Cold gripped me. “Kurt?”
“He didn’t make it.”
Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Poor Kurt. Poor Leon.
“Catalina found him when they got back down there. By the time it got to me, all I caught was Vincent speeding off from Hammerly onto Sam Houston. I tracked him all the way to I-10, then lost him.”
“You sure it was him?” Bern asked.
“I saw the white cat in the window.”
Matilda never went anywhere without that cat.
We passed Addick’s Road.
“Where is Rogan?” I asked.
“Look above you,” Bug said.
I dipped my head to look out the windshield. A helicopter was flying low overhead.
“That tunnel would’ve taken awhile,” I thought out loud. “Vincent had to have watched us drill for tornados. He would’ve tunneled under there in advance and waited. He knew the exact moment.” All of which meant Vincent Harcourt or his people were watching us, or someone betrayed us. Rogan would just love that.
“Good strategy with the truck,” Bern observed in a detached way.
“Yes. Vincent knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun Rogan, so he didn’t try.” Even if Vincent had a helicopter of his own, nothing would stop Rogan from getting into striking range.
“Why Matilda?” Bern wondered.
“Because Jessica wasn’t there. Whatever creatures he sent probably knew they had to grab the boy and the girl, so they did.”
Minutes dripped by. Bern wove in and out of traffic with inch-narrow margins of error. Asking Bug if he had anything was pointless.
“Think he’s dumb enough to take the HOV lane?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t,” Bern said. “He’d be trapped in it.”
A row of white metal poles separated the High Occupancy Vehicle lane from the rest of the traffic. The HOV traffic moved faster. Fewer cars, more visibility. I’d hide in the slow-moving right lane or in the middle. I’d want to exit if things got too hot.
The helicopter veered left.
“What’s going on?” I said into the phone.
“A white truck took the exit to Barker Cypress. The camera caught something white in the window.” Bug’s voice vibrated with tension.
“Should I take the exit?” Bern asked.
To exit or not? Swinging off the highway onto the side street was a good strategy. It would get Vincent away from the focus of our search.
“Nevada?”
The exit waited just ahead. I would get off the highway in his place, but I wouldn’t do it with the chopper overhead. Too risky. And if it was the right truck, Rogan would handle it.
“I need an answer,” Bern said.
“No. Stay in the lane.”
We crept forward. This was awful, even for Houston. Something had to be going on ahead, roadwork, an accident, some disaster to account for this crawl.
“The truck sped up,” Bug reported. “They are chasing it down.”
Greenhouse Road.
“I’m getting the feed now. It’s the right truck.”
If Bug said it was the right truck, it was the right truck. He had one of the best visual recognition capacities on the planet.
It just didn’t feel right.
The Fry Road exit veered off ahead.
Bern looked at me. I shook my head. We would stay put.
I wanted to run, punch, scream, do something, but instead I had to sit. We rolled forward.
A blue flash dashed by me on the shoulder. I stuck my head out of the open window. Zeus.
“Follow the cat! Bern!”
He swung the car onto the shoulder and barreled down the lane to the symphony of outraged honking, between the line of cars and the waist-high concrete barrier bordering the edge of the highway.
The blue tiger charged down the highway, massive legs pumping, its tail curling up and straightening with each leap. The fringe of tentacles spread upright from its neck like a glowing corona with a turquoise star on each end of the ray. If I lived a hundred years, I’d never forget this.
Zeus leaped, forward and to the left, and landed on top of a car in the middle lane. His paws slid. He teetered, jumped forward, and crouched in the back of a black Ford 150 truck. Bern screeched to a halt.
Zeus’ fur stood on end. His muzzle wrinkled. His lips rose in a ferocious snarl, revealing curved dagger fangs. The fringe pulsed with crimson. Magic thumped. A pulse of crimson ripped into the cab, biting at it. The Ford tore out of the lane, ramming into a blue Honda Civic. The impact pushed the Civic out of its lane, blocking us. The massive Ford screeched free and swung onto the shoulder and roared off with Zeus snarling.
Crap.
Bern laid on the horn. The woman in the Civic waved her arms, spinning around. Stuck.
“Bug, it’s not a white Chevy, it’s a black Ford!” I stuck my head out of the window and screamed. “Get out of the way!”
The woman flipped me off.
“Get out of the way!”
People behind the Civic honked. The woman picked up her cell phone. Damn it. She would sit right here until the cops arrived.
Bern laid on the horn.
Something thudded against our car. The Ford Explorer rocked and groaned, accepting a massive weight. I spun around and saw something dark in the rear window. The top of the cab bent inward. I pulled my gun out.
An enormous shaggy paw lowered onto the hood, then another, and then a giant bear belly blocked out the sun. Sergeant Teddy slid off our roof and landed in front of the car. He lumbered over to the Civic.
The woman dropped her phone.
The huge grizzly leaned against the Civic and pushed. The small car slid back into its lane. Sergeant Teddy took a running start and landed on our hood. The Ford creaked. The grizzly slid over us and landed on the pavement, his huge head taking up the entire rear window. Claws scraped against metal. The hatchback rose and Sergeant Teddy climbed into the back. Even with the third row of seats stowed away, he barely fit. Suddenly the car was full of bear.
Bern turned slowly and looked at me, his eyes as big as saucers.
“They’re getting away!” I yelled at him. “Drive!”
He shook himself and stepped on the gas. The Ford jerked forward. We sped down the shoulder.
Ahead, crimson magic flashed again.
“Bug?” I resisted the urge to shake the phone. “Bug?”
“. . . Yes?”
“Black Ford F-150, driving on the shoulder of I-10 just west of Fry Road exit. Get eyes on it.”
There was a pause. “Drone launching now. It will take a few minutes from the helicopter.”
The highway climbed as the road picked up altitude for an overpass. If we went over the side now, it was all over.
Ahead the black truck veered wildly, scraped the side of the concrete barrier, bounced off, skimmed the line of cars, and slammed on the brakes. Zeus flattened himself in the cab. He was trying to shake off the tiger.
“There are children in that truck,” Bern growled.
“I don’t think he cares.”
Gun shots popped like firecrackers. The deep roar of a pissed-off carnivore answered.
Bern sped up to forty-five miles per hour. Our Explorer grazed the concrete on the right with a sickening screech. He straightened it out.
The distance between us shrank.
“Almost got him,” Bern said, his face savage.
The sign for the exit for Westgreen Road came up ahead.
“Take the exit,” I prayed.
The truck laid on the horn. The line of cars parted and he tore through the gap.
“Damn it.”
Bern laid on the horn. Sergeant Teddy roared. The cars slammed on their brakes and we shot through the same gap. I stuck my finger into my left ear and shook it to clear the ringing out.
The Ford was only a few dozen yards ahead now, but picking up speed. It grazed the cars on the left and bounced into the concrete barrier. My heart skipped a beat.
The barrier held.
The truck looked old, the back of the bed chipped. Likely stolen. Stolen truck probably meant it didn’t have the fancy run-flat tires.
“Keep it steady.” I leaned out of the window.
“Kids,” Bern reminded me.
“I remember.”
Either I shot the tires now, or they would wreck and go off the highway. I aimed at the right rear tire and squeezed the trigger.