James Axler - Perception Fault

Jak’s red eyes widened at receiving the weapon, then he yanked out the magazine, inserted another one and pulled back the cocking lever. “What waiting for?”

Shaking his head, Ryan was about to head out when J.B. slapped the roof. “Hold on, the others are coming!” His words were immediately followed by the deafening roar of the .50-caliber machine gun, its recoil shaking the wag’s entire cab, and Jak, who’d been watching out the passenger window, whooped in glee.

“Got him!”

“Course.”

Ryan stole a look out the passenger side to see another mil wag on the ridge, stopped and aflame. The rear passenger door opened, and a figure wreathed in orange flame fell out, rolling on the ground to try to extinguish the fire crisping his body. Bullets started cooking off in the heat with dull pops, and one of them had to have struck the flamer, as he suddenly jerked and lay still on the ground.

The back doors of Ryan’s transport popped open, and Krysty, Mildred and Doc squeezed into the cramped compartment. The women went in back, leaving Doc to try to crowd into the front. “Nukeshit, Doc, put stork legs somewhere not crotch!” Jak shouted as the lanky-legged timer traveler tried to arrange himself in the passenger seat. Ryan didn’t wait, but had popped the clutch and was moving the wag forward, his eyes on the fleeing figure pulling away from them with every step.

“I say, Jak, if you would just place that shotgun elsewhere—”

“Not happen—hold still!” Jak had squirmed out from under Doc, and was now sitting on his lap, a position neither one was enjoying. He stuck the barrel out the passenger window as the wag began to accelerate and fired five quick blasts into a group of running men, downing two and making the rest scatter for cover. J.B.’s fifty had also joined the fray, the weapon’s deeper roar overwhelming the S&W’s reports.

“Come on! Could get out run faster!” Jak egged Ryan on as he scanned for another target.

Ryan gritted his teeth as he forced the gearshift into Second. “Overloaded as we are, I might just take you up on that.” The Hummer was finally starting to catch up with their target when J.B. called out from the turret. “Wags at three o’clock!”

The one-eyed man glanced right to see two more mil wags crest the hill and speed toward them, one peeling off to chase the running woman, the other on a course to intercept Ryan’s hijacked wag. “Get them off us, J.B.!”

“No prob—” The Armorer depressed the trigger of the Fifty, which spit a short burst before going silent. He cleared the action and tried again, with similar results. “Black dust! Blaster’s jammed!”

“Marvelous.” Doc was pressed back into the passenger seat, fending off Jak’s elbow in his face as the teenager tried to get a better angle on the approaching wag. “Nothing like riding in style.”

“Better than hoofing it like she is, Doc.” Ryan struggled to shift into third, the engine whining with the effort. Krysty was already shooting at the enemy wag, but a burst from their turret, manned with a green shirt toting an automatic rifle, quickly made her duck back inside.

“If you’re going to fire that thing, Jak, any time now would be great!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He stuck the shotgun out again and let fly, the fléchettes sparking off the hood and roof of the other mil wag. Just as quickly, Jak jerked the blaster back inside as bullets hit all around the window, one even penetrating to lodge in the dashboard next to him.

“How close, J.B.?” Ryan shouted.

“Ten yards and coming up fast—they’re gonna ram us!”

“Not if I can help it.” Ryan waited one more moment, then jammed on the brakes with both feet as he down-shifted, decelerating so fast Jak and Doc were thrown against the windshield. Caught by surprise, the other driver tried to compensate, but couldn’t slow down in time. The rear quarter panel of the other mil wag smacked against the right front fender of Ryan’s, but didn’t do any serious damage. “Chill that bastard!” Ryan snapped as he wrestled the obstinate vehicle back into motion.

Jak recovered faster than the turret gunner, poking his head out with the M-4000 tucked into his shoulder. The man’s eyes widened when he saw the shotgun’s maw pointed at him, but he still tried to bring the AK-47 to bear on his opponent.

He failed.

The albino teen squeezed the trigger, sending dozens of razor-sharp steel darts flying into the man’s chest, piercing his lungs and slicing between his ribs, shredding his stomach, liver and kidneys into pulp. The man fell forward, and was immediately pushed out of the turret by someone else inside, the body rolling off the sloped back to land in front of Ryan’s wag. Bracing himself, the one-eyed man didn’t stop, feeling the heavy thump as the wheels rolled over the body, finishing him off if he hadn’t been dead already.

“Where’s that big blaster, J.B.?” Ryan shouted, seeing the other mil wag begin to pull away from them. His question was answered a moment later by a long burst of bullets from up top that chewed into the back of the Hummer in front of them, blowing off the spare tire and punching large holes into the armored top. The squat wag slewed from side-to-side, but kept going, so J.B. aimed another two-second burst at the left rear corner. The cluster of shells disintegrated the armored fender and continued into the tire, blowing it apart in a cloud of flying rubber. The driver lost control of his vehicle, which swerved around in a 180-degree turn and stalled.

Suddenly face-to-face with the coldheart through his side door window, Ryan scrambled to draw his Sig Sauer and aim it at the wheelman, who was just as frantically lining up his own blaster. A single shot cracked out, and the enemy driver’s head snapped back, a small hole appearing in his forehead. If anyone else was inside the wag, they were staying put behind the armored doors.

Ryan reholstered his blaster and hit the gas. “Thanks, Mildred.”

“No problem. Now let’s get that woman.”

Squinting through the dust-covered windshield, Ryan spotted the second mil wag pulling alongside the woman, who tried to dodge away, but was grabbed by a man in the rear passenger seat who drew the kicking, screaming woman into the back. “Nuking hell, they got her!”

“Well, then, my dear Ryan, I suggest that we get her back.” With a feral grin, Doc had his LeMat drawn and ready, and seemed to be fully in the moment. “Tallyho!”

“Tallyho indeed, whatever the fuck that means.” Ryan goosed the accelerator, and the ancient mil wag, as if sensing his urgency, now leaped forward, straining to catch up to the vehicle ahead of them.

“J.B., can you take them out without hitting anyone in the rear?” Ryan shouted.

“Ask me to shoot off their hats without mussin’ their hair, why don’t ya!” J.B. yelled back. “This is a machine gun, not a bastard scalpel!”

“All right, all right, we’ll do it the hard way.” Ryan heard sniggering from the passenger seat and glanced over to find both Jak and Doc apparently sharing a private joke. “Want to tell me what’s so bastard funny?”

“You said…hit anyone…in rear,” Jak got out between chortles. Doc’s laugh grated on Ryan’s nerves, as well, but he ignored it and concentrated on getting closer to the wag ahead of them.

“Shut your mouths and look sharp—mebbe snipers above.”

His words sobered the two up, and they returned to watching the surrounding countryside as it blurred past. They’d left the long hillside behind now, and were jouncing through a series of smaller foothills, the wag’s engine growling as it powered up one side and down another. Ryan followed them into a narrow valley, where there was barely enough room for both vehicles to drive side-by-side.