Chapter 9 - The Wreckage
The heavy armored van careened entirely off the highway, crashing violently through a wooden guardrail.
It rolled down a steep, muddy embankment before slamming nose-first into a massive oak tree.
Claire was thrown from the roof, crashing painfully into the thick, wet blackberry bushes.
She groaned, her entire body battered and bruised, but raw adrenaline forced her back to her feet.
She limped with a heavy limp toward the smoking wreckage of the destroyed van.
The driver was completely dead, crushed beyond recognition against the steering column.
Claire ripped the rear doors open, her ceramic pistol drawn and steady.
The mercenaries in the back were incapacitated, groaning in severe pain among the twisted metal and deployed airbags.
Luke was chained to a steel bench, bleeding heavily from his forehead but completely conscious.
"I told you I wasn't just an accountant," Claire said, shooting the heavy lock off his steel chains.
Luke stared at her in absolute awe as she pulled him safely out of the smoking vehicle.
"You just took down a heavily armed hit squad entirely by yourself," he whispered.
"We aren't safe yet," Claire warned, handing him a stolen assault rifle from one of the downed mercenaries.
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"We need to get off the grid and decode Vance’s encrypted syndicate files to clear our names."
A sleek black helicopter suddenly breached the tree line, shining a massive, blinding spotlight directly onto them.
