Westbound Highway 50, leaving Gunnison

  The highway to Montrose was in somewhat better repair. Only a few miles west of Gunnison was the Blue Mesa reservoir, which held millions of gallons of water for the western states. This meant there was a significant garrison of the state militia. They would not interfere with the rally, unless it somehow threatened the integrity of the dam. It did mean the racers would have to be cautious moving through the area, since the militia would not look kindly on wild firing near the dam.

  While they traveled, the online accounts continued to rack up subscribers. The usernames were less descriptive and simpler, and Eric confirmed they were getting larger numbers of older people than before. Kayla's only comment was, "Great. Now we're going to get comments about how they did things in their day."

  All in all, he thought she was doing better than at breakfast. Being in the gunner's seat seemed to have settled her nerves. Probably because now whenever something bugs her, she can shoot at it.

  The Angels kept a firm hand on the lead, and the rest of them seemed content to let them have it. Dillon and Kayla were miles behind, and the drone camera feeds showed the situation. Approaching the bridge from across the reservoir, they saw a line of heavy-duty ore haulers crossing the bridge, one at a time. There were still plenty of active mines in the mountains here, and they weren’t going to suspend their operations for a race. The military was out in force on the bridge also, both directing traffic and in defensive positions.

  "What gives?" Dillon slowed and pulled off to the side of the road with the others.

  "I don't know. Let me check the feeds."

  While they waited, the first truck trundled slowly past them. The driver opened his window and pointed back the way he came. "Y'all in for a bad time. Ol' Jeb Cannon is whipping up his gang to have a go at the Deseret folk in Grand Junction."

  Kayla checked the official feed and shook her head. "Nothing from Rally Control on this Cannon guy or anything out of the ordinary in Grand Junction. You think these truckers are spreading rumors for fun?"

  Dillon shook his head. "They’ll tell road stories if you get some beer in them, but they don’t mess around when it comes to safety on the road. The guy they’re talking about, Cannon, he’s bad news. We’ve heard of him in Denver. He doesn’t run a typical cycle gang. They have sidecars for the bikes mounting heavier weapons, and some off-road buggies. I’ve heard they don’t just come at you on the road, but from off the road too."

  Kayla’s computer dinged with a new notification, and she laughed. "Oh sure. The AADA just posted a warning about that Cannon guy. They’re telling us to be careful and not to go off-road from Montrose to Grand Junction."

  He half-turned in his seat to look at her. "Did they say anything about how this is affecting the rally?"

  "Umm…. yeah. They've added a thousand-dollar bounty on every Red River Rider – that's his gang – we take out. The governor of Colorado and Deseret Stake Council in Grand Junction are paying for it." She looked up at him. "Bet that's the first time both sides have agreed on something in a long time."

  The last of the heavy rigs rumbled by, and Gabe pulled back into the road, heading for the bridge. One by one, the rest of the racers followed him across the bridge and on to Montrose.

  ***

  Montrose, Colorado

  The scene in the city was even more tense. The streets were mostly deserted, even though it was midday. Sandbagged strongpoints, manned by volunteers, dotted street corners. City engineering vehicles sat next to barricade material, ready to shift it to where it was needed.

  They neared the northern outskirts of the town, ready to begin the journey to Grand Junction. Elements of the Colorado National Guard sat in their defensive positions, ready for an attack. Kayla was silent the whole time, with only the creaking of her seat and the clicking of keys to show she was even there. She spoke up when they passed the heavily fortified positions.

  "I've been reading up on this guy, Dillon. He's been a thorn in Deseret's side ever since the Blight ended. They hide out in Colorado and New Mexico and raid across the border. There's enough wilderness out there to hide an army. The AADA won't even confirm how big the Riders are or the extent of their armament."

  Dillon thought about that for a bit while they drove. After a few minutes, he got on the radio to the rest of the team. "You guys reading what we are about this Cannon guy?"

  "Know it firsthand. Did a stint with the Colorado Guard before I got into the arena. We tangled with them Red River Riders more than once, and I was sure glad we were supported by heavy armor. They're no joke," said Jesse.

  "These aren't going to be like those crazy mutants in the Springs. They've been fighting for years and are still around. I'm pretty sure they could pick us apart if we let them."

  "What are you thinking, Dillon?"

  "I know what he's thinking. He wants us to 'cooperate.' He's afraid of those gangbangers. Like we couldn't blast them to pieces without the army getting in the way." The sneer and contempt in Gabe's voice was easy to pick out over the transmission.

