“Get immmmmmm!” screamed Boom Boom and strode out into the ruin and carnage, unloading his crass gold-plated blaster in a fusillade of shots that didn’t go astray too wildly, on the ride Bowie was hijacking.
Shots ripped into the sled’s hull, tearing off ornaments and burning holes through the doors and into the lush interior someone had paid a lot of money for. It was a convertible and one blast managed to barely miss Bowie’s head as he yanked the dead and very bloody donk driver from the seat out onto the hot duracrete pavement. The shot hit the forward window and shattered safety glass in a million different directions.
As Bowie slid behind the wheel, he felt blood run down the side of his face from where exploding hot fragments had cut him.
But either it didn’t hurt, or he didn’t have time for it to do so. Instead he gunned the accelerator and tore away from the parking lot, sure they’d follow in the next few seconds.
28
The Feral Jacks got two sleds working fast. Boom Boom Killah heaved himself behind the wheel of a cobalt blue late model sled with two massive chromed turbo-inducers on the hood, threw the illegal power feed switch, and screamed after Bowie in hot pursuit. Two of his braddas barely made it in before he tore off. The dead donk who’d once piloted the sled had been merely shoved into the passenger seat, the lower half of his muzzle blown off in Bowie’s fusillade of the last of the Jackknife’s fire. Now the dead passenger seemed to be either screaming in horror, or having a fantastic laugh at the whole thing, as the super-charged sled violated every traffic law to catch the fleeing Bowie, who was just making his turn onto Royal Kublar Way and heading for the embassy on State.
The second vehicle was loaded with twice as many braddas and it was doing its level best just to catch up with Boom Boom Killah’s suicidal rush to intercept.
“Head up Sola Street,” screamed the donk crew leader over their open smart comm. “Cut da gauzy off at Stad and Trom!”
The second vehicle peeled away from the route of pursuit and a moment later the donks in the back fired wildly at Bowie as both vehicles suddenly closed.
Bowie yanked the tricked-out sled hard to the left and barely made the turn at the next intersection. Two donks in the street were busy mauling a man they’d dragged out into the middle and Bowie went up onto the curb just to avoid the fight, and to spare the beaten man a quick death.
“Maybe give him a chance,” Bowie thought, or muttered to himself above the scream of the wind and the terrible thrill of the straining engine.
He had a long straightaway ahead and a moment later noticed incoming blaster fire streaking out and ahead of his own vehicle. He pulled the holdout, steering with one hand and leaning over the rear seat, drew a bead on the pursuit led by Boom Boom’s sled, and fired off a rapid series of shots for as long as he could maintain a good sight picture.
Which wasn’t long, due to having to drive and all.
Explosions erupted along the side of the chasing sled but no real damage. The wild donks hanging on in the back seat whooped and hollered at Bowie like this was some kind of rodeo and he some kind of running scared calf to be brought to heel and hog-tied.
Boom Boom Killah rammed his speeding sled into the back of Bowie’s, forcing the vehicle into an odd angle and threatening to smash it into one of the nearby buildings racing past at dangerously close distances.
Bowie gritted his teeth to protect his tongue and flung the sled back into his pursuit a moment later. Both vehicles collided and Bowie pivoted fast with the holdout and fired faster. One donk took it right in the chest and fell off the back of the speeding sled.
The other hee-hawed violently and leapt into the back seat of Bowie’s sled, flinging away his ridiculous blaster and pulling a kankari he kept around his neck.
No time! roared across Bowie’s mind as he engaged full reverse on the engine and cut the repulsors for emergency braking.
The vehicle came to a sudden and immediate halt on the curb.
The braying donk coming at him with the bright shining, wickedly curved knife went through the jagged remains of the windshield, and Boom Boom Killah’s sled suddenly sped away.
The donk slid through the jagged window, cut to shreds, and planted his kankari in the hood, barely hanging over the front.
Bowie engaged motive systems and repulsors once more and gunned it forward, aiming the vehicle at the hunter that had been hunting it just seconds before.
Yeah, there was anger in the donk hanging from the hood’s eyes. But fear too as the engine spooled up to max power.
Ahead, Boom Boom Killah had thrown his cobalt blue sled into a powerslide, brought in the reversers, and stabilized braking.
He went to fire the oversized medium blaster, gold-plated and shining, competing for attention with his two massive gold-capped buckteeth, and felt nothing happen as he squeezed the trigger several times.
The blaster was dry.
He had one move before Bowie rammed into the sled with his own stolen vehicle. Move or die. The donk slammed his hoof on the accelerator and barely avoided being creamed by the coolly homicidal human bearing down on him in one of his crew’s own sleds.
Free and roaring down the street, Bowie pointed his Python straight at the donk holding on from the hood, and the thug was smart enough to go ahead and chance the street. He simply let go of the knife, rolled, and fell away from the speeding sled.
Just a few streets to go, thought Jack Bowie, and he’d reach his objective. Then… who knew what.
29
The zhee contingent, at the behest of Soob City’s self-appointed Grand Wutti, Araki Kal Hallah, who’d taken it upon themselves
