Valerie flipped the safety on her armament panel and deployed her spike ram. She’d hammer him into oblivion right where he sat. She revved her engine and began to let off the clutch, but her rear-view mirror suddenly flashed as twin headlight beams illuminated her rear end. Something big was coming in fast. She shifted into reverse and launched the Guardian up the incline to her right, clearing a path for the incoming truck so she wouldn’t be smashed into the pile of cars ahead. To her frustration, the Reaper saw the danger too and likewise backed the Blackbird up the slanted sidewall of the tunnel on the far side. He got clear just in time for the heavily armored truck to come barreling through. The cars ahead of them took the full brunt of the impact as the truck’s jacked-up frame rolled over them on fat monster tires. The truck went over the pile and into the obstructing war car without so much as a pause. The war car’s buzz saws caught in the truck’s tires, exploding them on impact. The chassis of the truck sheared the top off the war car in a blaze of sparks and flames. One of the car’s flamethrowers was ripped bodily from the fender and exploded in a raging fireball.
Valerie ducked as flames roared across the ceiling of the tunnel. Parts and debris rained onto her hood. When she looked up again, her eyes met the black reflective visor of the Red Reaper angled toward her from the embankment on the far side of the tunnel.
She took one look at the chaotic pile of cars in the tunnel and knew there was not a moment to spare. There was no way she was getting through now, and a detour would cost valuable time. Every second counted.
She shifted into gear and blasted off the embankment, heading back the way she had come. The tires of the Blackbird smoked as well, and he launched into the tunnel right on her bumper. She wished she could deploy a defense, but there wasn’t time.
Headlights glowed in her windshield as oncoming racers flew down the tunnel, oblivious to the danger ahead. Valerie swerved and dodged as the war cars careened around her. Time after time, she evaded catastrophe with mere inches to spare.
In a quarter mile, she had her chance for an exit and launched the Guardian up one of the spillway ramps, downshifting and giving the car the gas as she climbed. She downshifted again and forced the war car to accelerate. The engine screamed under the strain.
Ahead, the metal bars of the spillway’s defense grate were approaching fast.
The radio crackled.
“How’s it looking down there? Do you have an exit?” Damon sounded concerned.
Valerie keyed the mic. “I’m about to make one."
She pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor. “Be rusted. Be rusted,” she muttered as she bore down on the metal bars. She held her breath and prayed Gaspar’s predictions about the runoff drains held true in Mount Oro too.
The Guardian slammed into the iron grate. The bars weren’t rusted, but the attaching hardware was. The rectangular grate sheared away from its mounting points, tearing holes in the concrete as the force of the impact sent the grate somersaulting into the air.
Valerie jolted in her harness and held on, landing the Guardian on the now level surface of Mount Oro’s surface streets.
Pedestrians and race fans screamed, some in shock and others in delight as the Guardian erupted into the square and tore along the cobblestone streets.
She wasn’t alone.
The Red Reaper had followed, the Blackbird making the climb and emerging fifty yards back.
She checked the position of the sun. West. She needed to get west. She made a hard right at the next street, dodging panicked race fans and trying to keep her speed up. Every second she wasted off the main track was time she was losing ground to Jasper Sterling.
She keyed the mic. “Danger Dog, you have your map handy? I’m on Chapel and Figueroa. I need an alternate onramp!”
“West Garden Street. A quarter mile.”
Damon sounded stressed.
“Got it!” Valerie replied. She covered the distance in twelve seconds and took the curve at 50 mph. She spared a quick glance in the mirror as she fishtailed out of the turn, gauging the distance from her pursuer.
The route ahead was clear, word having spread fast that war cars were on the street. Pennants streamed from the battlements, and she was surprised to see several fans waving the Bear Claw emblem of House Terravecchia. Her heart thrilled at the sight until she recalled that Jasper Sterling was driving the official Terravecchia car.
She gritted her teeth and gave the Guardian more fuel.
