'Gotcha, Kit.'
Lucky, lucky. They were lucky because the Mad Bomber didn't quite seem to have a handle on what he was doing. Lucky because there weren't any other rats in the back. Mad Bomber was supposed to be the rearguard. Apparently the Zips gave him too much to do.
Nohar didn't rely on stealth, but Bomber seemed oblivious. Nohar closed the space between him and the rat in five running steps—each lumbering step drove a spike into his hip—and leveled the gun at the back of Bomber's head. By then, the rat knew something was up.
Mad Bomber was in the process of turning around. Nohar cocked the Vind and and clucked his tongue at the rat- 'Car has a wonderful finish, I wonder if you'll see the brains leave your head in the reflection?'
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'Wha?' The wave of fear that floated off the rat was gratifying.
'Undo it, now. Or we're walking and you Ye on permanent vacation.'
'Yeah ...' The rat started taking things out of the power plant. Too slow, the sirens were getting louder.
'Remember, fifteen seconds and you're going to start the car.'
Bomber hurried, ripping other things out of the power plant. Nohar hoped the rat knew the wires he was pulling.
Mad Bomber finally came out with what looked like an Afghani landmine. It had Arabic markings on it.
Bang from behind them.
Angel called back as the smell of cordite and blood drifted over. 'Kit, that's one shot. Hurry up, pink law's coming!'
Nohar kept his eye on the rat. It was becoming hard to keep his vision focused. He had all his weight on his left leg. 'You heard the rabbit, hurry up. That sound back there was your backup.'
'Done, it's done . . .'
Mad Bomber was shaking now. Nohar could see why he didn't get the job of diving in on the pinks. The rat couldn't handle it. He was going to die. Not from the cops or another gang's guns. He was going to die from his own stupidity—or the gang would kill him itself. Nohar waved the two females over. 'Some advice. Quit the gang before you make a fatal screwup. Take the mine, stand over there.'
Nohar motioned with the gun and Mad Bomber did meekly as told. Angel ran up, Stephie in tow, and leveled the shotgun at the rat. 'Shell left, let me vanish the ratboy.'
At least she asked. 'Self-defense, no preemptive strikes.' The migraine was getting worse.
'Fine with me, Kit. Saves the ammo.'
Stephie eased behind the wheel and Nohar hustled Angel into the passenger
side. Bomber was still blub-
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bering under the stare of the Vindhya, but he managed to say something. 'You said I would start the car ... '
'Hied.'
Nohar dived into the back seat. The fire in his hip totally blacked out his vision when he hit the seat. As Stephie floored the Antaeus, the door slammed shut. Nohar heard the cables tearing out of the metered feed. He hoped they had some jumpers in the trunk or they'd only have one full charge to go on. A car this size didn't go far on one charge.
They were topping sixty klicks per as they jumped the curb on to the Midtown Corridor. Nohar's sight came back a little as he watched the destruction from out the rear window. Smoke billowed out from the car in front of the Arabica. Black, brown, and white rodents were bugging out of the place, heading toward Moreytown. All attention was riveted on the coffeehouse, or the flashers coming from the east. Except—
Two moreys in an off-road four-wheeler, the kind of thing you needed to drive into Moreytown past the barriers. With the speed the Antaeus was going and his pain-shot vision he could only make the types. White rodent, grayish canine. Terin and Hassan, had to be. Terin was aiming what had to be military binocs at them.
Nohar gave her the finger.
Stephie called back to him. 'Where are we going?'
After telling Angel to make sure they weren't being followed, Nohar gave her an address on the West Side that, in Manny's words, was about as far from Moreytown as you could get.
With luck and a pink driving, they might not get stopped by the cops.
CHAPTER 13
Nohar woke up somewhere on the Main Avenue bridge. Someone had bandaged his hip. Maria's clothing was pulled tight on his leg and seemed to have stopped the bleeding.
The Antaeus was tailing a three-trailer cargo hauler out the other side of downtown Cleveland. The car was surrounded by the towering structures of the West-Side office complex. The sun glared off the acres of mirrored glass—it felt like they were traveling through a giant microwave. Nohar's eyes hurt. It felt like someone was squeezing them in time to his pulse. Nohar's blackout had lasted nearly fifteen minutes, and his migraine was still sending streaks of color across his field of vision. His hip still throbbed.
He tried to focus out the rear window, but his vision was too blurred to make out any details on the cars behind the Antaeus. He did a self-inventory and found himself in less than ideal shape. He had bled all over the back seat, despite Angel's—at least he hoped Angel had done it, Stephie shouldn't have stopped the car—field dressing. The twenty-two had only grazed his neck, opposite his bad shoulder, but the shot that clipped his right hip felt like it had ripped out a good chunk of meat. It felt like someone was running a drill bit in the joint. Between that and the sprained knee, his right leg was nearly immobile.
He didn't remember doing it, but somewhere along the line he had cleared, safetied, and holstered the Vind. Stephie was still driving. Angel still had the
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shotgun. Fortunately, Angel wasn't stupid and kept the gun down in the foot well out of sight of neighboring drivers. Armed moreys usually didn't even get a warning from the cops. . . .
Angel was the first to notice him revive. 'Kit, how you doing back there?' 'I'll live.' Nohar tried to get into a sitting position. His groan got Stephie's attention.
'Nohar, I've been trying to tell Angel here that we've got to get you to a hospital. She stopped the bleeding, but—'
'No pink hospitals.'
'Pinky, Kit's in charge. He said West 58th, we do West 58th. You don't break command structure if you wanna live.'
'Nohar, you're wounded.'
He grunted and finally shoved himself up into a sitting position. He could feel the bones grinding together in his hip. 'Don't worry about me. We're going to the house of the best combat medic that was ever in the Afghan theater. Be worried about someone following us.'
Angel turned around and wrinkled her nose. 'Moreys this far west shine, Kit. We've not been stopped only 'cause Pinky's driving. The off-roader with Terin in it paced us halfway up the Midtown Corridor. Quit when they figured we were headed downtown.'
'Stop calling me Pinky.'
'Hey, Kit, we got a sensitive one here—'
The byplay was getting on his nerves. 'Angel, did anyone ever tell you you don't know when to shut up?' Nohar's vision was still blurred, but the colors weren't washing over as badly. He thought he caught a hint of a smile play around the edge of Stephie's mouth. He wondered exactly what kind of conversation the two of them had been having while he was blacked out.