  "And he should be. If you'd fought those guys, you'd be worried too. I'm with you, Dillon."

  One by one, the other racers chimed in, until the Angels were the only ones left.

  "Fine. We'll do it your way, Hodges. For now. But don’t nobody go kill-stealing from us. We're collecting those bounties and ain't none of you better get in our sights."

  "Works for me, Gabe. I was going to suggest you take the lead position, since you have the heaviest front weapons. And since the road is wide enough, I suggest two abreast. That'll maximize our flank firepower. We don't know how they'll hit us, so we have to be ready for anything."

  They shook out into their formation after they’d cleared the city. The soldiers on either side of the road waved at them and some cheered them on. Of course, they're happy they don't have to deal with the biker gang on the open road. That's what we know. Fighting on the open road, not sitting behind some mound of dirt.

  ***

  Gunnison, Colorado

  Eric stared at his laptop screen with suspicion, the AADA warning on the Jeb Cannon and the Red River Riders filling the screen. Strange that this bandit king is planning a major attack at the same time a major AADA event is going on. Sure, their history of attacks is random, and it's been years since they went after Grand Junction, and this timing is suspicious.

  He closed the computer up and put it into his bag. The mechanics and techs were loading up the helicopters, ready to fly to the Green River Truck Stop in Deseret, the next overnight stop. They'd only have radios while in the air, and he wanted to be in contact with Dillon and Kayla while they traveled the road to Grand Junction. That would be the most dangerous part, since that part of the state was where the gangs held the most sway. The countryside will be teeming with them while they travel north. Still, Jeb may not want to lose any of his forces to professional autoduellists. He'll know they can fight and are heavily armed. Then again, that very weaponry would be the biggest draw.

  Slamming his fist onto the table, he looked out the window into the hotel parking lot. The two helicopters were pretty much loaded. They were waiting for him. I could hold one helo back. There'd still be time to get to the truck stop once I know they've made it to the city.

  Concern warred with obligation, and duty won out. Dillon and Kayla were in the best-armed and armored vehicle ATSS could supply, and they knew what they were doing. His online presence couldn't help them in this fight.

  He zipped up his bag and headed for the chopper. Getting them ready for the next rounds was his job now.

  ***

  Airspace over Montrose, Colorado

  The pilot warned Rebekah and her crew he was taking them higher. "Can’t rule out that those Red River Riders don’t have surface-to-air missiles. I’m not taking that chance."

  "What about when the fight starts? Can’t we get lower then? They’ll be too busy trying to shoot the racers." The slight pressure against her chest while the helicopter climbed was uncomfortable, and the decreasing resolution of her camera shots worried her even more.

  "No way. Once the fight starts, there’s no telling where a shot could come from. Sorry ma’am, but my contract doesn’t include combat pay or repairs for weapons damage."

  She fumed silently while her camera operator redid the set of the drones. Those would have to suffice for the close-in shots. Meanwhile, she started establishing shots of the area outside the city. There was no telling where the racers would run into trouble, and she wanted to be ready to cover any of them.

  ***

  North of Montrose, Colorado

  They got their first taste of what Jeb Cannon could bring to bear less than ten miles outside of Montrose. Once a vibrant farming community, the town of Olathe was now deserted and falling apart. The army used to conduct urban combat training in it, until the Red River Riders made the exercises very real. Now it was the demarcation between the Montrose safe zone and the contested countryside.

  A flurry of rockets, most spiraling out of control, greeted them when they came upon the town limits. It required very little maneuvering to avoid getting hit, and as soon as the volley was done, Gabe sped up.

  "He's not wrong," Kayla said. "The computer says our best option is to get through their positions quickly. It estimates at least a dozen point sources."

  "Well, I've got nothing better. Let's listen to the computer." Dillon accelerated and hit the transmit button. "Follow Gabe and get through this quick. Don't give them a chance for another volley."

  The rest of the cars followed suit, passing the original firing positions without another rocket being fired. They rounded a gentle curve in the highway and saw up ahead something more chilling, a roadblock. It wasn't a small thing, either. Somewhere, the gang members found a flatbed trailer, and they positioned it in the middle of the highway. A mixture of metal drums and plastic barrels formed the rest of the barricade, stretching out to block the rest of the road on either side of it. Motorcycles were visible behind the barricade, although their riders were nowhere in sight.