The detour down West Garden did indeed intercept the original route, but as she approached the racetrack, it became clear that it wouldn’t be a smooth transfer. The road went over the moat via a wooden drawbridge crammed with spectators. There was no way she could make it across.
Valerie veered left at the last instant, taking a service road that ran along the inside of the wall. It was a narrow space, little more than an alley caught between the wall and the neighboring businesses. She startled cats and obliterated trash cans as she rocketed through, looking for the next opening in the wall.
Off in the distance, she spotted another broad drainage ditch grate at the far side of a three-way intersection. She eyed the front end of the Guardian, gauging the damage she’d already done. Her hood was tweaked, and the spike ram was canted to one side. She didn’t like the idea of testing her luck on more solid steel bars. With the hardware mounted on this side of the concrete, it might not give way again. She glanced in the mirror and noted that the Blackbird was gaining on her.
While they were barreling along the narrow alleyway, he would be lacking the visibility she had. It might just be enough of a break. Valerie let off the gas, allowing The Reaper to close the gap.
He was right on her tail now.
As the cars sped toward the intersection, she gauged the distance to the drainage ditch, keeping the Guardian squarely in the Reaper’s line of sight the entire time. He was practically nudging her bumper.
When the moment came, she accelerated to give herself a sliver of space. It was just enough so she could cut the wheel hard, yanking on the parking brake and spinning the Guardian into an aggressive 180 degree turn that landed her in the intersection facing the opposite direction.
The Blackbird blasted by, unable to slow, and launched across the street, going airborne off the other side of the intersection and slamming straight through the drainage grate in a shower of sparks and twisted metal. The car vanished underground.
“Well, what do you know? It did give,” Valerie murmured. She gunned the engine and brought the Guardian around again, following the Reaper down the hole he had involuntarily made in the drain. She found the Blackbird at a standstill at the bottom of the runoff channel, now back on the track but with its hood steaming.
“Thanks for the help!” Valerie shouted through the window. She sideswiped the rear of the Blackbird with her wheel spikes as she passed. She couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the crippled car diminishing in the rear-view mirror.
She focused on the road ahead and keyed the microphone.
“Danger Dog, this is Alley Cat. I’m back on the track. Going after Sterling.”
The radio returned only static for a few seconds, then Damon finally replied. “Radio reports have him nearing the Twisted Sisters. You’ll need to take the low route. It’s less safe but the only way to catch him.”
Adrenaline was pumping through her veins as she keyed the mic to reply. “Safety is overrated. I’m running him down. Alley Cat out.”
Inside the battered Blackbird, the Red Reaper groaned and restarted his engine. His thumb then slid to his microphone.
“Good luck, Alley Cat. Danger Dog out.”
29
Finisher
Jasper Sterling had made good time around the Twisted Sisters. He’d taken the high route, a longer path that had cost him some time, but it lacked the hairpin turns and sheer drop-offs the low route would’ve required him to navigate.
Let the cars in pursuit take chances. Everything was curre
ntly in his favor, and he planned to keep it that way. He shot onto Long Bridge doing 120 mph. At this pace, he’d be through the portcullis at Sterling Arena with ten minutes to spare. The only nagging irritation was the speck in his rear-view mirror that had failed to go away.
The truck with the painted flames was refusing to lose. It was all the radio announcers kept talking about. The commoner. The underdog. They were calling him a people’s champion.
Jasper sneered at the mirror. He was the champion. Not some nameless deckhand with more brawn than brains. He certainly didn’t want this upstart making it through to the sword competition. There was no telling how the crowds would react if he actually got a weapon in his hand.
No. He would have to end this now.
Jasper adjusted the controls on his armament dashboard, and the hydraulically actuated scorpion tail lifted from the Samurai’s rear end. The weapon was armed with the latest in offensive tournament weapons. The ballista was loaded with broadhead, carbide-tipped darts. The tail also held a flamethrower and an air-powered thud gun that launched three-inch steel balls. If one wouldn’t bring his pursuer to a stop, the rest would.
