Don't Let Go (17 page)

Peter shrugged. “I’m not bleeding. The truck’s in pretty bad shape, though.”

He was right: Smoke poured from the front, making it even harder to see the road ahead. “Loki,” she said. When he didn’t respond, Noa tapped his arm and gestured toward the smoke. “We’re going to have to ditch the truck.”

“Can’t leave the truck,” he said fiercely. “They get you if you leave the truck. Gotta keep moving.”

“We’ll get a new one,” Noa said. “A better one.”

He shook his head vigorously. Noa bit her lip. She had to get him to snap out of this.

“He might be right,” Peter called through the window. His voice was calm, but his eyes still looked frantic. “Not exactly an easy place to catch a ride. And once they find the truck, they’ll send everyone they’ve got.”

They didn’t have much time to figure out a solution. Any minute now, at least one Humvee would be tearing after them. And that would be the world’s shortest car chase. Nothing but trees and fields on either side of the road, and so far no other roads had intersected it. Loki’s property abutted an immense national forest that occupied thousands of acres; their chances of hitting a town where they could switch out cars were slim.

The road climbed, and something glinted in her side mirror: a reflection of headlights, probably the Humvee in fast pursuit.

“This would be a great time for a plan!” Peter shouted through the glass.

“Loki,” Noa said urgently. “Where are we going?”

He turned a glazed gaze on her. “My mom’s place.”

Noa stared at him, wondering if he was joking. But he appeared completely serious. “Where does she live?”

“Breckenridge,” he muttered. “Got a trailer there.”

Noa didn’t hold out much hope that they’d be able to evade Pike’s forces in a trailer park. “Do you have any other cars stashed close by?”

“Got an ATV,” he said. “Headed for it now.”

“What did he say?” Peter yelled, tapping on the glass. “They’re getting closer!”

“We can’t all fit on an ATV, can we?”

Loki’s eyes flicked toward her. “Just me,” he growled. “Gonna go save my mom.”

“All right,” Noa said, her mind racing. “Tell you what. Peter and I are going to jump out, okay? Get to that ATV as fast as you can.”

Loki didn’t seem to hear. She grabbed his arm and urged, “Loki, do you understand? You need to get far away from this truck. Don’t ditch it anywhere near the ATV. And when you get to your mom’s place, don’t tell anyone what happened.”

“They killed Firefly,” he said gruffly. “I’m gonna get them.”

“No,” Noa argued. “Just leave it alone. They’re too dangerous.”

The truck was starting to cough and sputter as it slowed. Smoke seeped through cracks in the windshield, making her eyes water. In the side mirror, Noa saw the glint of the Humvee growing closer.

They needed to hold them off somehow.

Up ahead, she spotted a stand of trees—and just past them, a deep canyon. “Loki,” she said. “How far to your ATV?”

“A few miles,” he grumbled.

“Great. Drive the truck in there.” She pointed toward the canyon.

Obediently, he steered the pickup onto the shoulder. It bumped over it, onto the grass, then started rolling toward the gorge.

“Oh no,” Peter said. “No, no, no—”

“Grab the packs!” she yelled, opening her door. “And get ready to jump!”

Peter grabbed the backpacks and got to his knees, using his hands to brace himself against the side of the truck. It was slowing down, but they still had to be going at least thirty miles per hour. Noa had the passenger’s-side door open. Loki was driving straight toward the lip of the canyon, showing no sign of braking.

“This is nuts,” Peter muttered, frantically scanning the underbrush for a safe place to land.

“Throw the packs!” Noa yelled.

He glanced back over his shoulder; a Humvee crested the hill they’d passed minutes earlier. Peter swore under his breath and tossed the backpacks; they vanished into the tall grass.

“Now jump!” Noa yelled.

Peter drew a deep breath and got into an unsteady crouch. The truck rocked back and forth. A cloud of noxious smoke washed over the cab, thick enough to blind him. He had no idea how Loki could see anything.

“Go!” Noa screamed. She catapulted from the truck cab and started rolling down the side of a small hill.

The canyon loomed ahead, less than twenty feet away. The driver’s-side door popped open, and Loki jumped out, arms wrapped around the shotgun like he was cradling a baby.

“Now or never,” Peter muttered, trying to psych himself up. He counted off in his head: one . . . two . . .