  Gabe wasted no time, sliding into a bootlegger turn. Even though he was about a hundred yards ahead of the pack, they were rapidly closing the distance while he started accelerating toward them. That was when the concealed Riders on the sides of the road popped up and started firing.

  Light anti-tank rockets, assault rifles, and grenades peppered the racers and the road around them. Dillon was about to start his own turn and found himself trying to simultaneously avoid the incoming fire and avoid the braking maneuver of his own teammate ahead of them.

  Kayla cursed behind him, unable to bring any of the front or rear-mounted weapons to bear. He put that out of his mind, concentrating on getting them out of the kill zone. Three light rockets smashed into the car in front of him when they slowed into their U-turn, forcing him to turn to the outside of the road. This gave his gunner a clear shot, and she let loose with short bursts from the front machine guns while he slid the car around. Can't lose too much energy or we'll get hammered while we're trying to get back up to speed.

  He did the only thing that he could do and steered toward the shoulder on the right side of the road. Kayla riddled the positions in their way, and people dove out of the way to avoid the car while it left the road in a shower of dirt. They told us not to leave the road. Why couldn't they tell us about the roadblock?

  The Riders on this side of the road now needed to choose between firing at the cars in the kill zone or dealing with the lone vehicle running behind them. For most, it wasn't a hard choice, and they continued to blast away at the targets in front of them.

  A few bullets pinged off their armor when Dillon took them back the way they’d come, traversing across the open ground while the suspension bounced and swayed. Kayla got the flamethrower in action, her area effect weapons untroubled by the wild motions of the car. The positions they passed became scorched ground, punctuated here and there by burning bodies.

  Jesse followed them off-road, firing at anyone left from Kayla’s scorched earth approach. The last two cars trailed behind them, while Jaslyn and the other three copied Gabe in a U-turn and headed back out of the killing zone.

  "Kayla, we need a way out of here!" Dillon cut right, and there was a hard bounce when they reentered the highway. "We're going the wrong way."

  "On it. Cut across and take that road. Now!"

  He spun the wheel, sending them drifting across their lane and the two opposite lanes. A surface road veered away from the highway, heading into the town proper. In the rear-view mirror, he saw the others do the same.

  "You sure we want to go this way? There's no telling what's waiting for us on these streets."

  "Well, we sure can't use the highway. Besides, this is supposed to hook back up on the other side of town."

  Toggling the microphone, he called out his plan to go through the deserted town. Despite only Jesse and the two other cars acknowledging him, the dust clouds behind him let him know it was more than just them. It made him feel a little better about entering the close quarters of the empty streets. They would need concerted firepower to get through this deathtrap.

  One by one, the surviving cars followed him into the deserted urban area. Even the Angels, bringing up the rear, finally rejoined the group. They passed an old cemetery on their left, the grass overgrown and nearly covering the headstones. Up ahead, the ruins of Olathe sat like a grave of its own, the half-destroyed and decaying buildings identifying the gravestones of businesses and homes.

  Dillon was forced to slow when they entered the razed area, since bricks, shards of wooden beams, and other less-identifiable building material lay strewn about the streets. Up ahead, he saw figures darting between structures and impromptu barricades. The haphazard nature of the debris told him whoever was commanding the Riders here hadn't foreseen the racers would leave the highway. Still, there was enough cover here for the bikers to rain fire down on them regardless.

  Passing a shot-up Bank of Colorado sign on their right, Dillon glanced at the map and realized they were already past the ambush point on the highway. "Heads up, people. We're in their backyard now. It's time to show these raiders what happens when you get autoduellists in a closed area. Let's spread out and show them a good time."

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  He cut left on a wide street, heading west and away from the freeway. Two other cars followed him, and the rest of the cars took their own turns, splitting the group into twos and threes. Taking the first right offered, he left the others to find their way through the town.

  "Not that I'm complaining, but why are we splitting up?" Kayla was back to swiveling the turret left and right, looking for targets.

  "Like I said, we do best in an environment where we don't have to watch our shots." He gunned it through an intersection, while a shower of bullets and grenades landed where they used to be. "Free fire zone, Kayla. Everything's a target now. Give 'em hell."

  They were among the ruins of houses now, mostly dilapidated and run down. It was perfect cover for pedestrians and two grenades arced out of a building interior on the right side of the street toward them. Dillon steered left to avoid and found himself staring at another ganger who'd popped up from behind cover, a large tube over his shoulder. Before he could change direction again, the biker fired.

