Dillon kept his distance from the others while they traveled through and out of Denver. Kayla remained quiet, and he couldn't tell if she was still mad or just watching the others. She kept rotating the turret from side to side, checking their flanks even though they were still in a relatively safe area.

  The racers passed a truck convoy outside the Castle Rock suburb, their horns blaring in encouragement. The heavily armed semis passed into his rear camera view and then out of sight before Kayla said anything.

  "I can't imagine anyone taking them on."

  He smiled in relief. Her tone wasn’t surly any longer, and her comment was genuine. The diner saw its share of truckers and gun crews, and the stories they told were guaranteed to make you shudder. It took a special kind of person to embrace the highway life, traversing the dangerous zones between cities.

  "The gangs out here aren't exactly filled with clear thinkers. And if they get lucky, they're set for a long time. Lots will try, usually with one trick or another."

  She hummed noncommittally, and he heard the keyboard at work. After a minute, she sighed. "We’re up to just five followers, and one of those is from your family. At least, that's what I assume 'We heart Dillon' represents. You never mentioned having any groupies."

  He smiled. "Probably my sister Danica. My biggest supporter, in the family at least. I, uh, didn't really have any followers when I was dueling in the arena. I mean, I had some, but they were mostly speed junkies who liked to watch me zip around the track."

  Snorting, she said, "Well, all of the viewers are getting bored. Lots want to know when then shooting is going to start. I guess they were thinking this was going to be like an arena fight."

  "Eric said to expect trouble when we go through the Springs. Lots of biker gangs there, all of them scarred and crazy from the left-over radiation."

  "I'll be ready for them. It'll be a good warm-up for what comes later. Meanwhile, here come some questions. First one. What's your favorite food?"

  "Burgers and fries, especially at our diner. Maurice has his own special seasoning for the patties. Hey, can you hype the restaurant? Home Sweet Diner, in Aurora."

  She laughed, typing in the answer. "This shouldn't be a surprise, but lasagna is mine. My family has a recipe that's been passed down over several generations."

  "Wait, you can cook, too?"

  She laughed. "Of course. After all, a recipe is just like programming. Follow the instructions and you get the correct result."

  "Don't put that in the chat. Maurice would disown me. I don't think the man has any of his specials written down. It's always 'a little of this, a little of that', and then the magic happens."

  "Well, Maurice and I will just have to agree to disagree. Okay, next question."

  ***

  The highway walso-maintained, and twenty minutes later they were approaching Monument Pass, where the I-25 dropped down into the city. Although they'd seen pictures of the devastation many times, the sheer scope of it played out before them when they crested the hill. In the far distance, a massive crater swallowed up where Peterson Air Force Base and the Colorado Springs Airport once sat. The ground for miles around was blackened destruction, still too radioactive for cleanup crews to enter.

  Further out, the suburbs lay in ruins, abandoned by the federal government and left to decay. Here, the freeway took on an ominous look. Five-foot-high concrete barriers lined the road, and the former six lane highway necked down to just three. Old overpasses, no longer in use, were blocked by barriers and strung with metal latticework, to prevent pedestrians from throwing bombs and junk onto the freeway. The road was decent, and here and there they could see unrepaired cracks and potholes. The on and off ramps were blocked with barriers also, although they quickly learned that the gangs found ways to remove those blockages.

  Motorcycles and trikes spilled out onto the freeway from one of these ratholes, engines screaming for all they were worth to get up to speed. By unspoken accord, the nine cars spread out their formation, giving everyone room to maneuver and shoot. However, the Angels car, in the lead since they left Denver, accelerated and began to open the distance between them and the rest of the pack.

  ***

  Overhead, Rebekah smiled at the sight of the attacking vehicles. Not even an hour in and we get some action.

  She signaled the station for a live broadcast, and a few seconds later the red light came on. The voice of Bob Finneman, the current lead anchor came over her headset. "We’re going live now to Rebekah Walton. Is something happening out there, Rebekah?"

