There was so much information crammed into Brak’s last sentence I had to figure out which question to ask first. “The Tarakan highway network? It still functions?”
“Oh yeah, Lady Peach, there’s a lot of it that’s still intact, but you need a SuperTruck to ride it proper, not our kind. You know of SuperTrucks?”
I nodded. The toll-operated highways and the selling of what were fondly called T trucks were one of the most lucrative side businesses of Tarakan. SuperTruck was definitely a good name for those machines, and I was happy to find out some had survived. It meant my trip to the City of Towers could theoretically become much shorter.
“But you say the road is blocked?”
“That’s what I hear, Lady Peach. Some warlord took a part of it for himself, made a roadblock, and is taxing the SuperTruck drivers. They say this warlord has some kind of heavy cannons on carts that can blow you away from a mile’s distance, and that a few truckers who tried to break through died along with their trucks. So now the only way to get from Newport would be the back roads on trucks like ours.” Brak pointed in the direction we came from for emphasis. “And that could take you several weeks, maybe a whole season. And I hear Regeneration is under siege, too, although it could be just a rumour.”
I did not recognize the places Brak mentioned, but it seemed that violence never ceased for a moment, even after Armageddon.
We both heard the very long honk of the truck’s horn. “Oh, Trev is getting impatient with us.” Brak smiled, but when two more short honks followed his smile faded and he began running back, pulling out a gun from his belt. “It’s our signal for trouble,” he shouted as I ran after him. “Hold on Trev, I’m coming.”
I hadn’t touched any of the guns in the truck, assuming such an action would not be appreciated, but I still had my sword. I pulled it out and went after Brak. My vessel’s shape and size meant I could easily blend into a market crowd in a reconnaissance mission, but it had short legs and was not built for speed, so I was trailing behind when I cleared the small hill. It turned out Trevil was travelling towards us. The truck cut through the tall grass, swaying dramatically, and I could count three figures holding on to the top of the truck, slowly progressing to the cabin. They were dressed in a mixture of rags and animal skin. A little behind them was a cloud of dust made by more men on horses galloping towards us. There was no time to zoom in or count them as we ran towards the truck.
There was a shot and a body dropped from the passenger side. I could see that Trevil was still in the driver’s seat but I guess Brak was too battle nervous to have a clear grasp of the situation because he screamed, “Trev, no,” stood his ground, aimed and shot wildly at the men on top of the truck. All three men ducked, but one of them shot back just as Trevil managed to steady the vehicle. I heard Brak shout and saw him fall into the tall grass just as the truck pulled over. One of the men on top skidded forward and fell in front of the cabin; another used the momentum to jump down, roll in the soft grass, and come up pointing the gun at the prone Brak. He did not pay attention to me, a middle-aged woman barely taller than the grass, until the moment I cut his arm off with the power sword.
Trevil climbed out of the driver seat. There was blood on his shirt. He shot the man who fell in front of the truck and began running towards us, unaware that the third man on top of the truck had gotten up on his feet and was aiming his gun at Trevil’s back. ESM kicked in. I grabbed the severed arm before it hit the ground, turned it and pressed the finger on the trigger, shooting above Trevil’s head. It was an old gun, and I think I missed, or maybe grazed the man, but it made him lose his balance and fall from the top of the truck. I ran and stabbed him with the sword as Trevil bent down and picked up the groaning Brak, put his arm around him and began carrying him back to the truck. The men on horseback were a moment from catching up with us, and there was no way we could push Brak into the cabin and drive away on time. I sheathed the sword, bent down and picked up the other gun. “Start moving,” I shouted at Trevil. “I’ll stall them.”
I ran as fast as I could while crouching low in the tall grass, and I heard the thunder of hooves approaching. My personal, inner briefing was short and bitter. I had a pair of unchecked, old guns with only the element of surprise on my side and short-spanned ESM facing an untold number of armed riders. Those were not odds I wanted to work with. Three horses passed me, and their riders noticed me too late to react. The fourth one almost trampled me and I had to roll sideways. I emerged from the tall grass shooting with both hands. All around me men and horses screamed and fell. My left-hand gun emptied after five shots, and I figured I had one or two more shots in my right. I ran to where a rider fell as bullets began whizzing around me, and an arrow struck the ground in front of me. A rider was lying on the ground, still breathing, but nursing a gunshot wound, his pump-action shotgun at arm’s length. When he saw me he tried to reach it. I shot him twice, dropped the handguns, and went to retrieve the shotgun. I was in the midst of a fog of war, the sort that gets you killed quickly. Somewhere behind me I heard the truck’s engine roar. I rolled again, picking up the shotgun with both hands, turned, shot a charging woman off her horse, ducked, and ran fast along the tall grass as bullets chased me. Without the ESM I would have been dead already, but my body was beginning to weaken. The truck was already moving away as I began racing after it. I knew that this action would be the last physical exertion I could muster before I collapsed from exhaustion. Already my sight was beginning to get blurry.
I saw a lone horse and went for it. He might have been docile, in shock, or too slow to react to my ESM speed, but I managed to reach him and jump-mount. I had never been a horse person, but I had put in my fair share of saddle miles during various assignments which had brought me to the farthest corners of the world. The saddle was makeshift, leather and animal skin, but was surprisingly soft—not that I had time to enjoy the sensation.
My attack had momentarily disoriented the riders, but they were circling for another charge at the truck. I estimated there were more than a dozen left. I ducked my head low and urged the horse forward. Hitting a moving target from horseback was a very difficult task, but it didn’t stop my pursuers from trying. Bullets and arrows flew past me with enough density to pose a threat. I kept my head down and urged the beast forward with my heels. The truck was built for endurance but not for speed, even on a paved road. Reaching it on the back of a galloping horse took only a moment. I manoeuvred to the right side of the truck, then grasped the first thing I could reach, a rusty ladder. My horse suddenly veered away and I was left dangling, holding onto the ladder with one hand, my feet almost touching the ground. The shotgun dropped to the ground and a second later I saw the truck roll over it. Normally climbing to relative safety would have been easy enough, but after ESM, my vessel was reaching the end of its physical ability. Through desperation alone I managed to get a foothold on the ladder, but all I could do was cling to it and watch as the first rider reached the truck. He was a burly man with a wild beard, dressed in a bearskin and high fur boots. In his hand he held a long spear with a wicked-looking metal spike on the end of it. I didn’t need to use my imagination to guess what he would be trying to do first. He aimed the spear at me as he got closer. Trying to climb up would just expose my back to him, and besides, my arms and legs felt like they were made of stone. I managed to draw the sword with my left hand as the rider closed in on me, but as I pressed the power button, nothing happened. It was either broken or depleted of energy cells. The rider lunged with his spear and I barely managed to deflect it. Two other riders were close behind him. One had long, braided hair and was holding a gun in her free hand. The rider with the spear tried again. This time the tip of the spear missed me but the sharp metal brushed against my skin and without registering the pain yet, I felt the skin on my thigh open. I willed my legs to climb up the ladder but his companions got within shooting distance and were just taking their time to get closer so they wouldn’t miss. I was going to be shot, and then the vessel’s strength would not be able to hold on to the ladder and I would fall down to the ground. If I was lucky I would get run over by the truck and be done for the fast way.
The burly rider aimed his spear again just as his chest exploded and