  Tracing a line of fire straight to them, the man-portable rocket impacted squarely on the front of the car. It hit hard enough to jerk Dillon up against the four-point restraint straps, and Kayla gave a short scream when she was slammed into her console.

  Unsure if she was still conscious, Dillon triggered a round from the front autocannon into the biker's position and then steered away, continuing down the street. The car didn't seem to be responding any differently, so he yelled back, "Kayla, you still with me?"

  "Yeah. That… was a surprise."

  "Guns up, Kay. They’re not going to let us through without a fight." He bypassed the next road, immediately tagging the narrow lane among the debris as a trap.

  Flames shot out to paint the house at the corner in yellow and orange. As beat up as it was, much of the jellied fuel made it into the interior, and in the rear camera screen he saw a flame-wreathed figure stagger out and collapse into dust, black smoke trailing into the sky.

  The next two streets were choked with debris, and they didn’t take any more hostile fire. Either they’d outrun the gang members on foot or gone past any prepared positions. He slowed, trying to see any way through tangles of debris. Nothing presented itself, so he continued on to the next one.

  "Not here," Kayla pointed past him. "This street dead ends. Take the next right. It goes most of the way through."

  Both corners at that intersection were empty lots, allowing him an unobstructed view down the street. There was nothing more than the usual number of small debris, so he took the turn, and the other cars followed in his wake.

  The rumble of motorcycle engines came from the right, although they were muffled. Dillon accelerated up to thirty miles per hour, the fastest he dared to go with all the debris in the street. Kayla rotated the turret to the rear.

  "They can’t easily get to us from the east or north. They’ll have to follow us and hit us from behind." She relayed that information over the general channel, getting acknowledgements back from most of the racers.

  "Dillon, if you have to evade, go east. We can’t go any further west and still link up with the highway. Sooner or later, we must turn back east to get back on the road."

  "Just give me options when we get in trouble. I’ll double back if I have to. You’re right, we don’t want to be pinned against the west side with no options."

  An explosion sounded behind them, sending the last car in their little convoy skidding across the street into the front yards of a house. Kayla’s turret camera zoomed in, showing a car and two motorcycles advancing up the street in line abreast. The car was a hodge podge of welded on steel plates and spiked protrusions, painted in a lurid red and brown. A figure stood in a pintle mount cut through the roof of the vehicle, manning a twin-barreled machinegun. Wisps of smoke followed in the car’s wake from side mounted pods.

  Kayla moved the camera back and forth across the various modifications while their enemies approached. "What the hell is that? Rockets in pods on the sides? They’re not even armored. And who did their welding? That’s some real bubble gum welds."

  "Kayla, can we save the engineering critique for after? How about you blow apart that thing and keep us alive?"

  "Right. Sorry." The rear cannon opened up and Dillon kept their course straight as he could. Rounds impacted on the makeshift armor with small explosions and showers of sparks. She didn’t seem to be getting any real penetration, and their opponent seemed unconcerned with her attacks. The car picked up speed, slowly.

  "All that armor is slowing him down. I bet he corners like a pregnant elephant, Dillon. Can you do something with that?"

  "Hell yes, I can. The road turns to the right up ahead. I’m going to take it wide and then go to the inside. You should get a nice broadside shot on his tires when he takes the corner. He’ll have to swing wider than we did."

  "Alright! Like shooting targets on the range. Show me those big, beautiful tires." She got on the radio to the other car, letting them know their plans and for them to swing wide.

  The gunner on the pintle machineguns and the motorcycles started firing at him, and since he didn’t have to give his gunner a clear shot, Dillon took full advantage of the entire width of the street to dodge the attacks. He slalomed left and right while the turn got closer, timing his moves to put him to the outside for the turn.

  He took the turn like he planned, tires squealing while he fought to maintain his velocity. He dove for the inside lane when he straightened, giving Kayla the line of sight she needed to hit their pursuers. They were changing formation, cyclists falling back to let the car make the turn first. They were putting distance between them, and it was a straight up broadside shot.

  A flicker of movement caught his attention, and he looked up from the screen. About three hundred yards down the street, two cyclists turned on to their street. Glancing back at the rear-view screen, where the Riders’ car was about to make the turn, he decided to hold off telling Kayla.

