Page 131 of Savage Surrender

“They have more than three vehicles,” Owen says as Ezra accelerates and the van leans into a turn.

I track the roads through the windshield and mirrors. A box truck sits across the wide avenue toward the interstate, blocking both lanes beneath the sign, and a sedan noses out far enough to block the turn toward downtown. On our right, the road narrows past warehouses and a strip of trees, the only route nobody has moved to close.

Ezra passes it. At the next intersection, a black truck rolls through the red light and stops across both forward lanes. The SUV behind us closes the distance.

“There,” Tristan says.

I follow his gaze to the only open turn, another two-lane road running between a chain-link fence and trees.

“They’re herding us.” Ezra’s eyes meet mine in the mirror.

He swings the van left instead, mounts the curb, and drives across the corner of an empty gravel lot. The whole rear lifts and comes down hard.

Ezra has opened a path back toward the divided avenue, but then the pickup tears across it.

Ezra brakes, reverses before the SUV behind us can close, and whips the van around. Gravel spits against the undercarriage, and the open road waits at the far end of the lot exactly where they wanted it to.

We take it because it’s now the only choice. Warehouses thin out, and trees press closer to the road. No cars pass us.

Owen opens the equipment case, and this time I don’t stop him.

He takes the first weapon he finds and passes another to me.

“Wait,” Ezra says.

The SUV surges forward like it’s going to ram us.

Ezra tightens both hands on the wheel. “Brace yourselves.”

An engine roars as it grows closer, and the impact lands at the rear quarter. My head snaps backward.

Metal grinds and shrieks, and the weapons we were just holding skitter beneath the seats. Owen catches the back of my shirt before my head bangs against the wall, but the next jolt tears us apart. Tristan hits the floor and the windshield fills with trees.

Ezra fights the wheel, but the van hits a tree, and its branches bust through the window.

Owen checks me. Tristan. “Ezra. Hey man, are you okay?”

The side door has jumped half off its track. Beyond the gap, the ditch runs into trees thick enough to hide us if we can get there.

Ezra twists in the driver’s seat and stops with a sound he tries to swallow. The door has folded inward around his left leg.

Owen crawls between the seats. “Where are you trapped?”

“Below the knee.” Ezra’s voice stays level, but sweat has already broken along his temple. “I can’t get free.”

Tristan pushes himself up on one arm, blood darkening the corner of his mouth. He looks through the open side door toward the trees, toward her, but then he turns to Ezra.

Owen gets both hands beneath the bent edge of the driver’s door and pulls.

Tristan jerks at the seat release while I pull on the seat as hard as I can. It’s stuck.

“Keep trying,” Ezra says, and Owen changes his grip, grunting from the effort. Ezra wrenches his leg toward the center and goes white around the mouth.

Doors slam.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Owen chants. “We need to fucking move.”

The frame gives another fraction of space, and Ezra can move his boot, but he’s still not free.