Viva La Vida

Part 4

"All clear in the back?"

Liam squints at the road, trying to make out the shimmering dust cloud behind them. "There's something. I can't tell if it's just the glare off the road, or something else." He squints even more fiercely. "I think it might be one or two cars."

"Right." Louis' voice is tense, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a cloud surrounding his head. Apparently, he's a stress smoker. Zayn is calmly counting bullets into the cup holding between the two front seats and then slotting them neatly into guns or ammo pouches. His swift, efficient movements are mesmerizing.

"They're definitely cars" Harry says. "They're going fast, too. Above the speed limit."

"It could be nothing," Liam says hopefully.

"The radar says it's them," Zayn interrupts. It's kind of annoying, how calm he is. "We're gonna have a fight on our hands one way or another, most likely. I want you two to stay in van no matter what, yeah?"

"Okay."

"Lou, you have your vest?"

Louis' grin is edged in cigarette ash. "You can bet on it, Knockout."

"Keep that pedal to the metal, bro."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"They're still catching up," Harry says, his voice strained.

Neither of the men in the front seat say anything, but Liam can see that they're so tense they're shaking. Louis' face is set in a hard smirk; Zayn's still impassive as he tugs up his shirt to reveal a bullet-proof vest made of thin, flexible material. He straightens it out, drops his shirt back down, and tosses Louis two handguns and an ammo pouch.

"How close?"

"Still a ways."

"Sharp right when I say so," Zayn murmurs to Louis.

"You got it."

"Sharp right where?" Harry asks, his voice steadily climbing. "There's no other roads here, we're on the highway."

"Don't worry about it, Your Curliness," Louis says. "Just keep us updated on how close they are. Zayn, how close is the base?"

Zayn purses his lips. "About another two hours. Hour and a half, maybe."

"If something happens to the van—"

"—that's about threeish days on foot, if we can't call someone to help us."

"Got it."

"They're getting closer. Two hundred meters, maybe."

"Shit." Zayn unbuckles his seatbelt. "I'm coming back there with you lads, hold on."

Liam turns and watches as Zayn ungracefully clambers over the front seat and slides into the back space of the van with them; it's crowded with three people, and Liam can start to smell the sweat of fear on his two companions. You wouldn't guess that Zayn is scared from looking at him, though—he's calmly craning his neck to peer over Harry's shoulder, and then slipping over to the door, fingers curling around the handle. Liam can feel his body heat, the smoky smell of his gun, the ghost imprint of his hand where it'd briefly touched Liam's shoulder.

"Louis, get ready." He turns to Liam and Harry. "You two are going to have to jump when I say so, can you do that?"

"Out of a moving car?" Harry asks doubtfully.

"Hopefully we won't be going as fast by that time, but yes. Suck it up, Your Grace. Some of us want to live to see tomorrow."

A tense silence falls over the car at the reminder of the danger approaching behind them, and everyone but Louis peers out of the back window to see two cars speeding closer.