  She fired just when the rusty front end started to come about, hammering away with the machineguns and cannon. The heavy steel plates in the front appeared to be the only armor it mounted, because she started putting holes in the front quarter and passenger side. The front wheel blew out in a spectacular fireball, and the gunner in the pintle mount jerked about while bullets and shrapnel sprayed the interior. The driver must have been hit also, because the car continued its turn instead of straightening out. It slid off the road on the other side, with the gunner hanging limp over his weapon.

  "Great job, K! Finish off the rest of them behind us so we can take on the guys in front."

  "In front? What do you mean— Oh, I see. Alright, keep us going straight."

  "We’re blocking both lanes. They’re going to have to turn at some point."

  "Not if they’re a pile of wreckage. Hold it steady." She keyed the radio. "I’ll take the ones in front of us. You take the ones behind."

  The other car acknowledged, slowing a bit for a better shot. The motorcycles didn’t give it to them. One accelerated and shot through the intersection, bullets tracking behind him. He kept going into a power slide in the dirt past the road, throwing up a huge cloud of dust that blocked all line of sight. The other cyclist jumped the curb early, before the intersection, going through the empty lot on that side. The gunner in the car switched targets, and the cyclist pulled alongside the right rear tire. His passenger let loose with a machine pistol, emptying the magazine in a matter of seconds. At such a close range, the bullets hit all around the rear quarter panel and tire. Despite many of the rounds bouncing off the armor, enough hit the tire.

  The car swerved while the driver fought for control, and the other cyclist didn’t give him a chance. Coming out of the dust cloud on the other side of their wrecked car, he started firing the front mounted recoilless rifle. He only got two shots off, both hitting near the driver’s door before he was alongside the car, and they gave the desired effect. The driver forgot about the disappearing motorcycle, and the surprise attack completely disoriented him. Fighting both a destroyed tire and explosions near his position made him overcorrect twice, first one direction and then the other. It sent the car into a three-sixty spin, leaving him facing the same way he’d come, at near zero speed.

  The second bike pulled up next to the passenger window. With practiced motions, the driver shot out the window with a huge revolver and the passenger tossed a grenade into the interior of the car. The windshield cracked in several places on the inside as the explosive did its work, and smoke poured from the destroyed window.

  Dillon and Kayla watched all this happen while they closed on the two approaching Red River Riders. The distance was still too great for a truly accurate shot, and Dillon made a quick judgement call.

  "K, I’m speeding up. We can’t let them box us in."

  "Just hold us steady. I can take at least one out before they pass us."

  "Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast." One of the bikes mounted a crude rocket launcher, and he was maneuvering to line up his own shot.

  In response, she fired a burst from the front cannon, obliterating the bike and its rider. The explosion triggered the rocket, sending it arcing away in a parabola and landing in a huge explosion on the next street over. The other bike swerved to avoid the spray of shrapnel from his disintegrating partner, and then heeled into a U-turn when they drove past him. Dillon felt the turret rotate and heard the roar of the flame thrower, and the hastily aimed shot merely scorched the asphalt where the biker had been.

  Dillon steered to avoid the wreckage and accelerated once past it. He needed to get some distance between them and him, and hopefully spread them out. His gunner switched to the rear-mounted machineguns, firing short bursts while they drifted back and forth. Even though it wasn’t doing any damage, it kept them from lining up any more easy shots.

  Up ahead, he saw Gabe’s car zoom north through the intersection, trailed by Jesse and Jaslynn. Seven cyclists pursued them, and it was a running battle between them, with cars and cycles weaving back and forth, throwing up clouds of smoke and dust. That was the route he wanted too. The old Highway 50 business bypass would get them back on the freeway north of town.

  "Hold on, K. Left turn coming up."

  The tires squealed in protest, leaving rubber on the asphalt, and they took the corner at forty miles per hour. He was going to have enemies in front and behind, and that couldn’t be helped. Short of doubling back and hunting for a way to get on the freeway, they were committed to this route.

  Kayla’s shout of triumph followed the thump of the rear cannon, when one of the unlucky bikers took a hit rounding the corner. The front wheel separated from the machine, and it continued to bounce down the road while the bike dug into the asphalt at speed. This launched the rider into the air, sending him flailing into a pile of debris on the roadside. The other two bikes, the ones that had taken out the other car, accelerated and shot through the intersection, headed west. It was clear they knew the ruined town and were aiming to intercept them further down.

