The deafening roar swept behind him in a blaze of horns.
Jack opened his eyes, still speeding ahead. Not dead. Not pulverized.
He looked back, weaving off the road, then quickly righting the wheel. The train was still crossing, and the other cars were stuck on the other side.
“Holy shit!”
His heart never beat so fast.
He drove for another thirty minutes, too scared to rest. If they caught him, his life was over. No coming back from this.
He had no idea where he was or where he was heading. The headlights weren’t working, and it became impossible to see in the dark. Having no choice, he turned toward the streetlights.
His eyes strained, growing heavy as the dull ache in his head continued to throb. His vision swam with exhaustion as his adrenaline crashed.
The fuel gauge hovered just above empty when he reached some sort of ancient, abandoned road.
How long had he been driving?
His heart raced spastically, and his head was killing him.
He needed to ditch the car and find a hiding place for the night. Somewhere to rest.
His eyes closed. Maybe for just a second. He shook his head. His vision swam.
A sign emerged in the distance—LONDON - 12 MILES.
London. Crowds. But also anonymity.
Find a place to hide.
He thought of the rats, of all the places they lived. Out of sight. He could go to the sewers. Go somewhere Aurin’s men wouldn’t find him.
Jack followed the signs.
The city rose around him gradually, and soon he was weaving through the grey sprawl of the metropolis. A spray of sparks followed him.
His driving skills hadn’t improved, and he was attracting too much attention. Too many obstacles. He needed to ditch the car.
An underground car park materialized ahead. Jack yanked the wheel and plunged into concrete darkness. The Porsche scraped against a pillar as he took a corner too tightly. He shoved the gear shift into park just as the front connected with a cinderblock wall.
He killed the engine. Sat in the sudden silence, breathing heavily. His lungs crunched and rattled.
Move.
His body wouldn’t cooperate.
The crash was hitting him now. Just like it did whenever the chancellor left his room. First, the shakes. Then his muscles turned to water. Cold. So fucking cold.
He couldn’t stop shivering.
His thoughts dripped, slow and thick.
Move, damn you. You have to keep moving!
Jack fumbled for the door handle. His hand crusted with a mixture of dry and wet blood, his fingers numb and unsteady.
When he finally caught the handle and pulled, his body spilled out of the car. He landed hard on his hands and knees, the ground unsteady beneath him.
