Well, something stupid.
I braced myself against the front windshield of our stolen car, using a windshield wiper to keep me from tumbling off. Flimsy, but it'd do about as well as an, “Oh, shit!” bar to keep me stable for the moment I needed.
The semi was up to thirty already.
I needed to go now.
I took a long, slow breath, bracing my feet against the hood, then closed my eyes for just a second. When I opened them, I looked up at the back of the semi. Up at the top of the back doors, that was my target.
“Three, two, one,” I said, quick-counting.
And I sprang off the hood of the car at thirty miles an hour toward the back of the semi-truck.
38.
About a second after I leapt, my fingers made contact with the back of the tractor-trailer, and then my ribs did the same a second later, driving the air out of me as I hit. As far as leaps went, it was not among my most graceful, and probably was reflective of the grievous wounding I'd taken just last night.
A sting of raging pain rang through the nerves along my rib cage as the breath was driven from my lungs by the impact. It made a loud, metallic Thump! and I almost released my grip.
I didn't, though. I kept hold, tight, hanging there over the doors, trying to land a foot on them. For grip. The treads of my shoes would hopefully help me hold on.
Lethe kept right on the guy's bumper, inches away, providing me a “safe” landing zone if I fell. If you could call landing on the hood of a speeding car “safe.”
I hung there for a second, then pulled myself up, the semi hitting a pothole and rattling. I didn't let it dissuade me; riding atop the vehicle had to be better than hanging off the back.
Once I'd executed my perfect pull-up, aided just slightly by doing a vertical mountain climber, I landed on top of the trailer, rolling to my knees and plopping to all fours as the wind streamed into my face. My eyes watered a little; the driver was really picking up speed now.
Now was the fun part. I had to crawl the length of the trailer without falling off, then seize control of the vehicle. No big deal, no pressure.
Until the driver started decelerating, and I almost went tumbling. I looked up. There was a turn approaching. Looked like a main road, not one of these side alleys that wove their way between warehouse properties.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I said, hurrying my ass up. All I needed right now was for him to make a turn and see me up here on top of his trailer. Could I cover the fifty-foot length of the trailer and catch him by surprise in the seconds I had before he made the turn? Because all it'd take would be one look at his side mirror – or, hell, a glance out the window when he was right-angled to his trailer – and he'd see me up here.
I'd only made it halfway up the trailer when he started into his turn, and that made the decision for me. I waved Lethe back, caught her nod through the reflection on the windshield, and hit my knees, rolling to my right.
I dove over the left side of the trailer, catching myself by one hand, stretching sideways there as the driver went into his turn.
It was a tense moment, hanging there like Spider-Man as he pushed the trailer into a slow turn. Looking back, I couldn't see Lethe or the car. Which was good.
Until the trailer shuddered in the turn, the truck's downshifting running through the whole vehicle, and I almost let go out of surprise at its vehemence.
I held on, though, hanging there off the side, muttering, “Tread, please don't fail me now,” like it was some kind of prayer. My breaths were coming a little strained from, well, the strain of holding myself sideways in place along a flat surface. I looked like I was in push-up position on the side panel of the trailer. If anyone had been watching, it probably looked ridiculous.
The trailer eased onto the main road, straightening out, and once again I was left with a timing issue. I needed to be back up on top before the cab and trailer came back into alignment or I'd be visible in the side mirror.
Who knew hijacking a trailer would be so much damned work? If I'd known it was going to be this much trouble, I'd have opted to storm the warehouse unarmed and let the chips fall where they may.
I kid, I kid. Also, doing that with my kid-self around? Not smart. Even if she made it out alive somehow, who wants to know you're going to meet your bloody fate defending your own past? That's pretty grim.
Rolling my body back atop the trailer, the metal dinged and crackled as I made my landing. I only took a second to catch my breath before rolling to my feet again, ready to besiege the cab, but-
The revving of the semi's engine was matched, overlaid by the sound of a car engine behind me. I looked back to see a van almost sideswipe Lethe as she swerved to avoid the oversized vehicle bearing down on her from behind.
Damn.
There was movement at the back of the van as it took up position behind the trailer. Its rear doors were open, swinging in the wind, and someone was suddenly atop it, taking two solid bounds before leaping through the air toward me-
And landing behind me on the trailer, sending a mighty shudder through the whole vehicle.
He stood taller than me, his matted, tangled hair blowing in the wind as the semi got back up to speed, the driver flooring it in a mad effort to – get away? Shake off Lethe? Make my life a living hell?
Who knew? Either way, he was speeding up.
And there I was, staring down my oldest foe, fifteen feet off the ground, the world speeding by around me.
“There you are, little doll,” he said, his sharp teeth in a wide, delighted grin. “The Wolfe has been looking all over for you.”
39.
“Found me, you ha-”
I started to smart off, Yoda-style, but Wolfe, apparently having learned his lesson about wasting time listening to me be a dickweed to him, attacked.
He came at me with a swipe of his long arm, claws glinting in the sun. I had to retreat, stumbling over my feet. I was faster than him, but only by a hair. He caught nothing but empty air, and I shuffled, readjusting my position, clomping on the trailer's thin metal roof.