  Dillon decelerated instead, hoping to throw off their timing. He’d rather have them come out in front instead of behind. Then they would have all their enemies in one place. Meanwhile, they might be able to do something about the bikers pursuing their teammates.

  "Jesse, Jaslynn. We’re behind you. Let’s see if we can knock down a few of the punks."

  Gabe interrupted with a derisive, "What the hell do you think we’ve been doing? Just stay out of our way and try not to shoot us."

  Dillon gritted his teeth and was forced to acknowledge the point. Any shot that missed had a chance of hitting one of the three cars beyond the bikers. Even Kayla’s computer couldn’t predict that kind of shot.

  Then the point became moot when the two cyclists emerged into the intersection just ahead of them, taking up positions just of the corners of his front end. Dillon cut the wheel by reflex, one of them passing within mere inches of his bumper. The passenger half-turned in the seat and pointed the machine pistol at him, emptying an entire magazine in a few seconds. Half the rounds missed, striking pavement or the surrounding buildings. Sparks flew from the hood, the heavy ceramic armor shrugging off the rounds. A few hit the windshield, leaving scratches here and there when they ricocheted off.

  Even Kayla was startled enough by their appearance that she didn’t get the flamethrower in action right away. She was just starting to move the turret when they both braked, letting the car pull even with them. The cyclist’s passenger raised the reloaded machine pistol to his window and Dillon started to cut to the left. Before he could complete the maneuver, the passenger side window shattered.

  The biker on that side grinned through his mangy beard, a massive hand cannon pointed at him. Dillon tapped the brakes when the man fired, and the round hit the outside of the windshield instead. Then his own window blew inwards, and he looked over to see the other biker sporting a similar hand cannon. They braked back with him and the woman was lining up another shot. He reacted quickly, cutting the wheel in her direction. She drifted left with him, avoiding his attempt at a sideswipe, a tattered bandana covering her mouth flapping in the wind.

  Her passenger wore a full helmet, painted with lurid colors and the words, ‘Die Screaming’ lettered over the front. Raised hands displayed a grenade in each one, and both safety pins were removed.

  A gout of flame to his right brought his attention back to the other biker. Kayla yelled, "I can’t hit him, but maybe I can throw off his aim."

  Caught between the two opponents, with more in front, Dillon realized all his training and experience hadn’t prepared him for a situation like this. He wavered, his brain frantically working out possible solutions. All he could think of for the moment was to keep dodging left and right so they couldn’t line up a good shot.

  "Dillon, get me a shot!" She swiveled the turret back and forth, trying to get one of them within the arc.

  Shot? We need speed. We need to get away from these guys. He pressed down on the accelerator pedal, however after a second the bikers moved back into position. His heart racing now, Dillon swallowed hard. Their acceleration was better than his, meaning he couldn’t keep them away much longer.

  "Dillon! Do something!" Kayla’s fist punched the back of his headrest.

  In desperation, he cut sharply to the right. He didn’t want to give the other one a chance to lob those grenades into the car. The man moved with him, and Dillon kept pressing him toward the curb. A spark of an idea formed in his mind when he saw the cyclist to his left moving in.

  "Kayla, get ready for something. I don’t know what this is going to force, but they’ll have to do something." And with that, he cut sharply back to the left.

  Halfway expecting the juke, the driver easily avoided an immediate hit, and Dillon pressed the accelerator further. They pulled ahead, the car now slightly in front and ahead of the bike.

  The cyclist driver raised her right hand and fired her pistol wildly, not hitting anything. That was what he’d been waiting for, and he braked hard and steered to the right. With only one hand driving, the biker couldn’t brake fast enough. The bike hit the rear end of the car with a massive crunch, launching the driver and passenger over the front end. The driver ended up half on the trunk and half on the bike, and while Dillon sped away, her stunned body slid off and bounced along the pavement, her bike tumbling over her limp form.

  The passenger went further, landing on the roof. The grenades continued flying through the air, released by the passenger when she grabbed for a handhold. Unfortunately for her, the only thing available was the red-hot barrel of the flamethrower. Her screams were audible through the smashed windows, and Kayla quickly spun the turret to the left, sending her flailing body sliding off the roof and to the ground. The grenades exploded a safe distance away, showering the street ahead with shrapnel and doing no damage to their car.

  Dillon allowed himself a half smile at his maneuver. He’d never tried that before and —

  A thud on the right side took him out of his self-congratulatory mood and he stared at the other biker. The man was halfway inside the car, stomach resting on the open windowsill. He was bringing his massive revolver up, aligning the barrel with Dillon’s head.

