Nada's Escape

67- Logistics.

Transport. Food and Water. Navigation. These essentials are now some of the simplest parts of this escape plan. Amy and I start the ball rolling in only a few minutes.

Food is being covered by the former fence-sitters. The Huntsmen have thrown us a bone on this one, giving everyone extra food to prepare dishes for the gala. Adding this food to the stuff we've been hoarding for days; we'll have more than enough for the escape.

Water is next on the list to organise. That's covered by a couple of us collecting jerry cans from the garage, sweet-talking the guard, filling them with water or extra fuel from the taps and nozzles round back, and smiling them back in past the guard to load into our chosen vehicle. Beth steps up and convinces the guard with just a few off-the-cuff words.

"Well, you see, they've run out of ceremonial urns for the punch and so we were asked to grab these for... what's his name whose making it?" Tanja and I play along, shrugging from behind the trolley piled high with aging plastic and metal containers.

The guard, who reminds me of a large furry bear, doesn't ask more than that. He just laughs, "Ah, of course, Gerald never has enough pitchers and bowls. We'll be drinking punch for the next four months."

As we pass back through the doors with half as many full jerries, the furry-bear guard stands up and leans against the door of the garage's one-room office to watch us pass.

"I feel so stupid," Beth admits to the guard, "We took a bunch that still have petrol in them. Gerald didn't want the punch in that, obviously."

The guard's expression doesn't change at all this time, "Yeah the 'F' on the side is for fuel." He turns back into the office, disinterested.

I search the ranks of cars for Laura and Finley. Whilst we were filling the jerries they've been choosing a vehicle to steal. Laura's unofficial internship in the garages is really paying off as the guard has allowed her and Finley to run unsupervised through the ranks, ostensibly conducting post-mission service checks. Not seeing anyone, I shrug and we push the trolley towards the back of the shed, trying to make it look as easy as when they'd been mostly empty. It isn't. The trolley is very heavy.

Laura scampers up to us through the maze of outlanders, with typical fighter stealth. Good to see she's still in shape.

"We've got the one." She hisses and gestures left through the ranks. We follow, wincing at the rattling of the trolley, echoing through the gaping space. I take a peek at the garage guard, but he hasn't looked up from a tangle of fabric on the office desk. The Huntsmen are so busy preparing for the gala that they have no time to notice that we're busy escaping.

We approach a hulking convoy vehicle and slipping around its side away from the office my eyes widen. The wheel wells are as high as my waist and its matte red-brown and orange paint job is perfect camouflage for the desert landscape. As Laura points us into its open back doors I realise this is the vehicle.

It's so much bigger than I expected, but I guess it will definitely fit us and all our gear. It's hard to conceptualise exactly how much space we'll need, at least until Amy gets back to us with the location of the contingency gear. She's under radio silence right now, seeking out sleeping, cooking and camping gear.

Even though the first town's not more than a day's drive, I feel better being self-sufficient. We don't know whether the townsfolk will accept our story, or if the Huntsmen have a spy stationed there. I doubt I'll feel comfortable until we're in a proper city with thousands of humans between us and the Huntsmen. Maybe I'm paranoid but I'm going to make sure we escape for good this time.

"Tyres are still heavily treaded, clutch is smooth enough for a machine this size and she rolls over quicker than a lot of these smaller four-bees." I don't take in much of Laura's description except that its positive. Awesome. As long as it runs.

Finley vaults into the back of the truck, easily standing upright, even near the corners of the arched top.

"You can drive this monster thing?" I ask, grateful that I don't have to try and drive something like this for the escape.

"Almost as well as anyone, I reckon. The first job you get on mission is driving the transport. Here let me help you with those." He points to the jerry cans, half of them filled with water, the other half with diesel. Laura's already taken up lookout duty around the corner and for a while I don't have time to think about much except hefting the exceptionally heavy containers up to the truck. I've been training almost every night and still my shoulders become aching, sweaty bars of pain. I try not to glare jealously at how easily Finley seems to lift them.

I sigh with relief when we finish, "Nice. Transport done." I look around for Beth who ghosted off halfway through the hard work like a worm. We get the back doors bolted shut and I call back Laura to make sure navigation is all in order.

Laura's going to lift a GPS right before we leave tomorrow night and we've got Finley's bluff map, and I hate to say his knowledge, to get us out of the immediate area. Finley points out a padlocked metal safe under the passenger seat which should contain maps enough to guide us if we ever get out of satellite coverage after that. The key for the box hangs on the truck's main keyring, currently swinging from Laura's fingers. Tomorrow night all we have to do is snatch it from the guard office.

Beth reappears with news almost too good to be true, "The guard just told me that the council are letting them off guarding the garage for tomorrow night. So it's going to be unguarded throughout the entire gala."

My first thought is how unbelievably fantastic this is. We're home free. Then Laura echoes my grimmer second thought.

"They'll lock all the doors though, right?"

I almost slam my fist into the side of the truck in frustration, "Shit. Who'll have a key?"

Finley's expression of concern only increases my worry. He taps a finger against his chin in thought, "Whoever's on guard next, maybe? One of the council members."

Like a council member in charge of supplies and stuff? I jump on that second one, voice ringing with restrained hope, "Percival?"

"More likely Hart." We all blink blankly back at him. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly, "He's in charge of battle logistics and gear. Or my father."

I meet Laura's eye with the spark of a key-stealing plan lighting my eyes. Finley cuts in before I can get further than that thought.

"They're both extremely cagey about their stuff. I wouldn't suggest any heroics there." The long look he dishes out to Laura and I is a good dollop of worried father and common sense.

I try to convince myself that Finley's right but a lot of me wants a harder escape. Something to get the heart pumping, not in fear, but in triumph. Some great feat of physical exertion to make me feel like I earned something worthwhile. It's a silly and most likely dangerous feeling but I can't shake it.

I notice I've let the silence drag around us. "Well let's get out of here before someone finds us with our pants around our ankles. We'll leave first and then you." I herd Beth and Tanja back into the ranks of cars, brushing Laura's arm as I leave.

"Meet you back at mine? We've got a job to do." I whisper but even as I do there's no plan yet, just the smallest buds of possibility in my mind. We've got to find out who's next guarding the garages and there's got to be a way to do that.