“You're going to have to be quicker than that,” I said, not coming up with a better quip before he reset. His feet set, he swiped for me again.
I was limited in my ability to retreat. Anything fancy like a flip, or getting too aggressive with my jump back, and I'd likely end up splattering onto the pavement below.
Well, maybe not splattering, but definitely ending up in a heap of broken bones. That probably wouldn't be the high point of my trip. Probably. Which I say since it's Des Moines, and really, what else is there to do that's exciting besides getting blasted in the back with a shotgun, gutted by a homicidal psycho, or getting into a rumble in the local Walmart's dairy aisle?
Come to think of it, I'd pretty much hit peak Des Moines. It had to be time to leave after this death match atop a semi-trailer...which was now turning onto the freeway, rattling me and Wolfe as we tried to catch our footing.
The driver wasn't slowing down much on the turn, and he hopped the curb with the rear tires. It sent a jarring thump through the whole vehicle. I let out a gasp as I nearly lost my balance.
Wolfe, also off balance, used the opportunity to slice at me with his fingers again. He nearly overdid it, falling to one knee just before he spilled over the trailer's edge. He landed with an open hand, fingernails catching the metal.
I stared at where he'd landed his fist. As he withdrew it, I saw five perfect holes in the metal where he'd torn through.
With his freaking fingernails.
It shouldn't have surprised me, since he'd recently done something similar to my belly and intestines, but seeing it done to metal caused me to hesitate. What the hell had he been strengthening his fingernails against? Adamantium?
Wolfe came at me again, a sneering smile plastered on his lips, and I dodged back again.
With Wolfe, it wasn't safe to make even one mistake. One missed dodge, and he was so powerful and vicious he'd eat my lunch.
The trailer bumped again as though it had been hit by a car, and I looked past Wolfe. I half expected to see Lethe's car bouncing away, but no.
A black-gauntleted hand emerged at the back edge of the trailer, heralding the imminent arrival of Full Metal Jackass.
“There really are no easy days for me,” I said, getting a really bad feeling as Wolfe launched at me again. He was being aggressive, but also tentative given his size. He could have made much larger leaps. Much longer swipes.
He was being cautious. He knew the game was his to lose and losing meant falling off. Because that would be the end of his game, at least for now.
“Easy days are for retirees,” Wolfe said. “Are you retired, little doll? How old are you?”
“What are you, an idiot? You never ask a lady her age,” I said. “Everyone's so rude here. This explains why you've yet to find a nice girl you can settle down with and bring home to mama. Also, you keep eating all of them, so there's that...” I snuck a look behind me using only my peripheral vision.
Gulp.
Wolfe was no idiot. He was maneuvering me perfectly, predator chasing down prey.
I was about ten feet from running out of room to run.
Full Metal Jackass launched himself onto the rear of the trailer, rocking the whole thing. Wolfe shot him an angry look, turning his head to throw it-
I took advantage of the distraction, going to the legs-
It was a hard sweep, the kick that I laid across the back of his ankles. I went down to pull it off, not one of my most optimal moves. Getting on the ground when Wolfe was at hand? Easy formula for suicide.
But in the second it took him to cast his furious, boiling glare at Henderschott, I threw myself at his ankles like I was kicking through concrete.
The blow landed across the bottom of my shins and just above my kneecaps. I felt it, like dual sledgehammers at the points I intersected his legs.
I didn't care. I'd punched through metal, through concrete, through all manner of impossible barriers in my life.
I wasn't letting some faux-invulnerable jackass slow me down now.
Wolfe took the hit, head snapping around in surprise. I doubted it did a whit of damage to him.
But it didn't have to.
All I needed was momentum.
I cut his legs out from beneath him like a combine running through a corn stalk, and that sonofabitch went down like a middle school boxer in the first round of a fight with Floyd Mayweather.
He landed on his back, slamming into the trailer top, feet above his head where I'd kicked them from beneath him. Before he had a chance to recover, I landed on my elbow and bounced, flipping back over and bringing my knee to my chin.
I was chambering a kick, and just like any exercise involving application of force, it helped to get a little running start at it. Throwing everything I had into the kick, I planted it right in Wolfe's crotch at highest speed.
He grinned when he saw it coming. I knew in that moment that this sick, sick bastard had – big surprise – applied all manner of cruelty to his own genitals in a bid to make himself invulnerable down there.
I didn't care if it hurt him or not, though I was hardly agnostic about it. If I could have caused him agonizing pain, I would have done it without a single regret.
But for now I settled for kicking him off the side of the trailer. Which I did as I planted my foot in his groin, landing it like I was battering down a metal door.
He took it like a champ for the first second, grinning at me as I hit. “Can't stop the Wolfe with that, little doll. Can't stop him from wanting to use it to-”
His eyes widened as he started to move, my kick's momentum transferring to him. He reached out frantically, trying to stop himself moving, but I'd punted him right in the balls, and while it might not have hurt him, it still hit with as much force as this damned semi-trailer could have brought to bear right now if it had struck him.
