“Oh, this is going to end well.”
Lemon spun the wheel, stomped the pedal and they were off, tearing away through the market. Even with her butt parked on the Goodbook, she could barely see out of the broken windshield, and the truck crashed through another dozen stalls and rolled straight over a row of parked dirt bikes as it roared out of the square. The air-raid siren was wailing louder, but most of the citizens of New Bethlehem were still at WarDome, and the streets were clear.
The truck was thundering past the de-sal plant when the second round of bullets started flying. Lemon heard lead pattering on the panels like rain, desperately trying to keep four wheels on the ground as she swerved and swayed. The truck plowed through an ethyl joint, flattened a parked RV and screeched around the corner into the main square, rumbling for the gate.
“Um.”
Lemon slammed on the brakes, chewed her lip.
“Okay, good news and bad news.”
“What?”
“Bad news is, the gate’s closed.” She shot Hunter an apologetic glance. “And I sorta lied, there is no good news.”
Hunter peered out of the shattered windshield. Ahead, the heavy double gates of New Bethlehem had been closed and sealed—apparently in response to the sirens they’d set off. They were five meters tall, half a meter thick, iron-reinforced. The agent glanced at Lemon, her face grim.
“Easy as a very easy thing, yes?”
“Look, no one ever let me plan stuff before, I got kept around for my looks!”
Hunter did something to her pistolthing that might’ve been a reload. She loosened the throat of her outfit, and a swarm of furious bumblebees began crawling from the hive that was her skin. With a flick of her left wrist, a long, wicked barb the color of bleached bone emerged from the flesh of her palm.
“Where the hells were you hiding that?” Lemon breathed.
“When gate opens, drive.”
“But wha—”
“Drive.”
Hunter opened the truck door, leapt down onto the broken street and dashed right at the gatehouse. As she ran, she fired another dozen of those firefly rounds into the dark. The glowing green bursts swooped among the Disciples and Brotherhood members who’d responded to the siren, and Hunter’s bees took to the wing. Lemon heard screams over the idling motor, wails and gargled prayers. She ducked low as a hail of bullets struck the truck, but most of the shooters were gunning for the BioMaas agent cutting them to ribbons. The woman tumbled along the ground, dreadlocks whipping like snakes. She twisted to her feet, hurtled over the swelling corpses manning the gatehouse and disappeared inside.
The girl couldn’t see what went on inside the building, couldn’t hear over the siren’s wail. But within a minute, the gate clunked and shook, the bolts sealing it shuddered aside. Heavy chains ran through greasy pulleys, the metal groaned. And with a long, rusty creak, the gates to New Bethlehem opened wide.
“Okay…,” Lemon breathed. “I’m officially impressed.”
She stomped the gas, rubber burning, the truck lunging forward with a roar. Bullets struck the panels, ricocheted off the long rim guards as a few of the smarter Brethren tried to shoot out the tires. But Lemon just grit her teeth and fanged it, hard as she could, the beast thundering toward the open gate.
She glanced up, saw figures on top of the gatehouse, silhouetted against the light of burning forty-four-gallon drums. She saw Hunter’s shadow, weaving and striking with that barb at her wrist. She saw Brethren and blood falling like rain. And as she thundered underneath the gate, she saw Hunter dive, hairspines streaming behind her, landing with a soft whuff in the tray of the truck.
“Go!” the woman cried, thumping her hand on the roof.
Lemon planted both feet on the accelerator as the wheels spun and the engine hollered and dust rose behind them in a rolling cloud. A few shots whizzed past her window as they gunned for the open road, but Hunter seemed to have gutted most of the garrison, the fight bled right out of them.
Hunter climbed in through the open window, slid into the seat beside her, spattered head to foot in blood. Lemon thumped her hands on the steering wheel, grinning wider than that annoying bot in his annoying shop.
“Told you!” she roared over the motor. “Easy as a very easy thing!”
And that’s when she noticed not all the blood belonged to the Brotherhood.
A ragged hole glistened in Hunter’s sternum, the agent’s hand pressed to it in an effort to stanch the red. The woman looked pale, her few remaining bees crawling around the wound, buzzing furiously. Her voice was a pained whisper.
“She c-calls that easy?”
“Just hold on, okay?” Lemon cried.
Heartbeat like thunder in her chest. Stomach hurting again, like it was full of broken glass. Dust stinging her eyes and blinking back the tears. Pushing away the thought that this was all her fault and just trying to keep the truck steady as they roared past the Brotherhood farmland and out onto open highway.
“Hunter, can you hear me?”
The moon was trying to shine through the smog overhead, a cold and ghostly light creeping out over the fields of gene-modded corn. The BioMaas agent leaned back in her seat, her lap slowly filling with red. It was more blood than Lemon had ever seen in her life, the smell flooding the cabin and mixing with the ocean’s stink and making her arms shake. Hunter winced, hand pressed to the bubbling wound. A half dozen fat bumblebees were bashing into the shattered windshield, as if maddened by the agent’s pain.
“Hunter?” Lemon asked.
The woman simply closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Tell me what to do!” Lemon wailed. “Should I stop?”
“Don’t you b-bloody dare,” came a hoarse whisper behind her.
Lemon flinched, the truck hit the gutter, close to spilling. She wrestled for control of the weight, her butt almost sliding off the Goodbook. Pawing her bangs from her eyes, she glanced into the rearview mirror. She saw dark eyes, dark skin, a jaw you could break your knuckles on. Cropped black hair, a radiation warning symbol shaved into the side of his head. Realizing the boy they’d rescued…
“You’re awake,” Lemon breathed.
“Drive,” the boy repeated. “Straight east. Keep th-the ocean on your back.” His voice was deep, his accent trimmed with a heavy slice of proper fancy. “Stomp that pedal like it insulted your mum.”
He turned to the girl lying unconscious beside him, touched her pale face.
“Diesel?” he whispered. “Deez, you hear me?”
“Is she okay?” Lemon asked.