Felicity reached for the door to her space and found nothing to put her hand on. It had opened for her that morning when all she wanted was a bruised apple for Frost. She tried to picture the shelf where she'd found it. What came to mind instead was the driver's seat of a wrecked truck and a square of dirty glass with her own face in it. She was still in the road, and the General was picking up speed.
"It's coming straight down the middle," she called. "Leave me a way out on the right."
Voss brought a spear across the lane. Damien got his tail under the truck and hauled its rear wheels around to block the opening. From the far side of the factory she heard a wheel rim bang on a second truck. A whole line of dead had taken the weight together and pushed it across the way out. The General had let them waste their strength moving the wrong one.