  In her broadcaster voice, she said, "Bob, it looks like the Colorado Springs gangs are coming out to challenge our racers. I'm counting at least twenty bikers so far on the freeway, and there may be more."

  "Rebekah, have the racers reacted?"

  "Yes, Bob, in different ways. Those towards the rear are going to get the brunt of the attack, I think. The lead team, the Angels of Boom, are using the threat from the bikers to pull ahead of the rest, however. It's not exactly good teamwork, but being in first place is important to these competitors. We're going to have the drone cameras move in for better shots and give our viewers a real close-up on the action."

  ***

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The Angels continued to open the distance, leaving the rest of them behind to deal with the emerging threat.

  "Dammit. He's leaving us to deal with these crazies." One of the last cars in the group, they were going to get hit first, and Dillon tracked on the bikes coming up on him.

  The turret rotated to the rear, and then the rear-mounted twin machine guns began hammering away. "More points for us," Kayla shouted gleefully, when the lead bike took a full twenty round burst to the front. The tire shredded, armor peeling away in huge chunks, and then the bike was down, tumbling end over end in a ball of fire.

  Grinning, Dillon drifted to the right where the next lead cyclist approached. This one was alert to their weapons, and he began to swerve back and forth in an irregular pattern. Kayla fired several bursts at him with little success.

  "Stupid computer. Find his pattern. Do what I programmed you to do!" She smacked the console, and the sound of flesh on plastic came dully through his helmet.

  "Kayla, they're coming up on the left," he warned.

  "I can't let up on this guy or he'll take a shot. Besides, what can he do from the side?"

  The question was answered seconds later when the driver swerved closer, pulled a short-barreled side-by-side shotgun from a sheath on his back, and fired both barrels into their left side.

  The shot hit the post right behind Dillon's head, and he jerked, causing the car to swerve to the right. By the time he'd recovered, the first biker dropped back to reload and another was pulling up alongside, an assault rifle in one hand.

  "Oh no you don't," he muttered, and cut to the left in a short, sharp motion. The biker, more agile than him, simply swerved left also. Three more bikers accelerated past this one, intent on the other racers ahead of them.

  "Kayla, I can't stop this guy from taking a shot into our side. Flame him!"

  The biker saw the motion as the turret rotated, drifting closer to them to put himself mostly under the turret's firing arc. Dillon grimaced when the assault rifle came up, and said, "Get ready. I'm moving towards him."

  He pulled the car in a quick motion to his left, and the biker, not quite ready to fire, moved away from him. In a fluid motion, Dillon came back right instead of following, and Kayla triggered the flamethrower.

  She hit him dead on, wreathing the rider and machine in jellied gasoline. The bike swerved out of control and slammed into the left side concrete barrier, turning into a smoking pinwheel that left greasy black smoke climbing to the sky.

  ***

  Rebekah let the opening moments of the fight develop without commentary, and now she broadcast again. "Bob, in a surprising twist, the ATSS car made the first kill of the contest. Or maybe it's not surprising, given the daughter of the famous Basher Battaglia is behind those guns. Still, those bikers are not about to let things stand. They're closing in and it doesn't look good for our racers."

  ***

  Their victory was short lived. The car jumped when a rocket slammed into their rear. Already keyed up from the maneuver, Dillon fumbled for control while the back end fishtailed. None of the damage indicators flashed on the display, so at least the explosion hadn't penetrated their armor.

  By the time he'd gotten them straightened out, four more bikes passed them, two on each side, heading for the rest of the team. The flamethrower gave them new respect for this prey, and the rest were content to hang back and pepper them from the rear.

  He made the next three rockets miss, tires screeching while he dodged side to side, eyes alternating between the rear cameras and the front view. Kayla called out directions and made no attempt to shoot during the wild maneuvers. After the third one, she said, "I think that's the last of their rockets. Can you line me up for a shot?"

  "The road's clear for now. You better shoot first, cause we're going to be an easy target."

