Page 91 of Martyr
I swing the rifle, slung by a strap across my back, to my front. One-handed, I brace the butt on my shoulder and flick off the safety. The spray of gunfire takes them by surprise, and I pepper the side of the truck in a flurry of bullets.
They take cover, and I rip through the roadblock, swerving to navigate the tight turns around the concrete barrier and the truck’s bumper. One Cyclops is too close to the edge—and too close to grabbing me. I kick out and catch him in the jaw, sending him reeling back into another.
And then I’m around the truck and speeding away, laughing all the while.
Too much fun.
They get their shit together and chase after me, but they’re disorganized. They might like exerting power over normal citizens, but they haven’t met their match. Bullies never like a fair fight.
I take a sharp turn, then another, continuing west. I come across another roadblock, but it seems like they’re better prepared. Maybe theydocommunicate with each other. They’re already behind the barriers, their guns aimed. They open fire as soon as they spot my bike. I swerve, sparks jumping up on the asphalt in front of me as their bullets make contact, and hop the curb onto the sidewalk.
There’s a cut-through up ahead, maybe thirty yards from the roadblock. It’ll dump me out at the next street over, which sounds like agreatidea. Until I get there and see that it, too, has been blocked completely.
Freaking hell.
The gunfire starts up again, and I press my chest to my bike. It’s meant for speed, but the engine whines when I shift gears. I fire back and hit at least two. The rest duck for cover.
They didn’t block the sidewalk completely, and I hold my breath as I aim for the gap.
My handlebar on the left goes over the barrier. The right one scrapes the brick wall. Both sides catch at my pants, the outsides of my knees.
Holy shit.
Almost didn’t make that.
But I do, and I get the fuck out of there.
They keep shooting. Pain spikes across my back. It forces the air from my lungs. I wheeze, the stab of fear at not being ableto breathe almost enough for me to slow. But then, I’m able to inhale.
My bike wobbles, but I hold it steady.
Two blocks left.
A streetlight—red for me—glows up ahead. There are trees just beyond it, the forest beyond West Falls hiding a lot of secrets of its own. But it’s also a sign that I’m nearly there.
I approach the last intersection before the light, and I glance over my shoulder. The ones at the roadblock are in the truck, Cyclopes piled in the back and in the cab. The headlights bounce, and it struggles to get up to speed.
I face forward just as another truck—from the first roadblock—comes screaming out of the night on my left.
This is déjà vu, and I don’t like it.
I hit the brakes, and lean back. My momentum lifts my back tire off the ground. The smell of burning rubber fills my nose, and the truck barely misses me. Like, inches. It skids past, but hell if I stick around.
As soon as my back tire hits the asphalt, I’m off again.
There are shouts behind me, the one truck reversing to give chase, the other one blowing their horn to get them to move. It’s a bit of chaos, but that was our goal, right?
With any luck, Kade and Saint are in a similar position. Minus getting shot.
I think I got shot anyway. The adrenaline has blocked out any more pain, and I’m not excited to feel it later.
Ahead, on the road I need to be on, Kade flies by. His head turns, and he automatically slows. I pick up speed and lean into the turn, catching up to him easily.
We didn’t put in the comms or anything. Didn’t warn Jace, Apollo, or Wolfe about our plan. So I take hisokaygesture to mean he’s all right, and I nod back. We get to the next street, and suddenly Saint shoots out with three vehicles behind him.
Damn, fine.
We catch up, the three of us in a row, and I check back to see who’s following.
