The sound of gunfire against the body of a car was nothing like the sound of it in open air. It was dense and immediate, a series of impacts that traveled through the frame and into the floor and up through Lora's knees where they pressed against the boards. She had her hands over her ears without deciding to put them there, and above her Val had pulled the revolver from his belt and was returning fire through the window at an angle that should have been impossible given how little of him was visible, but he was doing it anyway with the economy of movement of someone who had shot from worse positions and had not especially enjoyed any of them.
The driver was weaving, deliberately, she understood, the car swinging wide then cutting back to deny the flanking vehicles a clean line. She heard him shout something to Val that she could not parse over the noise. Val answered in two words. The car accelerated.
She pressed herself flatter and focused on breathing.
