There’s no time to let this fact sink in. Quickly, I check his pockets and find a small knife and cell, but nothing else. No car keys. I cut off my cuffs and pick up the gun. Lucy barely registers it as I take off her restraints. She can’t take her eyes off the dead man. I flip open the phone and almost cry when I see a bar. As I dial Harry, I check out the windows to see if the coast is clear. No one on the platform.
“Hello?” Harry asks.
“Harry, it’s me,” I whisper.
“Jo!”
“Look, he has us in an abandoned Metro station, I don’t know which one. The placard’s worn away. Try triangulating the cell, get the tower I’m using. There’s two of them, Ryder included. I’ll leave the phone on, but we’re making a break for it.”
“Jo, what—”
I put the phone in my pocket and turn to Lucy. “Stay close and keep quiet.”
Lucy and I pry the door open with a piece of the hot plate. I squeeze through first as quietly as possible with Lucy behind me. She runs down the platform as I cover the office door with the gun. When she’s halfway there, I sprint after her. So far so good. When my feet hit gravel, my right foot howls in pain from the gash. I wince but keep going, though the limp slows me a little. She reaches the car first, but the doors are locked. Shit. Having no choice, I smash the driver’s window with the butt of the gun. It shatters on the second attempt. As I unlock the door and push Lucy in, the office door opens. My heart beats double time. The lower panel with all the wires is already open, so I just have to connect the correct wires. My fucked-up childhood comes in handy sometimes.
“Oh, God, they’re coming!” Lucy says.
I just keep rubbing until the car springs to life. When I sit up, a gunshot disintegrates the back window and cracks the front. Lucy shrieks, and I throw the car into gear and hit the gas hard, though I can barely see out through the cracked glass. Ryder and his goon keep shooting, the car jerking as they hit the back tire. Not taking my eyes off the road, I fire a few times out the back. I almost miss the turn and have to cut it too hard. The back of the car skids and hits the wall, shocking us, but I keep going. We both put on our seatbelts after that. I keep driving for a few seconds, the thumps of the flat tire overshadowing our labored breathing. “Harry, we’re in the tunnels driving a black Cadillac.” I make another turn. “I have no idea where we are, but—”
There’s a whooshing sound then movement above us from front to back, but it’s too dark for me to make out what it is until it’s right in front of the headlights. I know it’s a man, but with the fucking window I have to think about who and what. Not good. A second later, about ten feet in front of us, there’s another explosion. On instinct, I slam on the breaks and lose control of the car. We slam into the right wall at about fifteen miles an hour. I whack my head on the wheel, dazing myself. Everything becomes fuzzy except for the nausea and Lucy’s groans beside me.
As I’m attempting to focus, my door swings opens. A man in his twenties dressed all in black with a gun, utility belt with grenades, and a black bag around his torso unlatches my seatbelt and pulls me out of the car. He lays me on the gravel, and I’m still too out of it to move. I am aware of him looking into the car. “Yeah,” he says into his earpiece. “That was me. They crashed the car. I’ll bring the cop now.” He pauses, the nudges me with his foot. My eyes shut. “She’s out of it.” He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll be careful.” He presses a button on his Bluetooth before he kneels down and lifts me like a bride. “You don’t look so tough.”
Good thing I know how to play possum. We lift off the ground and fly. It feels strange gliding through open air. Or that could be the concussion. I count to three before snapping my eyes open. He’s surprised, and that gives me a precious second to act. With one hand I grab the pin of the nearest grenade and with the other I stick my thumb into his eye until it pops. He howls in pain, dropping me. I fall about ten feet onto hard gravel, rolling on impact. Now there isn’t an inch of me that doesn’t hurt.
Blitzkrieg continues howling and flying. I groan and touch my bleeding knee. Shit. My hand is empty. I lost my grip on the pin. I push myself up, and start limping toward the car for the gun. Blitzkrieg roars like an animal and when I dare to glance back, I see he’s changing course and charging at me like a phantom bull. He’s too fast. My torn legs pump, but not fast enough. He’s just about on top of me when Lucy sits up, gun pointed right at me. “Drop!” she shouts. I do. Three gunshots ring out, hitting Blitzkrieg in the chest. He skids to the ground near me. Holy shit. The car door opens, and a trembling Lucy steps out of the car with the gun pointed at the groaning man. One more bullet ends that.