Chapter 95: Chapter 95 - Trail
They packed everything into the back and climbed in fast, movements practiced and tight. Fenigan took the passenger seat up front, boots thudding against the metal floor, while Aaron swung in beside one of the guards who had come with the bed truck, rifle resting across his knees.
"Good to see you, John." Fenigan said, clapping the driver hard on the shoulder.
John gave a short nod, eyes never leaving the road ahead.
Malcolm boosted Iyisha up next, hands firm at her waist as he guided her into the corner of the truck bed where a folded blanket had been wedged against the wall. She did not argue. She barely registered the movement.
She curled into the blanket immediately, shoulders hunched, knees pulled in, her head resting against the cold metal as exhaustion finally broke through the adrenaline and stole whatever words she might have had left.
Her body was still shaking.
Not violently now, but deep and persistent, a tremor that ran through her muscles no matter how tightly she wrapped the blanket around herself. Her teeth clicked softly, jaw clenched as she tried to control it.
"Something wrong?" Fennigan asked.
John exhaled slowly through his nose. "Something’s off."
"Like what?"
"I saw tire tracks about half a mile out," John said. "Fresh."
"Scouts from another settlement?"
"I don’t know."
Iyisha stiffened despite the cold. Her fingers tightened in the blanket. She lifted her head just enough to look at Malcolm.
He did not react outwardly, but she felt the shift immediately. His posture changed. Spine straighter. Weight redistributed. His attention sharpened, no longer on her alone but on everything beyond the truck walls.
"You think it’s a trap?" Fennigan asked.
John did not answer right away. The engine hummed beneath them, steady and low, filling the space where words should have been.
"Could be a hijack," he said finally.
Silence dropped hard.
"We’re carrying food," John went on. "Meat. Leather. Tools. People out here would kill for less."
Iyisha’s stomach knotted. She slipped a hand down to her side, fingers brushing the grip of her sidearm beneath the blanket. Still there. The familiar shape steadied her a little, though the shaking did not stop.
Malcolm spoke without raising his voice. "You want to reroute?"
John’s hands stayed steady on the wheel. "If we reroute, we lose the trail. Burn fuel. Risk getting stuck. No guarantee we’re safer."
"So we go?" Fenigan asked.
Iyisha pulled the blanket tighter around herself, shivering hard again as the truck rolled forward, eyes on Malcolm, waiting to see which way he would turn.
Iyisha saw it too late.
At first it looked like a fallen log, dark and low across the road, half buried in snow, easy to miss through the shaking and the dim wash of the headlights. Her teeth were still clattering, the blanket pulled tight around her shoulders, her body slow to react.
"Log," someone said.
The driver did not slow.
The truck swerved hard to avoid it.
The world lurched violently as the vehicle veered off the road and dropped into the ditch, one side slamming down while the other lifted, metal groaning as the weight shifted wrong. Iyisha cried out and clutched the rail, her body sliding as the truck tilted, one set of tires spinning uselessly in the air.
They were stuck.
The engine roared as the driver tried to power through it, but the wheels had no purchase, hanging just off the ground, mud and snow spraying without effect.
That was when the figures appeared.
People stepped out from the trees and the ditch edges, shadows resolving into bodies as the headlights caught them. Some carried rifles already raised. Others shouted for them to stop, voices sharp and commanding, spreading out fast, cutting off every clear angle.
"Gas," Fenigan yelled. "Don’t stop."
The driver floored it.
The engine screamed, but the truck stayed lodged, tires still not touching ground, the frame rocking uselessly as if caught on something beneath.
Iyisha’s heart slammed against her ribs. She could not look away. She could not move. She watched it all from her corner, shaking hard now, fear burning hotter than the cold.
Aaron and the other guard jumped down immediately, boots hitting the snow as they ran to the side of the truck. They braced their shoulders against the metal and pushed, muscles straining, breath fogging thick as the people with guns moved closer. Ten at least. Maybe more.
Shouts filled the road.
The truck jolted suddenly.
Something underneath gave way with a harsh crack. The weight shifted all at once and the lifted tires slammed down hard, finally finding ground.
"Now," someone shouted.
The driver hit the gas again.
