Toxic ran the last few steps toward freedom and bumped into Dixon on the way out.
There was a puff of air.
Toxic stumbled, and Lila spied the small black dart in her neck.
Dixon grabbed Toxic and helped her slide to the ground unharmed.
Tristan took advantage of the distraction. Scarf masking his face, he burst through the door and charged. Lila drew her Colt and snaked around the door behind him. Two blackcoats, a male and female, swiveled away from Dixon to the new threat.
Tristan barreled toward them with the force of a bullet train.
Lila hid behind the door and fired a dart into the woman’s neck while Tristan knocked her partner onto his back. The man struggled to breathe as he hit the ground, and Tristan shot him with a dart.
“Diana to Command, send reinforcements to Chaucer’s Ghost,” his radio called out as Lila and Tristan dragged the sleeping blackcoats away from the truck. While they worked, Dixon tossed Frank over his shoulder and placed him in the truck bed. Tristan slid Toxic in after him.
The bundle of children in the alley had already disappeared.
Lila was glad for it. “We need to leave before the other two realize we’re here.” She wrenched open the truck’s passenger door. “I’m not shooting another blackcoat.”
“No way we’re leaving. That’s some highborn shit right there. We don’t run, we take them out, now,” Tristan said, spinning around and sprinting toward the mouth of the alley. Dixon offered Lila a small wink before taking off behind him.
Lila shoved her satchel under the passenger seat and followed behind them, Colt drawn, stomach twisting up, every cell in her body sending up an SOS to get away while they still had the chance. She was all too aware of the star drive in her laptop bag and what it contained. The hacked data broke several laws in several different countries. They’d argue over who had the right to hang her first.
“Stupid, sloppy, reckless man,” she muttered, running after Tristan, glad that her mesh hood would hide her identity. “Where are the others?”
“Doing their job.”
“Which is?”
“Covering our ass,” Tristan whispered, sliding to a stop at the mouth of the alley. He peered around the edge of the building, then ducked back again.
Sirens started up near the Wilson compound, only a minute or two away from their location.
A shot rang out at the front of the building, nothing but a puff of air.
One of the blackcoats swung around the corner, her weapon drawn.
Tristan fired.
The woman slumped to the ground at his feet.
Above them, an owl hooted, or at least Lila believed it to be an owl. One of the lookouts stood on the roof’s edge, revolver in hand, lips curved in satisfaction. He pointed back at the front door and tugged his ear.
Tristan gave him a thumbs-up and spun his finger in a circle above his head.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said, snatching up her hand as he ran back to the truck. “They got the other one. We’re clear.”
Dixon shoved the fallen blackcoat out of the street and followed Lila and Tristan down the alley. While Lila hopped into the truck cab, the two men quickly covered Frank and Toxic with a tarp, then piled into the truck with her jammed in the middle.
By the time Tristan backed the truck from the alley, the two lookouts had climbed down from the roof. They didn’t leap into the bed of the truck. Instead, they raced down the sidewalk.
“Where are they going?”
“To get the bikes. They parked in a garage a few streets over,” Tristan answered, yanking down his scarf and gunning the engine.
The militia spotted the truck before it turned the first corner. Four cruisers, lights whirling and sirens blaring, zoomed behind. The first stopped in front of Chaucer’s Ghost, narrowly missing the patrol vehicle. The rest did not deviate from their target. Bystanders on the streets backed away from the curbs and watched the chase as a dog might watch a ball.
Dixon took out his revolver, dumped its darts onto the floorboard, and loaded a magazine full of live ammunition.