James Axler Deathlands 046 Gemini Rising

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from the left, catching us unawares from behind."
"Any chance we could drive the truck into the trees and catch them by
surprise?"
"No way. The trunks are too tightly packed." Wiping off his hands, J.B.
lowered the hood and gave it a slap to lock it tight. "Which only leaves us
one option."
"Yeah, I know," Ryan said, smiling and starting the engine. The two men smiled
widely and shook hands as if conquering a tough problem.
"Bet these are the rest of Phillipe's crew."
"Most likely."
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"Think the trucks can do it? That's a lot of punishment! One slip and we're
dead meat."
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"Guess we're going to find out. When you only have one choice, don't waste
time dithering and worrying get it over with."
"Done," Stephen said, climbing into the cab smelling of fuel. "What?"
"Now the killing starts," Ryan told him, passing the man a spare grenade.
"Know how to use it?"
Stephen nodded and started to unwrap the tape that held the arming lever in
place.
Whistling a happy tune, J.B. climbed into the rear of the wag, and thumped the
roof, signaling he was in position.
"Eight-second fuse?" Stephen asked, swallowing twice before the words would
come out.
Drawing in a deep breath, Ryan exhaled slowly. "Yeah, but throw on five to be
safe."
Keeping a foot on the clutch, the one-eyed man started the truck forward
slowly, as if he didn't have a care in the world. But his hand stayed on the
gearshift.
The other vehicles tagged along behind him, keeping formation. Hands clutched
blasters and eyes darted everywhere, waiting impatiently. But nothing occurred
until the convoy reached the middle of the pass.
A distant rumble caught his attention, and glancing out the window, Stephen
screamed when he spotted a line of boulders rolling down the hill, coming
straight for them.
"Run for it!" he shrieked, pulling on the door handle.
Ryan wasted a precious tick clubbing the man quiet with his blaster, then he
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shoved the truck into high gear and savagely twisted the steering wheel,
turning straight for the oncoming boulders.
If this had been summer with the hill covered with green grass, Ryan knew they
wouldn't have a chance, the old bald tires slipping on the slick growths. But
this was autumn, and the dried dead grass gave them a slim chance of surviving
the mad tactic.
The view through the windshield was pure chaos as the truck bounced onto the
hill and started to climb the steep slope. Banking to the left, but staying on
an angle so he wouldn't tip over the wag, Ryan fought the struggling truck to
greater speeds and headed directly for the largest rock. The boulder swelled
before him and they passed each other, missing by inches. Any hunter knew you
aimed where a moving target would be, not where it was.
But more rocks were thundering down the slope. The deafening noise escalated
louder than cannon fire, and the whole world seemed to be shaking apart as
tumbling granite passed before the vehicle so close the spray of loose dirt
washed over the truck, blanketing the windshield.
Temporarily blinded, Ryan hit the wipers, but only the passenger's-side wiper
worked. Slowing a notch, he stuck an arm out the window and yanked his wiper
into motion. His view cleared, and he savagely turned the steering wheel, but
it was too late. The truck sideswiped a tree stump, and the bumper ripped off
from the chassis, the impact slamming his head against the roof. As a dizzy
Ryan fought to control the shuddering truck, it started to dangerously tip
over, then miraculously righted itself again.
A full-throated war whoop from the back told him that J.B. had jumped position
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and kept them level.
The tires spun like crazy, digging their treads into the dirt as Ryan shoved
the gas pedal to the floorboards. Jogging left, then right, Ryan desperately
dodged a barrage of smaller rocks, ignoring the trickle of blood seeping down
his face and into his shirt. For a brief second, he saw the other three wags
wildly zigzagging across the hill as huge boulders rolled endlessly from the
bushes at the top of the hill.
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"Fifty more yards," he cajoled, crushing the wheel in his grip. "Come on,
baby.
Move your fucking ass!"
Another boulder came straight at him. He dodged it, and a handful of small
rocks sprayed over the truck, shattering the windshield completely. Covered
with tiny glass pebbles, Ryan glared at the people now visible in the bushes,
struggling to shove additional stones to the edge. Somebody fired a blaster,
and the Uzi chattered above him. A man screamed, followed by more gunfire.
The truck seemed to launch into the air as it crested the top of the slope and
sailed through a bush to crash on top of the screaming man, his hands raised
as if to knock the truck away. Shifting gears and pumping the gas, Ryan plowed
into a crowd of stunned men frantically trying to load rifles. The vehicle
recoiled as the dead bounced off the rusty chassis.
The wag bounced over a man caught underneath, and Ryan spun the wheel to lurch
sideways and slam another. The screaming man left the ground and flew across
the field to wrap boneless around a tree.
Squealing to a halt, Ryan exited the truck and shot a woman who was shoving
shells into a homemade shotgun, the patched barrel held together with baling
wire.
More rifles shots sounded, and the telltale chatter of the Uzi spoke of J.B.
at work.
Then the passenger van appeared, followed closely by the cargo van and the
second truck crushing more men under the sturdy tires. Firing steadily, the
companions charged out of the wags, and a dozen more attackers dropped under
the withering cross fire. Clem and Bob triggered their flintlocks, billowing
clouds of smoke masking the men, but two coldhearts flew backward as the
.75-caliber miniballs smashed into their chests and out the back side, leaving
gaping holes the size of a grapefruit. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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