34. Cole
The thought of Trish held captive was distracting enough without Zeke calling in every five seconds to see how I was doing.
I wasn't doing well. Trish's phone didn't pick up. Following the sound of the siren, I found the ambulance weaving tight circles in a mostly-deserted mall parking lot. The white-clad Reaper was still driving one-handed, firing his gun through the windshield with the other. My first instinct was to wait for him to run out of ammunition. It had to happen sometime. Then it would be my job to move him toward Zeke's trap by convincing him that I was trying to explode his vehicle... without actually exploding the vehicle. Or even letting it come to any danger at all. Hopefully, Trish could wait it out in the back of the ambulance. I imagined her unconscious body slamming into walls lined with metal cabinets. Were there seat belts in the backs of ambulances? Best not to think of it.
I had just settled on my heels at the apex of the mall's roof when a swarm of Reapers appeared down the road, apparently following the sound of the ambulance siren. It was going to be harder to corral the ambulance if the driver had backup. I fired a few tight, low-power bolts at the ambulance's roof, aiming for the lights despite the constant swerving. The siren screeched and then died when the third spark impacted. If the driver heard the siren's last warble over the sound of his own insanity, he didn't show it. His one-handed gunfire continued. The lights continued flashing. Maybe the ambulance would run out of gas and he'd get bored and join his friends. Or maybe he'd get bored and decide to decorate the ambulance with a thousand beautiful bullet holes. Agitation set my hands sparking again. There were too many ways this could go wrong.
Scanning the area that would soon be a battlefield, I was considering my approach when another cluster of Reapers appeared two blocks away, to the east. Where were they all coming from? Where were the cops? Even though I'd killed the siren, two groups were heading this way. At least they couldn't bring turrets, not at that pace. Could they?
There was a tiny flash of light from the shoulder of one of the nearest Reapers, still two blocks away. A black object flew toward the parking lot, trailing a gray cloud of smoke as it veered left. The instant it disappeared into a row of parked vehicles, there was an explosion. Glass shattered in a ball of flames. A car door flew into the air. Car alarms howled.
The ambulance screeched to a halt, half the parking lot away, before weaving between rows of parked cars in reverse.
Down the street, two more Reapers were hoisting the barrels of massive guns to their shoulders in preparation to fire another round of rocket-propelled grenades. What were they aiming for?
Wait. Rocket-propelled grenades? Bad days just seemed to get worse.
I needed to end things immediately, here. No complicated ambush strategies, just a light show resting on the hope the driver got the message. It would need to be a big light show to compete with the cars that were now exploding at regular intervals at the far end of the parking lot, but I was more than ready to let loose with everything I had.
I dropped to the ground, going sparky. My craters could be impressive, but the driver was busy slaloming between light poles two lanes away. I ran straight for the ambulance, letting lightning play loose and fast over my skin.
I arrived at the entrance of the lane just as the driver – dressed in white, not the typical Reaper red – pulled the ambulance around the opposite end. He – no, it was a female Reaper – stopped firing her gun. Half a football field away, I heard her laughter, high and cackling. She pulled in her gun arm to grip the steering wheel with both hands. The engine roared to life and the ambulance leaped forward, bearing down on me.
Ambulances may be more or less a steel boxes on wheels, but they have the horsepower and tight handling to get where they need to go fast. I stood my ground, bracing for impact by folding my reserve energy around my body.
When the ambulance was twenty car-lengths away, I saw a curved gray line of smoke etched into the blue sky, high but falling fast. The grenade's arcing trajectory would bring it raining down directly onto the ambulance.
I sprinted forward. The driver leaned over the wheel, staring me down and laughing. Playing chicken with a speeding vehicle was one thing, but my plan was about to take stupidity to new heights. Eyes locked upward on the grenade, I curled my fingers into fists and channeled the energy I had planned to use as a body-wide shield into my leg muscles. My tendons hummed with tension, muscles aching. I was going to have to jump to reach the grenade in time.
In the time it took me to sprint two long strides, the ambulance had halved the distance between us. I could hear the whistle of the descending grenade.
Half a second passed. I could see the specks of dead insects marring the ambulance's front bumper. The Reaper's teeth glistened black.
Another leaping step. In the flashing red and white light, shards of windshield glass glittered on the dash. There was a smell of burnt tire rubber.
I planted both my feet and bent my knees, coiling to spring up and forward. If I was going to deflect the falling grenade in mid-air, timing was everything.
The Reaper threw back her head, laughing. There was a small window behind the driver's seat, looking into the rear of the ambulance. Across the window was a spray of short, chestnut-brown hair.
Trish!
My knees locked. I lost what little control I had over the electricity. Lightning flew from my hands, elbows, shoulders and knees. The few parked cars on either side rocked backward.
Half a car-length away, the ambulance kept coming.
Too late, I tried to jump onto its hood. With dual meaty snaps, the bumper struck my shins. I tucked my arms in. As the ambulance swerved, I slid sideways off the narrow hood. Lights flashing, the ambulance skidded away.
Over the sound of the Reaper's laughter and the roaring engine came an increasingly high-pitched whine. I looked up into the face of a grenade.