Six swerved the Audi off the main road at the first turn and accelerated down a narrow country lane away from the streetlights and into pitch black. The headlights were on a low beam, sweeping over the road and hedges flying past on both sides.
We saw the turn late. Six skidded the car over the ground and jammed his foot on the accelerator, throwing us down the lane.
My phone buzzed. I opened the link Silas had sent. It was a detailed map showing our current location and every country lane around us. It gave a route to a destination 50 kilometres away.
“Isolated farmhouse,” Silas texted. “Change your car there.”
With me acting as navigator, Six took each turn like a rally driver, swerving down every turn at terrifying speeds. For once I was glad it was dark.
I shot a glance behind us every so often, looking for headlights following us, but there was no sign of anyone. I leaned back in my seat, allowing myself to relax a bit.
When we were less than a kilometre from the farmhouse, the headlights caught a dark shape moving ahead of us.
Six had seen it too. He pushed the brake.
The car sped up.
Six frowned and jammed his foot down hard on the brake pedal.
The car sped up again. Then it swerved violently.
Six gripped the steering wheel and hauled it back.
The car veered one way, then the other.
Six struggled with the wheel. I reached over and grabbed the wheel with both hands.
A force wrenched it out of our hands.
The car swerved. It shot straight off the road and ploughed through a hedge.