Chapter 47
The world spun around me, a jumble of yellow-gray sky, snow, and forest-green truck. Something slammed into my right shoulder, and I rolled down an icy hill. I plowed into fresh powder at the bottom, winding up splayed out and buried, with snow packed into my mouth and nose.
I rolled over. Spat snow from my mouth. Checked my shoulder. It felt like I’d slammed it in a car door six or eight times, but I could move it, so I figured it wasn’t broken or dislocated. I felt a trickle of warm blood seeping along my arm-I must have split open my gunshot wound.
The twin grain silos towered over me. Beside them slumped a burned out farmhouse and mostly collapsed barn. I couldn’t see the Peckerwood’s truck-the snow berm beside the road was in the way. A long, chaotic trail left by my thrashing limbs marked where I’d rolled down the side of the berm. It seemed far too quiet for the aftermath of a crash. Shouldn’t someone be screaming?
I tried to stand, but dizziness forced me back to my hands and knees. I slowly crawled up the snow berm, without using my bruised arm.
The truck had plowed into the berm and twisted so its back end was blocking the road. Its front wheels were stuck in the snow, raised three or four feet above the roadbed, so the entire truck was stuck at an angle. The front windshield was full of cracks, and a chunk about the size of a man’s head had been punched out of the passenger’s side. The windshield wipers had smeared the oil around, leaving long, half-moon streaks on what was left of the glass.
I crawled over the crest of the berm and slid down the far side. I grabbed the passenger door handle to pull myself upright, looked through the window, and recoiled in shock.
One of the guards was slumped against the passenger window, face pressed to the glass. Blood poured from his hairline, ran in rivers along his nose, sheeted over his sightless eyes, and dripped into his yawning mouth.
I took hold of the handle again. Turned it. The door opened easily. The guy fell out head first. The top of his skull was flattened and bloody.
Behind him, the driver held a pistol aimed at my head.
Chapter 48
The pistol wavered, dipping and bobbing as the driver struggled to hold it steady. His other hand was formed into a claw, clutching the center of his chest. His face twisted in agony. He squeezed the trigger. The shot whanged off the door trim a foot from my head.
I dropped flat, under his line of fire. If I crawled away from the truck, he might be able to get an angle on me. The blood-soaked face of the dead guard was inches from mine, contorted by a zombie grin. I had to move. I wormed around the guard’s corpse and under the truck. Its front wheels had been lifted partly onto the snow berm by the crash, so I could rise to a high crawl, although my pack bumped against the undercarriage.
Now what? If the driver got out and poked his gun under the truck, I’d be as easy to kill as a pig in a slaughterhouse chute. I scuttled to the far side of the truck under the driver’s door. I glanced around-the driver’s legs weren’t visible. Either he was still in the cab, or he was standing beside the tires.
I took a deep breath, trying to still my shaking arms. My hands were icy despite my gloves, either from the chill of the frozen road or fear-maybe both. I eased my head out from under the truck, hoping the last thing I saw wouldn’t be the barrel of the pistol.
No flash or sudden retort of gunfire met me. Everything was silent, in limbo. I rolled out from under the truck and crouched to look into the cab. The driver was facing away from me-he had scooted across the bench seat to the passenger’s side.
I turned and ran toward the back of the truck, avoiding the snow berm at the front. As I sprinted past the tailgate, I looked for Darla. I figured she’d be out by now, but the back flap of the truck was still tied shut. I couldn’t see or hear her.
I skidded to a stop at the corner of the truck and peeked around. The driver’s hand and gun protruded from the open passenger door, wavering above the guard’s corpse. I broke into a flat-out sprint toward the door.
The driver was slowly emerging from the passenger door. He got his entire right arm and head out of the door. He looked over his shoulder, saw me, and started to bring his pistol around to shoot me. I jumped, launching myself in a flying front kick when I was still two steps away. My kick connected with his forearm, slamming it against the open passenger door with a sickening crunch. The pistol dropped from his suddenly limp hand. I fell, landing splayed across the corpse.
When I looked up, the driver was clutching his right arm. Either he’d magically grown a bonus elbow, or I’d broken his forearm.
I grabbed his pistol and stood. The driver had a hunting knife in a sheath on his belt. He didn’t react when I took it from him-his breath rasped in his chest, and he was too busy hunching over in extreme pain. I glanced into the cab of the truck-a shotgun lay on the floorboards, so I picked up that, too.
“Darla!” I yelled. “I could use some help out here!”
“What’s going on out there?” Her voice was faint, muffled by the canvas.
What did she think was going on? “Nothing much. I crashed the truck, subdued the guards, and got their weapons.”
“Is it safe?”
That seemed like an even stranger question for her to ask. When had it ever been safe? Not since we had met. Not since the volcano had erupted. What was going on with her? “Yeah. .” I said anyway.
“Coming.”
I kept my gaze fixed on the driver. I needn’t have bothered. His eyes were closed, and he rocked slightly back and forth, totally absorbed in his agony.
“What the hell is going on out here?”
I looked to my left at the girl who had just stepped out from behind the truck.
She wasn’t Darla.
Chapter 49
All the oxygen left my lungs, replaced by disbelief and pain. Like I’d taken a kick to the groin. “Who are you?”
“I’m Alyssa-I have no idea who this Darla you keep talking about is,” she said.
“I thought you were Darla.” She was the right height. Brown hair curled around her shoulders, exactly like Darla’s. But Darla had a rectangular, Midwestern face-beautiful, but tough and solid. This girl was elfin by contrast-her face almost diamond shaped, her features delicate, her tiny nose slightly upturned. I guessed she might be a year or two younger than Darla.
“Who’s Darla?” She hadn’t moved from the back of the truck.
“Where’s Darla?” I strode down the length of the truck toward her.
“How am I supposed to know? I just told you I don’t know who she is!”
“She’s a girl. Your height. Same hair. Peckerwoods took her to Anamosa.”
“Shot in her right shoulder?”
“Yes! That’s her. Where is she?”
“Clevis!” Her face twisted with rage, and she pointed behind me.
I spun. The driver had emerged from the truck and was scuttling down the road, hunched over and clutching his broken arm to his chest. As I stared, the girl grabbed the shotgun from under my arm. I turned back toward her, afraid she might try to shoot me, but she’d aimed it down the road at the driver. She tried to pull the trigger over and over again, but the gun was safetied.
