It was no great surprise to see the man flying. Karkash always kept enough metal under his clothes to support his own weight, and from there, it was merely a matter of manipulating magnetic fields around himself. Stoker spared it no thought, just like the hole in his chest.
In the driver’s seat, he backed the truck up against oncoming traffic. He cut over the median and spun the wheel around until the truck was facing the open road. He floored it.
Karkash dwindled in the mirror. But he didn’t disappear. And after a moment, Stoker saw lightning leap toward the truck and crash just behind it.
He stuck his arm out the window and left a trail of fog. It wasn’t much, but at least it would make his giant metal deathtrap more difficult to hit.
‘Nize?’ he thought while his ribcage filled back in.
He couldn’t exactly look back to check on her. ‘Talk to me, Nize. Are you wounded?’
‘Losing consciousness... just keep going...’
A wall of white filled the rearview mirror, but from what Stoker knew of Karkash’s flying prowess, this truck probably wouldn’t be enough to lose him.
Hector had to wait in the trunk while Colt booked a room at the Sunny Days Motel--a name which, by the look of the place, was perhaps more fitting ten years ago. No longer planning to go to Walton, they’d stayed on the outskirts of Maxwell, in want of a better destination.
Hector knew that he must have looked like hell, because there was only one bed in the room, and Colt conceded it to him straight away.
He managed to get some more sleep, letting the aches and fatigue wash over him again, but he was soon awoken by his phone. It was Gina.
<“Are you watching this?”> she said. <“Or are you already there?”>
Hector glanced across the others. “What are you talking about?”
<“Are you near a television?”>
“Yeah. Hold on...”