As if she needed to be told. She hit the gas. They were close enough to the city that the road was still fairly smooth, but the things in the truck bed rattled and bounced. The raiders’ truck had huge tires, and some sort of engine add-on perched on the hood. “Is that a speed booster?” she asked.
“Yes.” Enzo gripped his gun and turned to face backward.
Through the rearview mirror, she could make out two men sitting in the front seat. “Are they slavers?” She didn’t expect an answer. He couldn’t possibly know. Her heart beat in overdrive, and her hands began to sweat.
“Our truck probably has bulletproof glass,” Enzo said, his tone soothing. “The slavers would’ve installed that. We should be okay.”
Probablywasn’t much reassurance. The raiders were gaining on them. The speed booster sounded like a chainsaw, grinding angrily.
A voice from a loudspeaker on the truck called, “Pull over and get out, or we’ll shoot.”
Enzo rolled down his window far enough to stick his gun out. He fired two rounds at the driver. Both only made small cracks in the brown truck’s windshield. “Blight,” Enzo cursed. “They’ve got bulletproof glass.”
A stream of swear words came over the raiders’ speaker, intermingled with threats of amputation and disembowelment. “No more warnings! Pull over!” The guy on the passenger side waved his short-barrel shotgun so they could see it.
What should they do? And why hadn’t her father warned her that she would be in danger during this trip? Her mind was blank from panic.
“Don’t slow down,” Enzo said. “Our truck is the most valuable thing we have. They don’t want to damage it.”
That wasn’t true. If they were slavers, she and Enzo were the most valuable thing. Although, in that case, they probably wouldn’t want to kill them. They would hurt them, though. They’d beat Enzo and… She couldn’t bear to think what they’d do to her. Her hands shook on the wheel, and she had to grip it tighter.
Enzo’s gaze swept from the road behind them to the road up ahead. “Do exactly what I say, and I’ll get us out of this. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“Open your window halfway.”
That would take away any protection offered by bulletproof glass. “Why?” she asked.
“You said you’d follow my instructions. I don’t have time to answer every question.”
Fine. She would trust that he had a plan and knew what to do. She pushed the window button. The roar of the wind filled the car and sucked tendrils of her hair outside. With one hand, she picked up her gun. He was going to tell her to shoot. Most likely at the speed booster. If she damaged it, they had a chance of getting away.
From behind them, the speaker blared, “I’m counting to five, then you’re both dead!”
Enzo turned to face her. “When I say now, pull over to the right and slow way down.”
They were coming to a wider part of the road with gravel and a gentle incline on the right side. Did he mean for her to turn around there? Could they make it back to the city?
He lifted his gun, pointing at the open window. “Also press yourself against the back of your seat as hard as you can.”
Wait, that meant gunfire. What did he?—
“Now!” he barked.
She jerked the truck to the right, hit the brakes, and flung herself backward—no easy feat, since momentum carried her forward. The brown truck sped past them on her side. A man nearly leaned out of the passenger side window, his shotgun pointed at them.
Enzo fired past Charity into the raiders’ open window. Two rounds. Deafening bangs. The man with the shotgun lurched sideways. A flash of red exploded near his head. Had the driver jolted to the left to avoid his companion or had he been shot too?
She couldn’t tell. It happened too fast. Whatever the case, he didn’t straighten up.
She kept braking until she stopped. The brown truck continued forward for a hundred yards before running off the road. It bounced down the side of a ditch and smacked into a small tree. The branches shuddered in protest, the trunk cracked, and the top of the tree fell to the ground.
She jabbed at the button to roll up her window. “Did you shoot them both?”
Enzo lifted the binoculars to his eyes. “Not sure.” He handed her the binoculars. “What do you think?”
She didn’t want to look through them, didn’t want to see any of it closer, but she wouldn’t let herself be frozen and useless. With trembling hands, she peered through them.