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“Not much use in trying to outrun it,” Joe said, but he eased his weight off of Riley and yanked her up to her feet. While he held her, Patrick gave her a quick, competent pat down for weapons, then shoved her to the SUV. Joe took the backseat next to her, with his own recovered sidearm pointed at her for security. Bryn took the driver’s seat, brushing the broken glass away, and started up the engine. It took a few tries, but it finally caught just as Patrick slammed his door closed and clicked his seat belt in place.
“Any suggestions on how to do this?” she asked him.
“Considering we’re on flat, empty snow plains? Not a fucking clue,” he said. “Small-arms fire won’t help us, either. Just . . . drive. At least we’ll make them work for the privilege. ”
It wasn’t a great plan, but Bryn had to agree, it was all they really had. And, some thought, if the drone dropped another missile on them, at least they’d never know it. Even upgrades like her and Riley would be incinerated in a blast of that magnitude. The skies had been clear before, but over the past hour they’d darkened as weather moved in; the low, gray clouds made it impossible to spot any approaching threats. The ruins of the Johannsen cabin smoldered behind them, still burning and sending sullen belches of smoke to the skies, but it fell behind quickly as she edged more speed out of the SUV on the slick, uneven road. Her neck began to hurt from the strain of driving, craning to look at the skies, and the bone-shaking bounce of the SUV on the rutted track.
She realized, about the same time as Joe and Patrick did, that they were worrying about a threat from the sky when they should have been looking out for one at ground level. As the SUV slithered over the top of a rise, and she caught a view of the town of Barrow in the distance, she also saw a glittering row of vehicles spread out in a semicircle below. Heavy SUVs, like the one she was driving. And in front of the SUVs were men, a lot of them, all armed with what looked like military assault rifles.
“Have I said we’re boned already?” Joe asked.
“Twice,” Patrick said. “Still true, though. Riley?”
“I wasn’t told there would be backup,” she said. “It was supposed to be simple. Get the formula, leave you at the cabin, and get back to Barrow. ”
“I’m going to hazard a wild guess and say they intended all of the rest of us to go up with Dr. Johannsen,” Bryn said. “Then you’d run into this welcome party. They’d kill you, take the formula, and be out of here within the hour. Nice and clean. ”
“Not government,” Joe said. “The drone was a time-share, probably, but these guys? No way they’re military. ”
“No,” Patrick agreed flatly.
Bryn stopped the SUV. There was nowhere to go, really—heading out over the tundra wasn’t much of an option. There would likely be dips and ruts that would bury the truck fast, or break an axle . . . and a drone still circled overhead, most likely.
“They’re hers,” Patrick said. He sounded . . . empty, Bryn thought. Drained of emotion. She understood that; too many shocks, too little adrenaline left. Her body simply couldn’t be bothered to power up anymore.
Until she saw Jane.
Patrick’s ex was standing on the running board of one of the SUVs. Her parka’s hood was thrown back, and even at this distance, Bryn recognized her easily. It was something in her body language, really—a kind of infuriating confidence that made Bryn want to kick her ass, personally, never mind all the firepower.
“Well, shit,” Joe said. “Riley? You want to tell us again about the pure, holy intentions of the federal government? I’m all fucking ears. ”
The men with rifles were closing them into a killbox. Even if the SUV had been hardened with bulletproof glass and reinforced steel, this would have been dark days, but it was a commercial model, and the blast back at the cabin had done for the glass, anyway. Freezing winds whipped blown snow through the openings and lashed at Bryn’s face. She couldn’t feel her ears, or her fingers. Frostbite could take hold fast, up here.
So could death.
“Options?” Joe asked.
“Don’t see much,” Patrick said, “unless you’ve got the cavalry on standby. ”
“Forgot to ship in the horses. My bad. Guess we’re—”
“Giving up?” Patrick asked, and grinned. It was a manic, slightly insane expression, and Bryn’s guts twisted with sudden worry. “You really think I’m giving up to that bitch? I’d rather die in a hail of bullets, wouldn’t you?”
“Some of us don’t have that option,” Riley said quietly. “I’m sorry. This is—”
“Your fault? Yeah. It is. Fuck your apology,” Joe said. “Okay. Plans?”
“Kill ’em,” Patrick said. “What else?”
He grabbed Bryn suddenly, pulled her over, and kissed her. It was a frantic, hot, desperate kind of thing, and she knew, horribly, that it was good-bye.
That they would not walk away from this.
Then Patrick twisted away from her, raised his sidearm, and began calmly, precisely shooting the men who were advancing on the car. Bryn grabbed her own sidearm and fired through her window, counting as men fell. Her hands were shaking, from the cold and the fear, and she was dropping one only every two bullets. In the seat behind her, Joe must have armed Riley, because she, too, was shooting.
Jane’s people weren’t shooting back.
Fuck, she thought, in a cold moment of clarity. They want us alive. They were going to get the cure. One way or another, they’d get it . . . unless she hid it, fast.
