Page 80 of Rebel
For twenty minutes, the run is smooth. Too smooth.
Divine’s voice crackles through the comms.“Traffic’s thin. No tails. You’re clear up to Alameda.”
“Copy,” Rebel answers.
Then static hits.
Not noise, but static. Layered, rhythmic, like a signal trying to eat itself.
“Divine?” I call.
Nothing.
“Rebel, hold position.”
The explosion cuts me off.
The van jolts sideways, back tire shredding in a blast of dust and glass. Metal screams. I gun the throttle, closing the distance as another shot punches through the side panel.
“Rebel!”
Smoke swallows the road. I skid the bike sideways, dismount, and run. The van’s front end crumples against a light pole, steam hissing. My lungs burn with gasoline and panic.
The driver’s door is open, swinging.
Empty.
A trail of boot prints leads toward the underpass. A smear of blood and the echo of distant engines.
I sprint. The world narrows to pulse and pavement. The tracks split near the drainage ditch. Tire marks, heavy tread, tactical pattern.
A black SUV roars out of the shadows ahead, tinted windows, no plates.
I raise my gun. They’re too far away, moving too fast. The SUV fishtails, throwing dust, and disappears down the access road before I can fire a clean shot.
“Divine!” I bark into comms. “Rebel’s down! Van is hit and empty. She’s taken!”
Static. Then Divine’s voice slams through, shredded with panic.“I lost her tracker! The feed’s dead!”
I spin toward the wreck, scanning, thinking. The van’s cargo doors are still closed, riddled with bullet holes. No sign of her gear, no sign of her phone.
Only one thing was left on the asphalt. Her cut. I grab it off the ground, blood streaking the skull patch, heat biting my palm. Alex died in front of me. Now his sister’s gone the same way, into smoke and silence. The universe really knows how to aim low.
Too late, Bishop.Always too late.
The next six hours blur into fury and asphalt. We sweep every back road east of downtown. Raven and French run recon, Divine hijacks every street cam she can find. Allura’s voice over the comm is steady steel, but I can hear it fray at the edges.
Still no trace.
Then Divine finds something. A partial ping off an old Vultures network node, bouncing between shuttered warehouses and the outskirts of the desert.
“They’re moving her,”Divine says through the comms. “East, toward the dry basin. Looks like they’ve got a compound out there. Guard rotation’s military-grade.”
I grip the handlebars so tight my gloves creak. “Drop me a pin.”
“Carter.”
“Do it.” I interrupt.