On three, Peter jettisoned from the truck bed. He landed hard on his right shoulder and felt something wrench. Instantly, he realized he’d waited too long. He hurtled after the truck in a free fall, the world flipping around him: sky, ground, sky. Branches and twigs tore at him, scratching his face and bare arms. . . .

Peter was rocketing straight toward the edge of the canyon. He tried to grab hold of something to slow his descent, but clumps of grass tore away in his hands, and his body kept bounding forward. His injured arm twisted beneath him, and he cried out in pain.

The rear of the truck suddenly canted upward. It hung suspended for a long moment, gears issuing a piercing whine; then it vanished over the edge. A second later, the groan and grind of metal against rock.

Peter was about to tumble after it. He screamed as his feet scrabbled frantically for purchase; but he’d gained too much momentum. There was no stopping his plummet.

A hard yank on his shirt, slowing him. He skidded another few inches, then stopped with his heels dangling over thin air.

Another tug, and he flew backward. He collapsed against Noa. They lay there panting for a few seconds, then Peter inched forward.

The truck lay on its side a few hundred feet down, the front end smashed in and smoking. “Sometimes,” he croaked, “I really hate your plans.”

“Come on,” Noa gasped. “We have to grab the packs and get under cover. They’ll be here any minute.”

They raced back to the road. There was no sign of Loki. Had he already headed for the ATV, just leaving them there?

The packs were farther back than he’d thought. The pain in his right shoulder was agonizing, and his arm hung at a strange angle. When they finally reached them, Peter grabbed the bag with his good arm and slung it over his shoulder, then limped as fast as he could toward the tree line.

The Humvee came into view. It was less than a mile away.

As he watched, it veered toward them. Peter gulped—they’d been spotted.

Noa yelled, “Run!”

They headed for the trees. Peter’s entire body felt like one giant bruise; every time the pack hit his back he wanted to scream. His right arm felt strange, tingly and useless. The grass tangled around his feet, like it was intentionally trying to slow him down. Noa was pulling ahead, five feet, then ten. . . .

Peter tripped and landed hard, twisting his ankle. He tried to push back up, forgetting for a minute that his arm wasn’t working properly. The blinding wave of pain was so intense it nearly blotted out everything.

Noa had stopped and was screaming for him to keep running, but his muscles refused to obey. Peter turned his head: Back at the road, the Humvee had pulled over. Four men with automatic rifles were spilling out the doors.

He closed his eyes, ready to give up. His ears were still ringing from the blast that had killed the soldier.

To his left, something bellowed loudly. Loki rose up out of the grass.

The shotgun was braced against his shoulder. A
BOOM!
as he shot off a round, followed by a loud click as he pumped the gauge. He walked toward the soldiers methodically, firing again, and again.

Noa was yelling, waving frantically at Loki. Peter gritted his teeth and staggered to his feet, bent double with pain.

“Loki!” he called out. “C’mon, man!”

Loki glanced back over his shoulder. He threw Peter a crazy grin, then nodded.

At the same time, there was a hail of gunfire from the road. Loki dropped to his knees.

“Run!” Noa screamed.

Peter stumbled toward her. Whizzing all around him, dirt and grass erupting as it was torn apart by gunfire.

They reached the trees.

Peter chanced a quick look back over his shoulder. Pike’s men were racing after them.

Thank God for adrenaline
, Noa thought as they ran through the forest. She didn’t know how long it would hold out, but for now it was keeping her illness at bay. It was lucky she’d gotten so much rest and decent food this past week, otherwise she never would have made it this far.

Somehow, they had to lose their pursuers. She had no idea where they were, or if they’d be able to find the ATV Loki had mentioned. She got a flash of him back in the field; had he been killed? The thought made her jaw clench with rage. She was tired of leaving bodies in her wake, tired of running.

Peter was barely staying on his feet. One of his arms looked funny; it must have been dislocated. Remembering him tumbling toward that canyon, her heart clenched. If she hadn’t been able to get to him, and he’d gone over the edge—

No time to think about that now. They wove through the evergreens, their pounding feet muted by the thick carpet of needles. Yelling behind them, and more gunfire.

“Can’t go much farther,” Peter gasped. “I have to stop.”

