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Return fire ripped the air around Grant, tearing through it in a frenzy, like
a ground-level gale. A bullet snapped past his ear, sounding like the crack of
a huge branch. He dived to his left.
Kane held down the trigger of his autoblaster, swinging the flame-belching
barrel from left to right. Hot brass spewed from the ejector. He found himself
subconsciously aiming for the red badges emblazoned on the left pectorals of
the body armor. He glimpsed Grant on his knees a few yards away, a little to
the rear of him, blasting away at the Mags still on their feet.
Wild rounds smashed into boxes and crates, filling the air with scraps of
floating paper and wood particles. Flagstones shattered, the shards whining
and buzzing in all directions. Bullets punched holes through the tin warehouse
walls.
Salvo stitched Kane across the midriff with a zipper of slugs. They bruised
him, beat him coughing to the floor. He rolled, came to his knees, his Sin
Eater blowing a cavity in the floor at Salvo's feet The exploding, sharp-edged
bits of rock slashed his trouser legs, and he tangoed back, trying to shake
the pain out of his legs, like a cat with wet paws.
Conditioning was a wondrous thing. Despite the heavy volume of fire erupting
from all the blasters, the men were instinctively aiming to disable, not to
kill. Mags chilling Mags, even Mags gone bad, was blasphemous, inconceivable.
Salvo hopped crazily around the base of the box pyramid, slapping at his
stinging legs, screaming in maddened fury. "Chill them, you stupid bastards!
Chill them !"
As if to punctuate his shrieked command, he drew a double-handed bead on Grant
and held down the trigger. Grant backpedaled and plunged to the floor as flame
sputtered from that deadly bore and a stream of 9 mm tumblers smashed up the
flagstones around him, showering him with rock chips.
He threw himself forward in a frantic somersault, trying to roll ahead of the
deadly lead stream. His body suddenly spun around like a top, flipping him
over on his face. As he twirled, he screamed some gibberish, which to Kane
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sounded like "Domi! Do it!"
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Kane stopped dodging and dancing and rushed headlong toward Salvo and the
three Mags still on their feet. He stretched out his right arm ahead of him,
flame blooming and sharp thunder cracking from his handblaster. One of the
Mags fired at him, and he felt a pair of glancing impacts on the top of his
left shoulder. He staggered, his aim spoiled. His shots missed Salvo by a
whisper but ripped through the Mag standing next to him, turning his
cheekbones, nose and mouth into a red jelly smear.
At the same instant the Mag corkscrewed sideways against the base of the box
pyramid, an engine roar echoed throughout the warehouse. It was immediately
followed by a metal-on-metal grinding and a clashing of gears.
The pyramid of boxes swayed, the lower tiers stretching and then bursting
apart. Salvo tried to run, but the pinnacle and its supporting containers
toppled. He was buried beneath a crashing avalanche of boxes and crates and
pallets.
Kane vaulted to one side, cartwheeling his way out of the careening path of
the wag. Its treads rolled over and crushed one of the fallen Mags, his armor
cracking and splitting open like the carapace of a beetle.
The two Mags still on their feet backed away from the charging vehicle in a
clumsy, shambling run. They fired at it, the rounds clanging and striking
sparks from the armor plate.
The cross-braced steel barricade remover slammed into them like a battering
ram, flinging them, arms and legs flailing, across the warehouse. One struck
the wall, leaving a vague imprint of his head in the tin, and dropped
bonelessly to the floor. The other crashed through the side of a large,
wood-paneled packing crate.
With a screech of rusty brake shoes catching, the wag shuddered noisily to a
halt. Foul smoke belched from the exhaust stacks. Even on idle, the engine
roared like an enraged beast. Kane didn't know where to look or to aim.
Peripheral images crowded his vision. In front of him was the armored wag. On
his right, Grant was trying to get to his knees. His face was drenched in
perspiration, he was gasping in pain, but his teeth flashed in a savage grin.
To the left, a dazed Mag dragged himself along the floor.
The driver's door of the vehicle squealed open, and he glimpsed a small white
wraith at the Wheel. She waved to Grant and shouted, "Come on!"
The firefight was over, ending as suddenly as it began, and Kane was in
instant motion, at Grant's side and pulling him to his feet. He hissed through
clenched teeth and grabbed at his right thigh. Blood seeped between his
fingers.
Kane pushed the coat aside, examining the wound, touching both sides of the
thigh. "The slug went clean through, tearing only the layers of skin. It's the
proverbial flesh wound. The muscles are probably bruised, though. You're
lucky. Can you stand on it?"
Grant's leg wobbled, but it supported him. Voice tight with suppressed pain,
he said, "Let me shoot you in the leg and you can tell me how lucky you feel."
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"Since you're bitching already, I guess you'll make a full recovery. Wish we
had a medikit, though."
"There's one in the Sandcat. Whatever else you can say about Guana, the fat
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bastard was always prepared.
Except for when Domi chilled him."
Kane nodded toward the girl in the Sandcat. "Domi. Isn't she the same gaudy
slut who nearly chilled you?"
"Yeah, but so did you, so I'm not holding any grudges. She's not a gaudy. She
saved my life." Grant released his pent-up breath in a gusty sigh, his eyes
surveying the carnage. "We've overstayed."
Kane turned and began walking toward the door.
Grant called after him. "I had you going, didn't I?"
Kane paused, a smart-ass remark on his lips. He bit it back and said simply,
"Yeah."
Grant grinned. "Bet you feel like the most triple-stupe asshole in the world
right now."
Kane shook his head. "No. I feel like the most triple-lucky asshole in the
world."
He found Brigid where he had stowed her. She had armed herself with a splinter
pried from a wooden pallet, holding it like a dagger, one end of it wrapped
with a length of fabric ripped from the sleeve of her bodysuit.
Anxiously she asked, "Is it over?"
"It's just beginning," he replied grimly, helping her to her feet.
She followed him back to the center of the warehouse. She averted her eyes,
and Kane didn't blame her.
The scene was not for the sensitive. Grant stood beside the open door of the
Sandcat, his right leg propped up on the running board. The albino girl, Domi,
was expertly knotting a tourniquet made of a Mag's belt around his thigh.
"Something tells me you developed a plan," Kane said.
"Of sorts. I'll fill you in on the hoof. Climb aboard."
Kane sent Brigid on ahead. He pushed through the scattering of fallen boxes,
kicking them aside. Most of them were empty, but several of the wooden crates
were quite sturdy, and therefore quite heavy. He found
Salvo beneath one.
His right arm was trapped beneath the crate, but he held the pin mike clumsily
between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Kane reached down, snatched
it away and tore it loose from his coat's lapel.
Salvo's normally sallow complexion was ashen. Blood glistened from a shallow [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]