Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah...
There was a thump on the roof.
Henri-Mae looked up from where she had settled herself against the inside wall. All around her, Farrell's men looked up, already tense, guns coming out.
It wasn't the most pleasant environment anyway, the inside of a trailer car. It smelled musty and thick, as there was little ventilation, if any. At first she hadn't believed that Farrell wanted her inside it.
"Why not just leave me behind?" she asked. "Lock me in the back of the truck, like you did Bo in the trunk." They had long since left that car behind, and had briefly used the armored car until the semi had arrived. The ten million dollars – like three giant stone blocks – had been transferred hastily, but the process still took forever. And the armored car – she had never seen one so huge. Apparently ten million dollars took up a lot of space. She was sure the back would have enough air to last her until help arrived.
Farrell smiled at her, and tapped his nose. "You owe me," he said.
"I'll break the rest of your face if you try anything on me again," she warned. "I'm probably more trouble than I'm worth."
Farrell laughed. "Who said I'd be doing anything?" he remarked cryptically, sending an unpleasant shudder into her stomach. What exactly he meant, she had no clue, but she was sure it was thoroughly reprehensible.
There were metal folding chairs, and several electric lanterns with large batteries placed in all corners. The large, rectangular space was not meant for human comfort, and it swayed and rocked them all uncomfortably. She'd eventually gone criss-cross on the floor, just to keep her from getting carsick.
But now, there was a heavy knot of tension in her stomach. The driver had sharply informed Farrell not thirty seconds ago that there was a motorcycle in front of them, and that one of the passengers was getting ready to jump onto the semi. He's sounded panicked, and for a moment the sway of the truck had been nearly terrifying.
"Don't tip us over, you idiot!" Farrell screeched, and the swaying stopped, but then came the thump.
"It's a girl!" the driver said over the radio.
Farrell's lip twisted. "Gabrielle," he sighed. "Shoot her."
"What?" came one voice, but the older man, Barley, who was clearly Farrell's right hand man, had already cocked a shotgun and fired it straight up into the ceiling.
Henri-Mae jumped. The lining of the trailer car fluttered down on them, letting in sunbeams with thick dust dancing in them.
"Shoot her!" Farrell said, more sharply, and suddenly all the guns were going off, like firecrackers in July. Henri-Mae put both arms over her head, but she was still covered with thick white stuff—
And then, something came through the roof.
It was to be expected. They put so many holes in the ceiling, nothing could have stayed on that surface. But what landed not two feet from her, as if she'd planned it, was not what Henri-Mae had expected.
"Gabrielle!"
Balladeer: Hope that girl is bulletproof.
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Bo and Luke watched in frozen horror as Gabrielle danced on the top of the trailer cab, the ceiling coming up from under her boots. The cracking sounds clearly belayed the gunshots, but she dodged each and every bullet, as if it were all rehearsed for her. She knew exactly where to step, until finally, with little roof left under her feet, she gripped the edge of the truck, balanced herself perfectly on her hands for a brief second, and then torpedoed her body straight into the truck body.
"Go around the rear!" came Michael's voice, to which they were not quite accustomed, but was startlingly clear given the circumstances. "She knows what she's doing, just go around the rear!"
Bo hastened to obey, wondering even though his panicked haze why he was doing so, so blindly. Maybe it was the knowledge that Henri-Mae was inside that truck, and he didn't know what was going on, and that the possibility of finding out seemed most likely to happen if he was right up the truck's rear end.
However, it was just at the moment that he had finally gotten the General maneuvered behind the semi, that the back of the truck seemed to explode.
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Gabrielle reached over and grabbed her arm. The grip was such that Henri-Mae was yanked to her feet, but quickly whisked back out of the way as the bullets came flying at them. How they dodged out of the way, she would never know – the world became a shadowy blur of mottled gray as Gabrielle's speed became incredible, her movements catlike and precise.
She had on thick soled biker boots, the kind that were more closely related to platform shoes than actual boots. Which also meant she could put an enormous amount of pressure in a kick without hurting herself. Instead of aiming the first kick at the gunmen, though, she had managed to get herself and Henri-Mae not three feet from the very back, where the huge door was bolted shut from the inside.
One kick. That was all it took. Unfortunately, the catch was at the top, and when the door fell open, it fell like a makeshift ramp. To make matters worse, Henri-Mae had been propelled against the door with the force of Gabrielle's movements, and when the door gave way, she found herself tipping backwards and out into the open air.
Something caught her. She wasn't sure what, but something slowed her fall and gave her enough control of her movements to stay on the door and not go toppling onto the freeway, which whizzed past her at a dizzying speed. She wound up on the upper part of the door, low enough to avoid the hailstorm after her, high enough to keep from getting burned by the fireworks of sparks being caused by the metal scraping viciously against the road. She looked up but couldn't see anything – just a blur of motion coming from the truck, and the flickering light of the makeshift embers.
She wasn't sure which way to go. Back toward the truck would mean getting shot. Farther down toward the freeway meant a nasty burn at the best, being run over at the worst.
She heard a familiar horn.
Balladeer: Ah, the sweet sounds of Dixie.
Henri-Mae looked up. A bright orange car was hovering close by.
The General Lee.
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At first, the cousins watched open-mouthed as Henri-Mae came toppling out of the back, just seconds from the gunfire that followed her. How she didn't go tumbling and wind up under the General's wheels was impossible, but even more impossible was how Gabrielle was keeping from getting riddled with holes. She charged back into the fray, and guns came tumbling toward the back of the truck. One of them landed in the far corner, the handle of which just tottered over the edge.
Henri-Mae seemed to get her bearings when out of impulse Bo had blasted the horn. Slowly she turned herself, and crawled back up toward the truck. She saw the gun and reached for it, but a man suddenly went flying out of the back of the blur and knocked the gun clean from her grasp. It wasn't so much that he made a grab for it himself, but he was tumbling unconscious and would have followed Henri-Mae right onto the opened door himself. She stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was going to get up, but when he didn't move, a cold feeling rushed over her, wondering if he was---
A hand grasped her. She was being pulled back into the trailer. She recognized Gabrielle, looking a bit like she'd just stepped out of a tornado.
"You okay?" she shouted.
Henri-Mae could only nod.
Gabrielle pointed at the General Lee. Bo saw it instantly. She crooked her finger, indicating them to get closer. Instead, the Dodge Charger just swerved – with those sparks still flying, getting too close was a real hazard.
Henri-Mae looked back into the trailer. Several men lay unconscious, but Farrell didn't seem to be among them. "Where's Danny!" she shouted at Gabrielle over the scream of the wind.
"Don't worry," Gabrielle said. "I got it covered. You're getting your butt over to the General – it's not safe for you over here."
Henri-Mae stared at her for a moment. She couldn't have heard her right. "You want me to jump?" she asked, incredulous.
Gabrielle smiled at her. She grasped Henri-Mae by the upper arms, and with the ease of tossing a child, she sent her gently through the air.
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