The van’s engine howled behind us, headlights burning through the rain. Closing. Closer.
And I knew—this fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Not with Captain Raine Carter fighting for us.
27
Raine
The road vanished under rushing water, a silver sheet that reflected the Jeep’s headlights back into my eyes. Boone fought the wheel like it was a live animal, knuckles white, jaw locked tight.
“They’re not backing off,” he muttered, voice low and sharp.
I twisted in my seat, rain soaking through the cracked window seal, rifle braced against my shoulder. The second van tore through the flood behind us, plowing through like the storm didn’t matter. Masked silhouettes leaned out the windows, guns glinting under the beams.
The survivors ducked low, the boy’s thin wail cutting through the roar of engines and rain. I forced steel into my voice. “Down! Stay down!”
A burst of gunfire shredded the night. Glass shattered, spraying across the Jeep’s back seat. The mother screamed, shielding her son with her body. The older man throwing himself over both of them.
“Raine—” Boone snapped.
“I see them!” I fired back, squeezing the trigger. The shot sparked off the van’s grill. Too low.
The return fire pinged off the Jeep’s frame, hot metal spraying across my arm. Pain flared, sharp and hot, but I gritted my teeth. Not now. Not when lives depended on me.
Boone yanked us into a hard turn, tires skidding. “We can’t outrun them forever. We need cover.”
I scanned the storm-wracked treeline, heart hammering. Floodlights glared off the river ahead, the current swallowing whole trees as they snapped free. No safe roads, no quick exits. Just chaos.
“Bridge ahead!” Boone shouted.
Through the curtain of rain, I saw it—a narrow span of concrete, half-submerged, water raging inches below the deck.
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
Boone bared his teeth in a grim smile. “Best shot we’ve got.”
The van’s headlights flared bright behind us, closing fast.
I gripped the dash, pulse pounding. “Then floor it.”
28
Raine
The bridge loomed out of the rain, a narrow strip of concrete barely holding against the flood. Water lapped at its edges, spray shooting high with every crash of the current. One wrong move and the Jeep would be swallowed whole.
Boone’s knuckles were white on the wheel. “Hold on.”
I braced against the dash as the Jeep hit the bridge. The tires screamed, slipping on the slick surface. The whole span shuddered beneath us, a deep groan of steel and concrete.
Behind us, the van roared onto the bridge, headlights glaring like twin predators in the storm. Gunfire erupted, bullets sparking off the guardrails, ricocheting too close.
“Get down!” I shouted, throwing myself half over the boy and his mother in the back. A round punched through the rear side window, glass exploding into the night.
Boone jerked the wheel, fighting to keep us centered. The Jeep fishtailed, one tire riding the lip of the crumbling concrete. My stomach lurched as the current surged just feet below.
“They’re ramming us!” Boone barked.
I twisted back in time to see the van accelerate, slamming into our rear bumper. The impact jolted through my bones, theJeep skidding sideways with a screech of metal. My shoulder hit the door hard enough to blur my vision.
