Metal barriers had been erected at the north end of the span and two automatic weapons were half-hidden behind piles of sandbags on both sides of the road. The gun on the left began to fire, quickly followed by the one on the right, as the truck barreled toward them.
“Pull the pin!” Hale ordered, and Mark obeyed. The passenger-side window was already down, so all the teenager had to do was keep a firm grip on the safety lever, or “spoon,” while waiting for the right moment.
Projectiles made a persistent pinging noise as they hit the truck, the windshields shattered—front and back—as a projectile passed between Hale and Tina, and the Lyon hesitated slightly as it hit the barricade and smashed it aside. That was when Mark stuck his arm through the window and let go of the grenade. It hit the ground, bounced high into the air, and exploded. Shrapnel cut down one of the stinks as it sought to swivel its machine gun around.
The truck itself slammed into another Hybrid and killed it instantly. Hale heard a soft thump and knew that at least one Chimera had dropped from the superstructure above to land on the roof. Seconds later a skeletal hand shot through the already shattered rear window and caught hold of Tina’s hair. She screamed and tried to pull away. That was Hale’s cue to reach forward and pull on the red knob that protruded from the dashboard.
The Hybrid let go of Tina’s hair when the dump box began to tilt upward, thereby exposing it to fire from behind. The stink’s body jerked spastically as it took multiple hits before being dumped out onto the bridge deck where it rolled away.
With the box in the raised position, the cab was protected from behind. Bullets ricocheted away as they hit solid steel. One of the rear duals was flat by then, but with five tires left there was no stopping the truck as it began to close with the barrier at the south end of the bridge.
The disadvantage of having the box raised was that the truck’s speed was cut in half, and Hale was busy downshifting when a stink jumped up onto the driver’s-side running board. The Chimera roared angrily as it tried to stick its head in through the open window. Hale could taste the creature’s foul breath as he let out the clutch, stomped on the gas, and brought the .410 level with the window.
There was a satisfying boom as the tightly focused cone of birdshot blew half of the Hybrid’s face away. The three eyes on the other half registered what might have been surprise as the horror fell away, hit one of the upright supports, and broke in two.
Tina accepted the shotgun and hurried to reload it as Mark fired the Reaper out the passenger-side window. A ′brid standing on the other side of the barricade fell, and the big bumper hit the metal obstruction and sent pieces of steel flying through the air. That cut even more Chimera down.
Hale knew it was going to be necessary to abandon the truck and hike cross-country, so he wanted to reduce the number of Chimera who could follow them. With that in mind he braked, shifted into reverse, and backed onto the bridge again, killing two more stinks in the process.
He shifted into low, lowered the box, and drove forward until it was time to stop the Lyon and bail out. Missiles were landing all around. The Stalker was too large to cross the span from the north, but the pilot still could lob missiles over the bridge.
As columns of dirty snow shot into the air and pattered down all around them, the trio went around to the back of the truck and scrambled up into the dump box. At least half of the gear had fallen out during the crossing, including both Hale’s pack and the Fareye. Fortunately the Rossmore and all three sets of snowshoes were still lashed to the bottom of the box. “Grab your snowshoes,” Hale shouted as another missile hit nearby, “and follow me!”
Having secured the shotgun and his snowshoes, Hale led the others up the hillside toward the jumble of now familiar rocks. Once they passed over the crest, they were out of range and there was nothing the Stalker could do but pace back and forth and lob rockets at the truck. The Lyon took a direct hit, exploded into a ball of flame, and sent a pillar of black smoke up toward the gray sky.
Ten minutes later Hale and his companions had their snowshoes on and were slip-sliding cross-country in a desperate attempt to reach the landing zone in time. The detour to the Potter homestead had consumed valuable time, and now they were paying for it.
The warmer temperature was causing the snow to melt, but it was still too deep to abandon the snowshoes. Despite the hard going, Hale was suddenly grateful for the snow, when they paused on a rise to look back. Three Hybrids, summoned from Lord knows where, could be seen half a mile back, but lacking showshoes, the stinks were struggling.
One of the ′brids paused to fire an ineffectual shot from his assault rifle, causing Hale to yearn for the missing Fareye. All three of the Chimera would have been easy meat for it. “Come on,” he said grimly. “We’ll out-walk the bastards.”
But as the next couple of hours came off the clock, the youngsters began to slow, and the Hybrids were catching up. That meant it was no longer a choice of whether to fight, but of where to fight, and Hale tried to remember a pile of rocks, a cluster of trees, or a ravine where they could lie in wait for the pursuers.
It was no good. That section of the gently rolling prairie was almost featureless. Or so it seemed until Hale spotted a dark smudge in the distance.
“We’re going to ambush the stinks,” Hale announced confidently. “Come on, Mark… Let’s help Tina. We need to hurry.”
The lead Hybrid paused at the top of a slight rise, saw the snow-frosted corpse laid out on the ground ahead, and wondered who or what had been able to bring the big form down. But it was a passing thought, because like all ′brids the Chimera lived in the eternal now, it being left to higher forms to contemplate the past and plan for the future. His task was to catch up with the humans, kill them, and eat his fill.
The tracks led past the Titan and over the next rise, indicating that the humans were still on the move, but they were slowing. It wouldn’t be long before he and his fellows would be able to savor the coppery taste of human blood. So he waved the others forward, and led them past the horribly ravaged corpse, confident that the chase was about to end.
“Now!” Hale yelled. He and Mark burst from within the hollowed-out corpse already firing, Hale with the Rossmore and Mark with the Reaper. The stinks never had a chance.
Tina had gone ahead, thereby creating a fresh set of tracks that led over the next rise, where she had strict orders to stay out of sight.
The stinks tried to turn, tried to defend themselves, but a hail of close-range projectiles tore them apart. Blood sprayed the snow beyond the Hybrids as they jerked this way and that before collapsing in heaps.
Hale started to reload, discovered that he was out of shotgun ammo, and scrambled up and out of the Titan’s abdomen. A Bullseye lay next to its previous owner.
“Come on,” he said cheerfully as he bent to retrieve the weapon. “We’re almost there.” They moved to rejoin Tina.
And forty-five minutes later they were there when the drone of engines was heard, and the Party Girl settled into the soft snow. Two minutes later Hale lifted Tina up into the cargo compartment, climbed in beside her, and turned to give Mark a helping hand.
“Congratulations,” he said as the hatch began to close. “And welcome to what’s left of the United States of America.”
Having convinced Purvis to drop the three of them outside Valentine, Nebraska, Hale was determined to make sure that Mark and Tina would have a place to stay before returning to the SRPA base. The so-called Protection Camps were somewhat controversial because, even though hundreds of thousands of people had decided to enter them, an equal number of people had refused on philosophical grounds, or because they didn’t want to subject themselves to the strict, almost military-like discipline required of the internees.