Wolfe tumbled over the side, leaving claw marks in the trailer where he frantically grabbed at the metal as he fell. Judging by his shouts, I hadn't completely dislodged him, but for the moment he was a man overboard.
I could work with a moment.
Vaulting back to my feet, I staggered as the numbness radiated out from the spots on my legs where I'd hit Wolfe with everything I had. My right foot was numb like I'd been sitting on it for a week, and the two places on my left leg where I'd struck his immovable, concrete limb felt...dead, honestly. Like the nerves had just died in those places.
I almost overbalanced, but I corrected a second before I would have face-planted into the trailer roof. I caught myself on one knee, bringing up my hands.
Full Metal Jackass was making his way toward me, eyeing the rips in the metal trailer where Wolfe had gone over. He'd left several good gashes, strips of metal just hanging there like little pillars where his individual nails had shredded between them.
“You know what I like about you, Henderschott?” I asked, regaining my balance. He was about ten feet away now and cocked his head at me. “Nothing, really. There's not a damned thing I like about you, you soft-skinned little pus-and-turd bag.”
He straightened, and I saw his eyes narrow in the slits of his mask. “You think you're so funny.”
“Compared to you, elephant man, I'm hi-frigging-larious,” I said, waiting for him to make a move. I couldn't wait long, though, because I really needed him dealt with before Wolfe climbed back up behind me.
A pincer between these two? That'd be death, or as near to it as not to make a difference.
We were rattling along the freeway now, wind rushing from behind me, the semi fully up to speed. The driver was shifting lanes, sending us both slightly to the side. Nothing too crazy, fortunately; it appeared he didn't want to send his Omega teammates over the edge.
Cars were passing by on either side of the trailer, streaming past, and I caught some funny looks. One kid was right in the middle of pumping his arm to get the driver to blow his horn when he caught sight of us. His little mouth dropped open, and I imagined him swearing in exclamation in the back seat.
That was all the time I got to contemplate what he would have said, though, because Henderschott made a swipe at me.
Unlike with Wolfe, I didn't get wide away from Henderschott, trying desperately to dance out of his range. I dodged small, his blow missing me by inches.
I couldn't afford to let this dance go on. I needed Full Metal Jackass out of here, needed him to dismount immediately. If he did, I could turn and deal with Wolfe, kicking him in the face over the edge and dropping him into traffic. Then I could take control of the semi and drive off to victory, mission accomplished.
As soon as Henderschott reached full extension of his arm, I caught him by the wrist and cranked it back, planting a palm at his elbow. I dragged him around by brute strength, barring his arm as he let out a grunt.
I didn't think Henderschott was stronger than me, but metahuman relative power levels were tough to gauge. He strained, but I had the advantage of leverage.
He, though, had the advantage of weight. And that dovetailed into another advantage of his.
Henderschott dropped to a knee, pulling his arm with him. If he'd been a normal Joe on the street battling me, his elbow would have dislocated instantly. I could almost imagine his grunt turning to a scream as the pain kicked in.
Unfortunately, though, he was wearing armor plating from fingers to toes.
His upper arm plate clanked against his lower arm plate, his joint having reached maximum extension. I felt the metal strain, but not give, and he pulled his arm forward, with me still attached to it.
My feet left the trailer top and I went airborne, unable to let go in time.
I hit the trailer shoulder-first, rolling all the way to the far left edge. I hung half off, rolling back just before I lost my balance and fell off.
On my belly, I looked up to where Henderschott stood, rising back
to his feet, an implacable black figure between me and the truck cab.
And there, next to him, finishing his climb back up the side...
Was Wolfe.
Damn.
Now I was outnumbered.
40.
“This really isn't going my way,” I said, coming back to my feet, staring down Henderschott and Wolfe, united in their mission to smear me across the concrete seams of Interstate 35. “Any chance we could change things up, boys? Maybe resolve this in a way more favorable to me? Battle of wits? Game of Boggle?” They stared, unimpressed. “Pictionary?”
“The little doll thought she was so clever,” Wolfe said, alighting his hate-filled eyes on me. And I could tell it was hate, too, the kind that bordered on hungry animal lust with him. I held in the shudder of revulsion. “Popping that tire. Probably thought we'd be too dumb to realize it was you.”
“I'm guessing a lot of people have made good money betting on you to be dumb,” I said. “Hell, Frederick and Grihm always counted on it-”
That did it. Wolfe always was sensitive about his bros.
Wolfe's eyes blazed and he broke for me, lunging, claws extended in a massive leap.
The trick to dealing with a bull charging you is to not be there when its horns and bulk and weight all come speeding into the planned intersection of its body and yours.
For most people, this is easier said than done.
I am not most people.
Dropping low, I went under Wolfe's feet, rolling sideways to keep out of Henderschott's reach. It was a neat move and sent the black-armored giant scrambling. Something I'd realized after all these bouts with him-
The big dumb bastard couldn't see peripherally all that well thanks to his stupid eye slits. Up, down, left, right, and anything in the diagonals between those directions?
Flashback (Out of the Box Book 23) Page 21