up ahead,” I announce. “Should be the main highway.”
“I see it,” Nora responds in my earpiece.
As we approach a large intersection of tunnels, I jerk the wheel and stomp the brake, sending us into a sideways drift around the corner. We slide into an enormous cavern, also cut perfectly square, but four times the size. I half expect to see a starry night sky above us. My headlights don’t reach the walls or ceiling. Dozens of blue light bars whiz past.
“Incredible!” Russo shouts above the piercing echo of our engines.
“Now you see why we call it the 8th Wonder of the World,” I say. “B-team? We’re on the Yellow Brick Road. How about you?”
“Almost there,” Elle says. “It all looked so much smaller on the blueprints, you know?”
“Don’t rush yourself. We’re on track. Regrouping now.” Slowing to a stop in the middle of the empty highway, I roll my window down as the motorcycles form up on either side.
“How we lookin’?” I ask Nora.