  The young man forgot about the road ahead, about his masterful maneuver that took out the other bikers, and thought, I’m dead.

  Then a massive series of booms deafened his right ear, and liquid and other soft bits splattered across his face. The biker’s face sported two new holes; one just below the left eye and next to the nose and the other in the forehead above the right eye. Blood gouted forth from the front, and the car's interior behind him sported a mosaic of blood, brain, and bone. It mostly covered the bullet holes from the missed shots. The man’s limp body slid backward out of the window and tumbled to the ground while they sped away.

  Dillon turned his head to look behind him. Kayla was leaning forward, arm extended holding her sidearm. Blood and brain matter decorated the front of her helmet, making a speckled pattern across her eyes and nose where the visor was up. She was breathing hard, and her eyes were wide and unfocused. Next to his head, her gun trembled slightly, slide locked back.

  He braked slowly to a stop, alternating his gaze between the road and his gunner. When they were no longer moving, he put the car in Park and gently removed the pistol from her hand. "We’re okay, Kayla. You got him. Sit back, now."

  Releasing his harness, he turned around and eased her back into her seat. She moved slowly, like everything was unfamiliar to her. He got the sani-wipes out and cleaned her face and then his. Making sure to buckle her back in, he got back into his seat and took off again.

  Ahead, he could see several smoke columns, and he checked the front weapons status. There was no telling when Kayla would snap out of it.

  ***

  The smoke in the rear camera of the last few burning motorcycles was an apt funeral pyre for the two racers they’d lost in ruins of Olathe. The road ahead looked clear for now, and it was only forty-five miles to Grand Junction. Maybe this time we can recharge in peace. Deseret wouldn't let anyone shoot at us in the middle of their city. We might even have time to do a quick patch on the windows. The wind rattled in the broken windows, a minor distraction that wasn't overwhelming. The force of the air moving past caused the blood and gore splatters to run toward the rear of the car, leaving pinkish streaks behind.

  The land was flat on both sides of the road, although hills loomed to the east and west. The high peaks of the Rockies were behind them, and now they traveled across flat terrain where you could see for miles if anyone was ahead or behind you. They would have to deal with the Rockies again in Montana, and for now Dillon enjoyed the distant mountains being very distant.

  Kayla remained silent for some time now, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. Raising his voice above the wind, he asked, "You okay now?"

  She sat in the same position, turret facing the driver's side. He’d reholstered her sidearm, and her hands lay in her lap, gripping each other tightly. The dull, vacant look muted the bright intelligence that was normally there, and it chilled him to see her so.

  Reaching back awkwardly with his right hand, he took hold of her leg and shook it. "Kayla, wake up. We’re nearly to Grand Junction and I need to know if we need more than recharging." He was nearly shouting now, both to be heard above the wind and to get her attention.

  She slowly raised her hands and rested them on the keyboard, and they were trembling slightly while she worked the keys. It took her three tries to finally get to the right screen. Once, she glanced down at her hand and saw traces of blood splatters on her glove. She stared at them, hands once again frozen in place.

  "Kayla, get yourself together. We've still got forty plus miles to the pit stop. There's still Red River Riders out there and I need you to do your job."

  "Pixelation," she said.

  "What?"

  "In the simulator. We didn't have the computing power to spare for adequately modeling fluids, so we used simple pixels instead. Mostly that was for oil sprays and paint. We didn't include blood spray."

  "Kayla, you had to do it. He was going to shoot me. I couldn’t do anything in time. You saved my life."

  "I couldn't stop pulling the trigger. Even after the… car turned red." She spoke in a slow monotone, and he wasn't sure if it was because she was still trying to process what happened, or if she was starting to shut down.

  "I get it. You weren't expecting to have to shoot someone up close like this. That happens sometimes. The important thing is you were able to do it. Focus on that, Kayla. You did your job, and we're alive. Say it with me."

  She took a deep breath and slowly repeated the words with him. "I did my job and we're alive." He made her say it several times, and toward the end her voice became more animated. Even though it wasn’t her usual self, at least it was an improvement on what she’d been a few minutes before.

  The miles passed without incident, although they saw dust clouds to the east and west that were tracking them. Jeb Cannon and his gang were massing for the assault on Grand Junction, and the rally teams were heading straight into it.