Jasper released a patch of tire spikes, then slowed to a stop, backing the Samurai around on the track and taking aim at the incoming truck.
“Just you and me now, Rim Rat,” Jasper whispered.
The truck dodged the patch of tire spikes, just as he suspected. It brought the vehicle directly into the line of his weapons.
Jasper triggered them one after another.
The steel balls were the size of fists. They slammed through the window grating of the truck and ripped the mirrors off the doors. The ballista bolts found a truer target in the intake grill, the broadheaded tips ripping through the engine compartment at high velocity.
The flamethrower was just a finishing touch. The truck was still moving fast as it careened by, but the damage had been done. The truck limped on for another eighth of a mile, but it was the last spasm of a wounded beast.
Jasper actuated the ram on the front of the Samurai. This would be the fun part.
He turned and aimed for his victim, accelerating to second gear, then third. He put on a final burst of speed as he covered the last few yards. The ram worked with devastating effect, crushing the left rear wheel of the oversized truck up into the chassis and lifting the entire vehicle up and over onto its side. Jasper didn’t let off the gas until the vehicle had rolled once more onto its roof. He backed away to view his handiwork.
The driver of the truck was struggling to orient himself upside down. Jasper watched him wrestle with his harness and relished the wide-eyed look of horror on the big man’s face.
This was what Jasper lived for. He eyed the frothy, blue water of the bay that lay to either side of the bridge. The wind had picked up and now sent whitecaps skipping across the surface. He knew he should simply drive on. The upstart was no longer a threat. The flame-bedecked truck wouldn’t be driven again. But it was as though the bay called to him. Angry gods beneath the waves demanded a sacrifice. Who was he to disappoint?
He shifted into gear again and targeted the cab of the truck. The concrete barrier at the side of the bridge was already fractured from the truck’s impact. One more good hit should push the entire vehicle through.
He revved the engine and watched the needle of the tachometer dance across the gauge. Time to launch.
The Samurai’s rear tires smoked as they spun, then bit asphalt as they gained traction. Jasper rushed toward the truck at full speed, soaking up the terror on the big man’s face as he flew toward him.
Then came the impact.
But not the one Jasper expected—his Samurai plowing through the inverted truck. Instead, a cataclysmic battering ram of a vehicle tore through the rear end of his car, shearing off the scorpion tail and sending him spinning in a mad whirlwind of metal and sparks. The Samurai stayed upright, but just barely. By the time he stopped thrashing around his seat like a rag doll, his car was facing a different direction. Its rear end had struck the truck, but he was now staring out the fractured windshield at an all-black monster of a car in the center of the road. It was a Guardian 770 with a girl at the wheel.
She’d driven like a bat out of hell. Turn after turn, twisting mile after treacherous mile. She took the low road, cut every curve. She’d poured on the gas. She’d finally caught him.
Valerie stared out the windshield at the emerald-green Samurai X and the man behind the wheel that had ruined her life.
Jasper’s helmet revealed nothing of his face. That was a pity because she wanted to see his expression when she ended him.
She revved the motor and popped the clutch. The Guardian launched forward and rammed the Samurai head on, smashing it back into Kane’s truck. Jasper’s head rocked back and forth in the driver’s seat, and he screamed in fury.
Let him scream. He had this coming.
Valerie threw the Guardian into reverse and backed away, then shifted back into first for another run. The Samurai was smashed up but was still holding together. It appeared to still be running.
Not for long.
She pressed the accelerator and the rear wheels spun, smoking as they sought traction on the oil-spattered bridge. She hurtled forward again, but the Samurai moved as well. Jasper turned hard and launched his war car at an angle, escaping her fury by millimeters.
The Guardian slammed into the truck behind it instead, pushing it partly through the fractured barrier wall.
