The Gender War (The Gender Game #4) by Bella Forrest (read novel full TXT) 📗

into the bleeding injury with my fingers, finally pressing out the tiny, blood-covered bead of the tracker.

Viggo made no noises during the whole thing but I could hear him breathing through his teeth. “It’s out!” I cried, and Viggo let out a curse. “Warn the others in the back! There’s the rest of the king’s guard!”

I took one look out the windshield and saw that we were careening toward another set of portable barricade shields. Guardsmen were dragging sand barrels to block off the lanes, a set of gun barrels pointed our way. City lights glowed from the end of the tunnel behind their vehicles… if we could just get past them.

I stuck my head through the small window of the back of the truck, shouting, “They blockaded the other end of the tunnel! Everybody down!” Then I dropped to the passenger’s seat, curling up into a ball as Viggo, shirtless and bleeding, began whipping back and forth to avoid the hail of bullets that showered down on us as we approached. The truck bounced, making a horrifying clunking noise, and I curved my body around my hand in mid-air, landing hard on my side as bullets crashed into the passenger’s door. Thankfully, none had breached the truck’s outer shell. Samuel’s barking was frenzied, and I was still curled up in pain when the sounds of my companions returning fire blasted my ears.

Through the racket, I fervently wished I hadn’t dropped my gun in the back of the truck. Thoughts of Viggo being taken out in the driver’s seat flashed through my mind—but before I could move, the gunfire became unbearably loud, and a wrenching, lurching crunch sent me crashing against the glove compartment. There were shouts and roars, and the engine’s growling grew higher. But it never stopped, and then we were picking up speed again. “Hah!” I heard Viggo grunt from the driver’s seat. Firing stopped for a moment.

Clearly, he’d simply driven through the entire barricade, not caring what was in the way. Clawing my way upright and back to the seat, I looked out the window. I saw that the light outside wasn’t the sickly yellow of the tunnel anymore, but the expanse of the night sky. Streetlights flickered past us on either side, and close-set apartment buildings loomed over the narrow road we’d emerged onto. I pressed my face to the window, trying to look back around the tarp. I could just see the three sleek vehicles that were currently pulling out into the road from the area around the broken blockade to pursue us.

The breath of relief I’d been about to exhale caught in my throat. “Looks like they’re still after us. There are three trucks coming our way.”

Viggo’s response was to gas it, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Where’s that damn tracker?” he demanded, and I realized I was still holding it. I handed it to him, and he rolled down the window a crack, enough to viciously toss the little device out. “Good riddance!” he bellowed.

I looked around, found Henrik’s knife and tucked it into my pocket, then found Viggo’s shirt and used it to wipe the blood streaming from the small cut in his back. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You did good.”

I dropped a kiss on his bare shoulder. “I hope we never have to do that again.”

“Me too. You should go back and check on the others. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I was about to suggest,” I said. “Stay safe. We’ll keep them off our tail.”

“I’ll do my best. You too.”

I struggled back through the tiny window, my aching body protesting, in time to catch a continued conversation among the rest of the crew.

“Who has the nearest safe room?” Owen was asking, clearly addressing Amber’s team.

“I have a safe room in Father’s Park,” shouted Quinn, sitting in the center of the truck, reloading his pistol.

“Why is this important?” I cried to them, and it was Owen who answered.

“Amber’s group was able to track the wardens’ handhelds. It’s only a matter of time before they think to check the Matrian ones we’re using now. We need a better, more secure handheld—you guys had to leave yours behind, so that means they’ll be with your bug-out bags, right?”

The last part was directed at Amber, Henrik, and Quinn, who all nodded, then ducked simultaneously as Ms. Dale shouted “Down!” and bullets riddled the tarp again.

I ducked too, then continued our conversation. “We can’t exactly stop for it, Owen!”

Owen looked grimly at me, seeing the problem. “Maybe if we can ditch the pursuit—” Quinn made a face, then crawled back toward Jay’s position, letting Amber take his place again.

I peered out around the tarp, finally having found my own weapon. The king’s vehicles were gaining on us quickly—they were smaller and faster than the huge old truck. The black tarp fluttered and flapped in my way as I tried to rest my left hand on the tailgate to aim. I grimaced, remembering Henrik’s pocketknife.

It was just as hard to click open this time, even though I’d wiped the blood off on my pants before closing it earlier. When I finally got the blade to slide free, I lunged forward and slashed a big hole through the tarp flaps, finally giving us an unobstructed view of the road behind us.

“Finally somebody’s thinking back here!” Ms. Dale said appreciatively, and we both fired at the windshield of the nearest truck, which was now clearly visible through the hole. But the rounds bounced harmlessly off. “New tech,” Ms. Dale said enviously. “Of course.” The nearest truck surged closer to us, and though I couldn’t see the driver in the dark, I could see the light glinting off the shotgun pointing at us out the passenger’s side window. This time I was the one to shout “Down!” and make us all duck as the guard fired. “How are we going to take them down?”

Before Ms. Dale could answer my question, Quinn and Jay bolted past me—Quinn clinging to