Grinning, he tossed the keys into the air and caught them with one hand. “Must be my lucky day.”
The tinny thwack! of a bullet penetrating steel punctuated the statement. Thwack! Thwack!
“Get down!”
The next thing Emily knew, she was being shoved to the ground. She got a mouthful of snow, and then Zack was on top of her. Thwack! Thwack! His body jerked with each gunshot. She could feel her own nerves jumping, terror beginning to flood her. Thwack!
“Damn it!”
She looked up to see the right front tire explode. Then her hand was locked within his and she was being dragged to her feet. “Run!”
She heard fear in his voice. Felt that same fear galloping through her own system. Adrenaline fed her muscles and within a few steps she was running full-out.
“Where to?” Zack shouted.
“My car. In the lot.”
“We’re sitting ducks in the lot.”
The pop of gunshots sounded behind them. Floodlights as bright as the sun flashed on. The outdoor sirens began to wail. Emily looked over her shoulder and saw a dozen men silhouetted against the prison walls.
“They’re shooting at us!” she said.
“I don’t know why that would come as a surprise.”
Something that felt like a red-hot baseball bat traveling at the speed of sound slammed into her upper arm. She yelped at the sudden burst of pain. The impact knocked her off balance. Her legs tangled. Zack’s hand was torn from hers as she went down hard on her stomach.
“Emily!”
She lifted her head, saw him rushing toward her, his face taut with horror. She had snow in her eyes. In her mouth. In her hair. Down the front of her shirt. For some reason, her arm was burning like the dickens.
“Are you hit?” He went to his knees beside her, reached for her, pulled her toward him. “Are you hurt?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think—”
“Damn it!”
She looked over to see his fingers probing the tear in her coat. Now how had that happened? Weren’t the SORT team marksmen supposed to be shooting at Zack? Since when had she become a target? “Oh, my God.”
“You’ve been shot.” He glanced over his shoulder, cursed. Four men in full SORT team assault gear were two hundred yards away and closing fast. “Can you run?”
“I don’t think I have a choice.”
Pulling her to her feet, he looked around. “We need a vehicle.”
“The utility garage.” She pointed with her good arm. “Over there.”
“Let’s move.” Taking hold of her uninjured arm, he tugged her into a run toward the corrugated-steel utility garage.
One of the four overhead doors stood partly open. Emily and Zack ducked under the door and burst into the building. Country music billowed from a radio atop a toolbox. Two ATVs were parked near the first bay. A small yellow bulldozer hulked in the corner. Two four-wheel-drive trucks with the Lockdown, Inc. logo on the doors sat at bays two and three.
A scrawny young man wearing insulated coveralls looked up from the engine he was working on. His face blanched at the sight of Zack. “You’re the escapee,” he said.
“I’m your worst nightmare if you don’t find us a vehicle pronto,” Zack said.
The young man looked as if he were about to swallow his tongue. “Take whatever you want.” He pointed. “If it were me, I’d go for the snowmobile. Weatherman says we’re going to get dumped on.”
Wondering what else could go wrong, Zack darted to the snowmobile, shot a hard look at the kid. “Where are the keys?”
The young man raised a trembling hand and pointed. “O-on the bulletin board,” he squeaked.
Emily crossed to the bulletin board, snatched the keys off a hook and tossed them at Zack. He caught them with one hand, then said, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll run out that door and forget you ever saw us.”
The wrench the kid was holding clattered to the floor. Backing away, he spun and sprinted through the door without looking back.
Emily watched him disappear into the falling snow. She could hear voices and shouting coming through the open door. No doubt the prison SORT team and tower guards were assessing the situation. It was only a matter of minutes before they stormed the place.
Somewhere in the distance an engine fired. She watched Zack pull a small bundle from the satchel and set it on the floor beneath one of the trucks.
“Give me that gas can,” he ordered.
Emily spotted the red can next to the workbench, picked it up and handed it to Zack. “What are you doing?”
“Just taking out a little insurance.” He placed the can next to the bundle, then dashed to the snowmobile, picked up two helmets and slid onto the seat. “Come here.”
She met him at the snowmobile. Her arm was burning and throbbing. Light-headed, she wondered if the wound was more than just a graze.
“You okay?” Eyeing her intently, he lifted one of the helmets and slid it gently onto her head.