I scanned the quiet tree lined street again in both directions, clutching the knife in my hand, trying to work out what was going on. Both cutoff groups and the previously circling guards had disappeared.
We had to take advantage. I sprinted to the Range Rover, expecting shots to split the air at any moment. None came.
The keys were still in the ignition, and the engine instantly roared into life. I clicked the vehicle into reverse, accelerated hard, and turned the wheel. The Rover shot backward, crashing through Ron’s white picket fence. I hit the brake hard, skidding to an abrupt halt inches from the front door. Jack appeared from the entrance and yanked open the passenger door.
“All clear at the back. Where the fuck are they?” he asked.
“I caught a glimpse of them leaving. Come on—get in. They might be regrouping.”
He climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door. Lea jumped in the back and lay across the seat.
A burst of automatic gunfire rattled in the distance, followed by several single shots in rapid succession. The firing appeared to be close, maybe only a street away, where the other Range Rover had turned.
“There’s something else going on here,” Jack said. “They could be getting attacked from the Army or government. Maybe the cavalry’s arrived?”
“Doubt it’s the cavalry,” I said and turned back to Lea. “Is there another way out of Monroe?”
She poked her head between the front seats. “Turn left. Where do you want to go?”
“Back to the Toyota we left on the outskirts of town. Hopefully, the rifle’s still there.”
Jack kicked his door open. “Wait here a minute.”
“Christ, Jack. We’ve just had a break here,” I said.
He ignored me, jumped out of the Rover, and ran back inside the house. My eyes darted to either end of the street as we waited. I wondered what could be so important as to stall our escape.
A minute later, he returned and buckled up. “Right, let’s go.”
I shoved the Rover into drive. “What were you doing?”
“Set fire to the house. If activations are controlled from there, it might stall them for a day or two until we figure out what—”
“Martina’s going to kill me,” Lea said.
“She’s the least of our worries,” Jack said. “She might not even be alive.”
“She’s the least of yours. I know she’s alive.”
I detected more than a hint of anger in Lea’s reply. I wasn’t sure what she expected us to do, and I wasn’t prepared to risk my life for a woman that seemed to be neck deep in Genesis Alliance. To be clear of the building, in a vehicle, was more than we could have hoped for twenty minutes ago.
Tires screeched against the road surface at the right end of Oak Street. A light-blue Mustang skidded around the corner, then came to a sudden halt around two hundred yards from us. The engine revved several times. Puffs of white smoke came from the wheels as they started to spin.
“Go left— now!” Lea shouted.
I punched the accelerator hard and felt the wheels rip out chunks of turf from Ron’s lawn. The Rover gained traction, and we sprang back onto the road.
“Right here—that’s Clark Street.”
The Mustang disappeared from the rearview mirror as we turned and sped along.
“Right at the end of Wood Street, then take the first left. I’m taking us a different way out of town.”
I kept the pedal to the metal, and the Rover gathered speed along Wood Street.
The blue Mustang tore out of the side street. It skidded to a halt diagonally across the road, blocking our path.
“Ram it,” Jack said.
I had no other option and aimed at the side of the Mustang, bracing for impact. With a thunderous crash of metal and breaking glass, the vehicles collided, and I was thrown forward, then backward, in my seat.
The scene outside whizzed past in a blur. The Rover spun out of control, and I slammed on the brakes. The car came to a juddering halt facing the critically damaged Mustang. Its front left panel and lights were crushed.
Inside the vehicle, Jerry looked dazed while Anthony glared out of the window and his face contorted in anger. He shook Jerry, and they both reached backward.
I shoved Jack’s shoulder. “They’re going for weapons, Jack—shoot the buggers!”
He pressed a button on the door, and his window lowered with an electric whine. “Where the hell did they come from?” he asked.
Both men in the Mustang struggled with the doors. Jerry elbowed out parts of smashed glass on the driver’s side and thrust out a rifle with a single hand.
Jack aimed the Ruger and fired twice at the Mustang’s windshield. Both rounds punctured holes through the middle, and it splintered and cracked. Jerry dropped his rifle and ducked down. Anthony struggled to open his door.
I pressed the accelerator and rammed the vehicle again, turning it backward and creating a gap to squeeze past and keep going. As we raced away, I spotted Anthony in the rearview mirror. He kicked the car door open and lay down flat on the road in a textbook prone firing position.
“Get down!” I said.
Two rounds hit our Rover. One shot went high through the rear window, and the other sounded like it ricocheted off the underside of the vehicle. As I turned right at the end of the street, two tracer rounds streaked over the hood. Seconds later, we were out of Anthony’s line of sight.
“That guy’s skilled with a rifle,” Jack said. “I thought he was totally useless.”
Anthony had showed no signs of lethal competence when we ambushed him in Hermitage and captured him with his pants down. Perhaps that incident pushed him into action. Whatever the cause, I was glad to be out of range. I glanced at Lea. She hugged herself and quivered as if she’d just climbed out of a pool of freezing water. I hoped she wasn’t going into shock.
“Where now, Lea? Take us the quickest way out of town,” I said.
“We’ll be on Hull Road in a few minutes. We can shoot straight to the southern edge. There’re a couple of farms and a few houses—that’s about it.”
Open fields concerned me. The lack of cover would leave us painfully exposed, but our options were limited. I screeched around a corner, and we hit a main road. Jack had two rounds left in the Ruger and maintained aim out of his open window as cool spring air rushed inside, giving my arms goose bumps.
“Think of a couple of alternatives in case we come across GA,” I said. “If we’re blocked off, we’ll have to go on foot.”
As we passed a large lake to our right on Hull Road, speed started to drain from the vehicle. A burning aroma flooded through the vents, accompanied by wisps of white smoke from under the hood. I pumped the accelerator but received no response.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack said flatly in disbelief.
The Rover lost all power and coasted to a hissing halt.
“Damn,” I shouted and slammed my hand against the steering wheel. “Everybody out.”
A train track ran along our right side, with thick, impenetrable vegetation on the rising ground behind it. To our left, small white bungalows with generous yards and long driveways dotted into the distance along a tree lined road. This wasn’t the most affluent of areas, but America had the luxury of space compared to England.
Jack gazed along the line of houses. “Garden hopping?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “Gives us a bit of cover at least.”
Without the advantage of speed, being off the road seemed a sensible option. Garden hopping was an activity Jack and I used to carry out as youngsters. It involved running through strangers’ gardens and avoiding capture by an angry resident. Prestigious estates and larger houses were prime targets. We’d only been caught once—and gotten dragged home by our ears.