Page 108 of Jensen

She nods, scrabbling in the bag, trying to get a hold on the revolver. I pause in the doorway.

“Della.”

She turns, revolver at her side, fists clenched, shoulders back.

“Good girl, you got this, sweetheart,” I say, giving her a wink like we’re not about to get gunned down if I don’t move my ass in the next second.

The truck revs, spinning around and barreling across the yard, heading for the house. There’s no time. I step out onto the porch, brace the AK, and start unloading.

The truck veers, then straightens.

It speeds up.

God-fucking-damnit. I keep my finger on the trigger, not flinching as the truck heads towards the porch where I stand. Then, abruptly, it veers to the side, exposing the tinted windows. I can’t get a clear shot at the driver now.

The moonlight glints on the sunroof. My mind works quickly as I glance around, trying to figure out a weakness.

I need a headshot.

There’s maybe thirty seconds before the truck flies past the porch. I sling the AK back, jump on the railing, and pull myself up onto the roof. The AK jerks back, catching me on the cheek. Wetness trickles down my neck, but the pain only heightens my senses as I scramble to my feet on the shingles.

Moving fast, I run sideways along the edge of the porch. The truck narrowly misses the tree, eating up the space between it and the porch steps.

The window of time is so narrow. There’s no room for error.

One.

Two.

Three.

Holding the AK out of the way, I jump. For a second, I think I misjudged, and I’m about to slam into the hood and vaporize into hamburger meat.

But no, the truck soars underneath me, and I hit the bed hard, bruising my knee as I roll onto my side. The adrenaline keeps back the pain.

The driver hits the brakes, and the truck spins out.

I’m on my feet, surfing across the bed of the truck, scrambling up until I’m upright with two feet braced on the rack on the roof, looking down into the cab. They don’t see me at first, and that gives me the time I need to spin the AK back and rip the pistol from my belt.

The driver goes out, brain spattering across the windshield. The passenger raises his gun, but I pull the trigger faster than he can react. The entire truck lurches and starts rolling down the hill, fast.

I drop the pistol and take the butt of the AK, smashing out the sunroof and splintering the glass around the edges. The truck is picking up speed, rattling hard. I drop into the cab and yank the driver’s body to the side, reaching down and slamming the emergency brake with the heel of my hand. It slows down enough that I have time to shove my AK down on the brake, bringing the truck to an abrupt halt.

Silence falls.

I’m breathing hard as I push the truck into park and peel myself upright. There’s blood everywhere, and most of it isn’t mine.

My body tingles as I slide from the truck and circle back. The clearing is silent. I run a hand over my face.

I need to do a perimeter check, but I’m pretty sure that’s it.

“Oh my God.”

I lift my head, and she’s standing on the front walkway. Clearly, she’s got a problem following instructions.

“I told you to get in the fucking loft, woman,” I say.

“After that shit, I need you to fucking get inside me,” she shoots back.