  "Watch me." The car straightened out and she opened up with the machine guns, using short bursts. He glanced at the rear camera, watching while she herded them into a tighter group with short bursts of machine gun fire, and then let loose with the cannon. The first shot struck the lead bike, smashing its makeshift armor to splinters and penetrating all the way to the powerplant. It exploded, sending motorcycle parts flying in all directions. The gang members alert enough to the danger started to pull away from the rapidly disassembling machine, and when pieces of metal and chunks of plastic hit the side of a two-wheeled vehicle traveling nearly sixty miles per hour, it made for a difficult time remaining in control.

  The smoke hid the carnage from the trailing bike, and they drove right into the expanding cloud of debris. Bike and rider went in different directions, and two light rockets shot up and into the sky.

  "Oh. I guess they had some more rockets. My bad," Kayla deadpanned.

  Dillon merely raised a closed fist up and behind him, and after a moment she completed the fist bump. Just then, the computer chimed multiple times, their score increasing each time. Almost immediately after, the channel started flooding with comments.

  Dillon had no chance to see what they said, because he needed to dodge the wrecks of the cycles that passed them earlier. Six gang cycles against six experienced autoduellists would only end one way.

  The radio crackled with Gabe's voice. "Hogging all the points, Hodges? Gonna leave some for the rest of us?"

  "Well, gee, Gabe, it's not like you were going to stick around and collect them. You couldn't run fast enough to get away from them."

  "Screw you, Hodges. Just keep eating my dust and we'll see what the score looks like at the end."

  On the intercom, Kayla snorted. "Forget him. He's still thinking like this is an arena fight. We have…," she paused to check the map, "Just under two hundred fifty miles to Gunnison. Lots of time to catch up and pass him."

  Dillon smiled at her cocky tone. "Hell, if we keep racking up points like this, we won't need to pass him."

  She gave a mock gasp. "What? Dillon Hodges giving up the chance to be in the lead? Are you feeling okay?"

  "Hey, you wanted me to pass him. That means giving up the opportunity to shoot everything in sight. Are you feeling okay?"

  They both laughed, and then she leaned forward to lightly slap the back of his helmet. "Nice driving, D."

  "Nice shooting, K."

  ***

  The helicopter gained altitude and veered west to avoid the radiation zone. Rebekah concluded her broadcast. "Well, Bob, a very dramatic conclusion to our first combat of this rally. It appears there's no significant damage to any of the cars, and they certainly left a trail of destruction in their wake. We saw two surprises this morning. The biggest is that our leaders hardly took part in the shootout. Perhaps they're saving themselves for a real threat. The second one is the debut of Kayla Battaglia, which has left no doubt that she is her father's daughter. I'm looking forward to what else she has in store for us."

  The red light winked out and she sat back, satisfied with herself. The astute among her viewers would notice the absence of any mention of Dillon Hodges, and she knew they would comment on that in the forums. And since she had the best view of anyone, it would be telling that his name was missing from her commentary.

  ***

  Nico leaned back in his chair and tried to get his breathing under control. The live feed from the camera drones and news choppers made Kayla's trial by fire a little too intense for him. When that first rocket hit the car, his heart nearly stopped. The battle was nearly over before he'd been able to do more than just hold on to the arms of the recliner in a white-knuckled grip. He mouthed a silent prayer, one that he hadn't used since he was a child.

  Kayla lived through it. She lived through her first battle, and she did well.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked to see Eric standing there, holding a full glass of bourbon. "You look like you need this."

  Nodding shakily, Nico took a sip. His friend was dressed in a flight suit with a tactical vest. A heavy pistol was holstered across the front, and he held a ballistic helmet in one hand.

  "A little overdressed, aren't you?"

  "I'll change into something more comfortable when I get to Gunnison. Getting ready to head to the airport now. That is, if you're okay?"

  "I'm… fine. I just didn't realize how seeing Kayla in danger would affect me."

  "She did good, Nico. She's doing her part. You have to do yours, also. Ms. Thorp has your publicity schedule, so make sure you stick to that. Kayla and Dillon will be counting on you to drum up support for them."

  Sipping at the bourbon again, the big man nodded. "Anything for her, Eric."