Pav turned west. Headlights flared in his mirror. Gunfire punched through the rear panel. Women screamed.
Harper twisted around again. “Stay down!”
Pav pushed the jeep harder. The terrain ahead was ugly—gullies and skeletal birch, ground that looked flat until it wasn’t.He’d walked it on the way in. Knew where it lied to the eye. He cut left at the last second, aiming for a narrow gap between two rocky outcrops barely visible through the sleeting snow.
The jeep scraped through, metal grinding against stone. Behind them, the truck tried to follow. Metal shrieked, and the truck wedged tight, its sides pinned by rock.
Pav didn’t slow.
Snow thickened, cloaking the road. The storm closed in around them, white and relentless. He tightened his grip on the wheel and drove straight into it.
They weren’t safe.
But they were moving.
9
Harper hungon for dear life, feet braced on the floor as the jeep slammed through the airstrip’s already flattened gate. Pav corrected the rear and aimed for the tarmac ahead.
The airbase materialized through the snow—cracked concrete with straggly weeds forcing through ice in limp clumps, a rusted hangar with peeling paintwork. A windsock hung from a pole, shredded fabric snapping in the wind like something dead.
But a small blue and white plane was parked on the runway.
Next to it was the other jeep. The women were still inside. Fox and Zak were out, conferring, their heads dipped together.
They made it.
She closed her eyes for a beat, took a shaky breath, then opened them. She unclenched her hands from her seatbelt, her fingers stiff.
Pav brought them to a stop next to the other jeep and killed the engine. “Wait.” He squeezed her arm briefly before he scanned the perimeter, rifle ready.
“We’re good.” His voice was gruff as he exited the jeep.
She looked over her shoulder at the women. “Wait here.” Harper opened the door and stumbled out, following him. Herlegs barely held her—forty minutes of adrenaline crash hitting all at once. Cold bit through her thin sweater, the frigid wind slicing straight to the bone.
“You said four people.” The unfamiliar voice was level, unbending in its surety.
She looked across to where Fox and his associate Zak were standing with a thick-set older man, his black mustache stark against his weathered skin. His arms were crossed, and his expression was stone.
Fox shook his head, hands on hips. “Things change, mate.”
“You paid for four.” This had to be the pilot. Harper scanned the plane. It wasn’t big.
“Four. Not—” The pilot gestured at the women climbing from the other jeep, at Zak helping one who could barely stand. “Not this.”
Her stomach rolled.
Fox blew out a foggy breath, exchanging a rapid glance with Zak. “We’ll pay more.”
Zak yanked off his balaclava and dragged a hand through his hair, eyeing the plane. “I don’t think money changes physics.”
“You paid for four.” The pilot jutted his chin as he patted the side of the plane. “My plane can take thirteen passengers. Any more, and we don’t get airborne.”
Twelve women from the barrack. Plus her. Fox, Zak, Pav.Sixteen.
“Give us a minute.” Fox turned his back on the pilot, facing Zak and Pav. “Ideas?”
Pav’s expression was contemplative. “The three of us could remain?—”