“We can’t,” Noa insisted. “Let me take your pack.”

He winced and shook his head, even though he was clearly barely hanging on. The pain in his shoulder had to be excruciating.

Reaching out, she tugged the pack away from him. Peter’s jaw went tight, but he didn’t say anything. And he started moving faster.

The trees started to thin; there was a clearing up ahead. Better yet, it was a campground parking lot. Two cars and a truck sat at the far end.

“There!” she yelled, urging him forward. Her mind raced ahead: They’d have to break into a car and pray that the locksmithing laptop was still functional. It should still be in Peter’s pack, buried beneath the drives; of course, he was the only one who had ever used it, and he was doubled over with pain.

She flashed back to Loki grabbing the pickup keys from the undercarriage. Maybe hikers did that, too; it was worth a shot. Noa ran toward the nearest car and fumbled around the rear tire. She heard shouting behind them, but it sounded like Pike’s men were still in the forest; they might have lost their trail, at least temporarily.

Nothing. Noa went to the next car, praying
please, please
over and over again.

“What are you looking for?” Peter asked in a strained voice.

“Keys,” she said. “Check the truck.”

He limped over to the truck as Noa groped along the wheel well on the driver’s side. Her fingers hit something small and rectangular, tucked under the carriage. “Yes!” she crowed, pulling out a hide-a-key.

Peter shambled over as she slid open the case and dug out the key. The car was a small white Accord, covered in a thick layer of dust and pollen. She clicked a button, and the doors unlatched.

A shout from behind them. Noa spun around: One of Pike’s men had emerged from the forest at the far end of the parking lot. He aimed his rifle.

“Hurry!” Peter cried, scrambling into the passenger side.

Noa tossed her pack in the back and dove into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition, nearly crying out with relief when the engine caught on the first try.

As they tore out of the parking lot, she saw their pursuer talking into a radio.

“God, that was lucky,” Peter groaned as he reclined his seat.

“We’re not home free yet,” she warned. “That Humvee will be coming for us.”

“Just do me a favor,” he said in a voice tight with pain. “Try to keep this car in one piece. I can’t handle any more jumping.”

CHAPTER NINE

T
eo had lost all sense of time. The helicopter flight felt like it had taken about a half hour, although it was hard to say exactly. He tried to estimate how far they’d gone, but since he had no clue how fast a helicopter flew, that was mostly just to keep his mind occupied. The air in the sack over his head was stale, and the taste of his own breath made him gag.

Then the helicopter dropped down, landing with a jolt. Teo was frog-marched off, then led up a flight of metal stairs that clanked under his feet. Engines again, quieter and more refined sounding: definitely turbines.
A plane? For real?
Must be one of those fancy ones rich people owned; no way they’d be able to smuggle a kid onto a normal jet.

Teo considered screaming for help again, but he got the distinct sense that it wouldn’t matter; if they needed him to stay quiet, they would have gagged him. Even though the air tasted foul, it was a lot easier to breathe without duct tape covering his mouth.

So he stayed silent, praying that Daisy had gotten away.

He was angled roughly into a seat. Teo’s fingers brushed against something unbelievably soft and buttery—
leather?
—as the world tilted at a sharp angle. The sensation of invisible hands bearing his body down into the seat as the plane rose.

A flash of bemusement; today was the first time he’d ever flown, and he’d done it not once, but twice. It was a shame he hadn’t been able to check out the view.

It was also probably the last trip he’d ever take.

“Remove that, please.”

The bag was yanked up and off his head. Teo blinked against the sudden glare, trying to get his bearings. He’d been right; this was some sort of fancy plane. Creamy white leather seats arranged in groups of four, facing in to one another. Beige carpeting underfoot. Ten feet away, a curtain the same shade as the chairs was drawn across the narrow aisle.

Sitting across from him was an imperious-looking man who wore a dark suit and a disconcerted frown. He had strange eyes, so dark they were nearly black. Two goons loomed behind his seat, holding their big, meaty hands clenched. Teo craned to check over his shoulder: another curtain. The section of the plane they were in was small, about twelve feet long and eight feet wide. A sudden wave of claustrophobia hit him. Teo nearly laughed out loud; funny that under the circumstances, he was more afraid of a plane crash than the men glaring at him.