“No!” Valerie shouted as Jasper fled. She shifted into reverse again and backed out to pursue him. That’s when she saw Connor Kane. The big man appeared to be unconscious, dangling from his race harness as the truck teetered on the side of the bridge. The force of her attack had pushed his truck right to the brink of falling. Even the rumbling vibration of her engine seemed likely to send it over the edge.
She turned to the view of Jasper’s Samurai fleeing ahead on the track. She could catch him again if she went now.
At the approach end of the bridge, more cars were on their way. A wave of angry steel.
Her eyes fell on the unconscious form of Kane once more, and she swore.
She pulled the Guardian around to block the approach side of the truck, leaving the engine running, then climbed out. She raced to the driver’s side window of the inverted cab and got to her hands and knees.
“Kane! Can you hear me? You’ve got to get out!”
The big man groaned, but his eyes merely flickered beneath his eyelids. Valerie worked furiously at the latches of his harness as the rumble of approaching cars grew louder. The belts were too tight. She snatched a knife from Kane’s roof mounted weapon rack and used it to saw at his harness. Finally he fell.
The truck shifted position, the front end tipping upward as the rear slid toward the water.
“Come on!” Valerie shouted, as much to herself as to Kane. She grasped both of his wrists and pulled, attempting to haul him out the damaged window. Her muscles strained as she pressed her feet into the asphalt, fighting against the inertia of his limp body.
Loose bits of concrete were beginning to dance around her feet. The first competitor car went roaring past, a Rockwell Omega. Valerie checked the narrow gap between the Guardian and the wall and watched as more racers bore down on her. The one in the lead was a sky-blue Katana bearing the Okazaki House emblem. It was close enough for her to recognize Niko Okazaki behind the wheel, the same racer whose Shogun she had stolen and dumped into the bay. From the angle of the Katana’s approach, it seemed like Niko knew.
The Katana cut to the side and careened toward the back of the Guardian. It appeared as though she would ram directly into Valerie and pin her to the wall.
Valerie grunted and gave one last tremendous pull on Kane’s wrists. The truck shifted, falling away from them and plummeting toward the bay. Kane’s limp body came out the window as the cab slid away, and Valerie collapsed backward, successfully landing the big man on the asphalt.
&nb
sp; Looking beneath the Guardian’s undercarriage, Valerie only had a view of tires approaching, but Niko’s Katana was almost on her. She rolled over and prepared to dive off the bridge, but suddenly, another car slammed into the Katana from behind, forcing Niko wide so that the car only grazed the rear corner of the Guardian. The Katana flew past and slammed into the wall a dozen yards beyond Valerie, still being pushed by the car behind it. Valerie was shocked to recognize the Blackbird of the Red Reaper. He steered back into the driving lanes and continued on, leaving Nico’s Katana smoking along the wall.
Kane was coming to. He was groggy but breathing. Valerie pulled him over to the wall and tucked him into a cutout meant for drainage. There was no way she could get him into the Guardian, and she was out of time. She sprinted around the car and jumped back into the driver’s seat, slamming the door just before another war car attempted to shear it off. She gunned the throttle and tore away from the wall, racing to catch up to her competitors.
The last stretch of bridge was an all-out drag race. She checked her father’s watch hanging from the rear-view mirror. There were only minutes to go till the portcullis dropped on the gate of Sterling Arena. She shifted into high gear and dodged and weaved around the debris in the road. War cars ahead of her were jettisoning armaments in a last bid for speed, and she did the same, ejecting the heavy ram and rear plate armor. The Guardian’s engine roared as she gave it all the fuel and air it could handle.
Her heart was pounding, but her hands were steady on the wheel. Her mind was clear.
“Think like a car,” she muttered to herself. Her eyes found the ticking second hand on her father’s watch and raced it toward its apex.
The gate of the arena was in view. Thousands of spectators lined the road in bleachers, pennants waving. She kept her focus on the gate, noting that the portcullis was already lowering. She ejected the last of her spare weight and pressed her foot all the way to the floor, mashing the accelerator with all her might.
Sword Fight Page 28