The truck surged forward, violent and sudden. Aaron and the guard leapt clear and scrambled back in as the vehicle tore free of the ditch, speed carrying them past the edge of the headlights and into the open road.
Iyisha was thrown sideways, shoulder slamming into the wall as she clung on, breath ripped from her chest. Gunshots cracked behind them, sharp and close, then faded as distance opened up.
She sagged against the metal, lungs burning, body shaking uncontrollably as the darkness swallowed the road behind them.
The headlights appeared behind them.
Iyisha saw the reflection first, jittering and pale against the trees, too steady and too close to be anything else. The pickup jolted as John pushed harder on the gas, the engine whining in protest, and the space behind them filled with the low aggressive growl of another vehicle closing fast.
John grabbed the radio, voice tight and rising. "Base, this is John. We have pursuit. Repeat, we have pursuit," he said rapidly as static swallowed pieces of the call. "Multiple hostiles, armed. Requesting immediate backup."
Gunfire cracked from behind.
The sound tore through the cab and bed at once, sharp and violent. Iyisha flinched, her body curling inward on instinct as bullets sparked against metal. Aaron and the other guard dropped low in the back, pressing themselves behind the stacked meat as cover, rifles angled but careful as rounds snapped past.
Malcolm slid the rear window open from inside the cab and leaned out, braced and steady, rifle already up. The wind ripped into the cab, freezing and loud, but his aim did not waver as he fired back toward the headlights.
Iyisha tried to help.
She forced herself upright, dragging her sidearm up with hands that would not stop shaking. The cold air rushing through the open window made the tremor worse, her muscles refusing to lock, the gun wobbling uselessly in her grip.
"Come on," she groaned under her breath, furious with herself.
Her hands would not steady.
The pickup lurched suddenly.
"Shit," John shouted. "Something’s wrong with the road."
The vehicle fishtailed hard, the rear end skidding as if the ground had dropped away beneath them, the whole frame shuddering before John fought it back into line. The pursuing car closed the gap in that instant, headlights flaring bright enough to flood the cab.
Malcolm fired again.
The shot cracked straight into the front of the pursuing vehicle, dead center.
Nothing happened.
The windshield held.
"Armored," someone shouted.
Malcolm shifted without hesitation.
More rounds slammed into their truck. Aaron ducked lower in the back, the guard flattening beside him as bullets tore into the stacked meat, splitting bags and spraying dark into the bed.
Iyisha lifted her head and Malcolm saw it.
He shoved her down instantly, one hand firm at the back of her neck, forcing her below the window line.
"Stay down," he said, voice sharp.
She obeyed, cheek pressed to the seat, heart hammering as gunfire ripped overhead.
Malcolm leaned out again and fired low.
The second tire burst with a violent crack.
The pursuing car swerved, sparks flying as rubber shredded, the vehicle spinning and slamming to a stop across the road.
For a split second, Iyisha thought it was over.
The pursuing car spun out behind them, headlights skidding sideways, the road opening ahead like an escape. Her breath hitched, a shaky almost laugh tearing at her throat as relief surged too fast, too bright.
Then their pickup slowed.
Not a controlled stop. Not deliberate.
The pickup started to lose momentum and John swore loudly, the word sharp and ugly as the wheel jerked beneath his hands.
"What’s happening?" Fenigan demanded, already twisting in his seat.
John fought the steering as the truck dragged and lurched, metal scraping hard underneath. "Axle," he snapped. "I think we clipped it back there. It’s not holding."
Iyisha’s stomach dropped. She looked at Malcolm, searching his face for something solid, something steady. His jaw was set, eyes already tracking the road and the mirrors, calculating.
The pickup shuddered again, slowed, then finally rolled to a stop at a crooked angle, snow crunching under the tires as John slammed his fist against the wheel and cursed viciously.
"Damn it."
Fenigan was already on the radio, voice fast and tight. "Base, we’re disabled. Axle damage. Hostiles behind us. We need that backup now."
Iyisha lifted her head slowly, breath trembling, cold forgotten now beneath the weight settling in her chest. Her fingers curled tight into the seat as she stared at the shapes closing in, the reality crashing down hard.
They were still inside the pickup.
Trapped.
And whatever came next was not going to let them leave.
