Page 77 of The Wicked
Elio stepped on the gas and maneuvered the car out of the maze, hitting some of the other vehicles as we finally got out, cutting into the road with blind speed; the vehicle bounced a bit, swerving from left to right, Elio holding the steering wheel, muscles clenching as he tried to steady the car.
With one hand, he adjusted the rearview mirror, glancing at it. “We have company.”
“Sweet.” I exhaled sharply, getting his gun from the console; I cocked it and then proceeded to grab mine too. “Almost out of bullets on this,” I said.
“Glove compartment,” he said, expertly overtaking some cars—one hand working the steering, the other working the gear, focus dead set on the road.
The road, thankfully, was a little bit free; other cars around swept by with speed, not wanting to get in the crossfire.
I glanced in the side mirror, seeing the cars chasing after us.
I reached for the glove compartment. “Why do you always assume there’s something in the glove—oh.” Two packs of bullets and a gun sat there, and I nodded. “Impressive.”
“Thank you.”
I clicked on the car music.
“What are you doing?”
“A little music; it helps me focus.”
“It doesn’t helpmefocus,” he gritted.
“Your problem.”
Familiar music blasted through the speakers, and a smile curled on my lips as I bobbed my head. “The Russian dude knows good music. ‘Hello Cherry Bomb’ by the Runaways. Oh, Dog is going to freak when I—”
He made a sharp turn, and I held my seat to keep in place, shooting him a glare.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered, shaking my head at him while I carried my weapons with me to the back seat.
“Again, what are you doing?”
“Shooting through the windows is a bit inconvenient. They’re not shooting yet, which means I have the element of surprise. And I have good aim.”
I caught him shaking his head. “Tell me when to duck.”
“I might,” I taunted, raising the gun to the rear tinted windshield, and fired three shots at it. The cracks invited me to break through, which I did, hitting the gun to the fragile glass and watching it shatter. The wind whipped at my face immediately, blowing my hair all around my head.
I grinned, reloading the bigger gun, seeing our chasers lose composure for a second.
“Hello, boys!” I yelled, aiming the gun at the tires, swiftly shooting the nearest car, which swirled to the side with a screech, the driver losing control.
With my other hand, I grabbed the second gun, aiming attheir windshields as I blasted bullets at them, and they drove unfocused, turning and slowing down to avoid the attack.
Two cars were tailing each other.
I moved to the side, shot at one of their mirrors, took his attention off the road, and then aimed directly at him with the second gun.
Blood splattered—and the car behind, not anticipating the unconscious turn of the vehicle, slammed into it, and it went tumbling.
“Elio, left!” Our car swerved left, missing the other car’s tumble by mere seconds.
The crash was massive, and unfortunately, some innocent cars got involved.
“Are we clear?” Elio yelled, and I grabbed the guns, going back to the seat beside him.
“Yes, cut to the market at the next intersection; it leads to the highway, they’ll regroup in no time, but we can shake them off that way.”
