He tossed it to the outlaw, but it was short and somewhat higher than was necessary, in a graceful, dramatic arc that made Cutter reach.
He would realize a count too late that it was all a distraction.
He had his hands out to catch the PDC when he saw Frost draw. He tried to recover, letting the device fall to the ground as he went for his own weapon, but in his heart, he knew it was far too late. The man had gotten the drop on him. He heard Lulah scream and then, the discharge.
Frost shot him twice in the chest, and Cutter fell backward onto Denton’s manicured lawn. In his mind, he had time to curse himself for being so stupid mentally. Done in by a two-bit, bushwhacking bounty hunter. Without even firing a fuckin’ shot! Not how he saw himself going out.
The last thing he heard was Lulah hysterically screaming as she fought futilely to get to him. As his world faded to black, her screams were turning to gut-wrenching sobs.
Frost holstered his pistol and stood over his victim. With total disdain, he peered down at Cutter. “Threaten my daughter, will ya, you piece of shit thug.”
Behind him, Denton chuckled. “Well, you won’t have to split the money now, will you Frost?” He looked down at Cutter. “Make sure you clean that shit up off my lawn before you leave!”
***
“Tanner Thomas, I’m picking up chatter on the ZiP frequency,” Ruff told him, as he scanned the emergency frequencies. “They’ve noticed us and have contacted the Authority Command at VBS. They wanna know about the UFO hovering over South Huntsville.”
“I’m picking up some Space Guard interceptors launching from the spaceport,” Shaniqua now informed. “We can’t stay here! Time to hightail our ass on outta here, babe.”
She was right. They couldn’t stay, and there wasn’t anything they could do on the ground below. If by some slim chance, Amber, Tex and the kids were still alive, he wouldn’t be doing them any good by losing his brand spanking new ride. It was time to run and live to fight another day. Something he seemed to be far too proficient at doing.
He reached up and pulled his visor closed. “Alright, Ruff, grab hold of something and hang on! You’re about to be the first dog man in space.”
“How exci—” the AnthroSplice started to say, but never finished, as Tiger pushed the throttle forward and pulled the control stick back hard. Ruff’s head was slammed back against the headrest, massive G’s pressing his body into the contoured seat as the Night Mare’s engines erupted to life, and the black ship shot almost straight up into the cloudless Southern sky.
As the blue rapidly began to turn to black, the ship escaped the bonds of gravity, and the G’s transitioned to zero gravity. Tiger caught a motion out of the corner of his eye. Turning to the left, he saw that Ruff had unstrapped himself and floated forward to press his face to the window, fascinated with his first view of space, a sight he never imagined he’d see.
Tiger couldn’t help but chuckle at the spectacle. “Would you like me to roll the window down and let you hang your head out?”
«◊»
The end has come.
At the tramway station leading to the squadron hangar, Tiger and Starr supervise the loading of women and children into the cramped cars. Every time the assisting militiamen think they have one sufficiently full, he insists on packing more people into it.
“Tighten up in there!” he yells gruffly into a car full of crying, sobbing terrified refugees. “Nobody sits! Everyone stands! We got more coming, so make room!”
Above them, the once-proud city of Luna Three is now a smoking heap of rubble. Yet, pockets of isolated resistance still fight on, determined to drain every last drop of hated Authority blood, before succumbing to overwhelming numbers and increasingly brutal weapons and tactics. At this point, neither side is giving or expecting any quarter.
That one small step has turned into one giant bloodbath.
At the tramway station, the shelling is getting closer, more frequent. They’re running out of time. The fight is far too close. Small arms fire can be heard, and explosions are now shaking the walls of the station. Moondust and pieces of magnicrete fall on the awaiting crowd of boarders with regularity now, adding to the frenzied panic.
Tiger paces up and down the loading platform, fretting. There’s not enough time, nor enough cars. Some of these people are going to be left behind. And even if there were enough cars, there aren’t enough ships to carry them all to safety.
Ten days into the ground battle, after the Guard breached the dome in five locations, Cody suspended all flight operations. He knew he would need all the remaining ships for this day. Someone would have to survive to tell the story of what had happened here.
Still, there wouldn’t be enough ships.
A commotion at one car. A woman insists on taking her bags, slowing up the loading. He storms down, grabs her luggage and tosses it off the platform onto the tracks.
“Get in the car or get outta the way of people who actually wanna live!” he yells.
She gets in the car.
A tram comes speeding into the station at breakneck speed, screeching to a halt only at the last second. Its doors open, and heavily-armed soldiers pour out. Tiger recognizes these men from that night in the bar. The Dixie Devils … the volunteers from the South … or what few remains of them. Cody and his staff also disembark. He and his remaining aides are working their PDCs. Some are talking on theirs, dispatching orders, while others are
