The Retarded Warrior and DARK Lore Presents: ** Lengths and Extremities: Part 4 ** ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * * * * * "The escort's riding the bike," Turnbull said, pulling his head in from the window. "They're coming this way, moving pretty fast." "Take him out," said McAlister, peering through his scope. "Hurry up. They'll be in the target zone in a few seconds. I'll take Elminster." Without a word, Turnbull turned back to the window and took careful aim with his RSG. When the lead bike got within range, he snapped back on the trigger. But it's true what they say: moving targets ARE harder to hit than still ones, never mind one that was zipping along at over 160 kph. Turnbull's shot went wide and instead of hitting Tony in the chest where it was intended, it rose a bit high and caught his injured arm. * * * * * Tony gave a monsterous yell this time and his entire body jerked back. The Genesis wobbled and threatened to tip over but he managed to stabilize it a bit with his good arm, borrowing enough time for him to turn the straight driving speed into a wide, sweeping fish-tail arc. The bike then DID tip over, throwing both him and Elminster from its back. A large part of his survival demanded that Elminster know how to jump or fall from a moving vehicle and had the bike not been going so fast, he would have come out of this particular crash with little more than a few scrapes, bruises and, if he had been really unfortunate, a sprained something-or-other. But speeding has its consequences. He fell awkwardly on his right shoulder, dislocating it, before he rolled to a full and complete stop in the middle of the road. Tony was not so lucky. He was tossed, weak and weary, off to the side, sliding across the pavement until he slammed up against the curb, breaking what was once his good arm in two different places. There he laid for a moment, panting and too weak to do anything but groan and cry. Then he remembered the two Manhunters who were giving chase and slowly, he rolled himself onto the sidewalk and, wincing with pain, pulled himself to his feet. He paused, standing in front of a clothing store looking like a zombie with both arms hanging limply down, his body smeared with red and wondering what to do next. Even if he COULD fire his M-16 which he spotted lying next to the motorcycle with the strap tangled loosely around one of the handgrips, there was no way he would be able to aim it nor even CARRY it for that matter. But he was going to try anyway. He took a couple of steps out into the street and then froze. A pool of light ran at his feet, hugging the road. He looked up and found himself staring into a pair of round headlights. He shut his flashblinded eyes and backed away, trying to move towards his gun which was still a good twenty feet behind him. The Genesis stopped and the Manhunters drew their guns. The rider dropped his old clip and reloaded his Uzi with a new one that had a silver stripe painted near the bottom of it. And then the two of them started firing. Tony shuddered and shook as each round dug through his body armour and found their way into his chest and abdomen where they went about, merrily shredding his inards. The shooting finally stopped when their guns ran dry and their clips were empty and Tony fell backwards like a felled tree onto the street carrying fifty-seven rounds of teflon 9mm in his vital organs. * * * * * Still dizzy from being thrown from the motorcycle, Elminster drew out the Davao with his still functioning left hand and fired off the last round, missing the Manhunters by a good six inches. He picked himself up hurriedly and scrambled for the HK which had managed to skitter all the way to the other side of the street, not even wondering about how he was going to reload the damned thing. It turned out that it didn't matter because as soon as he got up, he felt something like a .357 Magnum round strike his chest followed immediately by a pinprick. He took a few reeling steps backwards and fell over. The world started spinning and he collapsed weakly on the ground in a cold sweat with everything around him fading to black. * * * * * "Bottle Rocket to Black Cat. What is your situation?" "We're still in pursuit," replied Kosk. "How are things on your end?" "We've got Elminster so we won't be needing the girl," Bottle Rocket responded. "But get Sanderson if you can." "Affirmative. Black Cat out." * * * * * A curfew was imposed by Aurora Incorporated, the ruling company for Ontario and Northern New York State, on those under eighteen years of age which restricted them from leaving their homes after 11:30 at night and kept them there until 7:30 the next morning. Those discovered walking the streets after curfew were, regardless of age, subjectable to Image ID scans by any patrolling Headhunters that wanted to take the time. Despite the freedom this gave to those of age, few took advantage of it because the night was a dangerous thing. On average, ten firefights erupted every night between rebels and Headhunters and, as anyone who had ever witnessed or participated in such an event would recall with mixed emotions, both sides packed great amounts of artillery and a lot of things, living, dead and inanimate, got reduced to atoms in the crossfire. So most of the citizens stayed indoors and prayed that they and their possessions would not become accidental victims at some point during the night. * * * * * The streets were for the most part deserted. The party people were dancing their hearts out in the underground clubs scattered around town. The more inert folk were hidden away at home sleeping, watching TV or entertaining themselves in some other fashion, their vehicles parked along the street, standing watch over the night's happenings from their places under the occasionally flickering pale yellow light of the street lamps. A majestic, black shadow of a car whipped around a corner and sped off east along the lake shore, zipping in and out of what little traffic there was on the road at the time. The people it passed stole a hasty glance at it and then hurried off, guessing that a car that was moving THAT fast must either be chasing or in the process of being chased by either Headhunters or rebels and everyone knew that when the two factions got together, the people nearby tended to inhale a lot of lead and fire. * * * * * "Why are you driving so fucking fast for?" Karen managed to ask after being tossed from one side of the backseat to the other and then back again with every high-speed lane change that the Lexus made. "We're being followed," Dennis told her and turned the steering wheel sharply. The car dodged around a blue Toyota that was stopped at a red light and flew through the intersection against the signal. A brown Ford coming south screeched to a halt, the driver stuck his head out of the window and yelled something obviously obscene though completely unintelligable while waving his middle finger. Dennis slammed on the brakes and rolled down the window. "Fuck you too, pal," he said and pulled a shiny, nickel-plated Beretta out from its holster under his jacket and took a few shots at the man with it. The Ford's windshield and front left tire and hubcap each had a hole put into it. Dumbfounded, the man retracted his arm and stared stupidly at the cracked glass before him. After making sure that it was real and not just some bizarre dream, he waved cheerily and tried pathetically to smile as he shouted a weak "Sorry!" Dennis put his gun away and waved also. "I'm not!" he shouted back, smiling. The man sitting in the passenger seat, Leonard Wu, callsign Forbidden Image, slapped Dennis on the arm and said annoyedly "Quit waving, you moron! They're right behind us!" Dennis stopped abruptly and checked the rearview mirror. A dark blue Buick was trying desperately to keep up but had lagged behind, though his conversation with the Ford gave it enough time to catch up and park itself a few car lengths behind them and the driver got out carrying what Dennis recognized to be a Franchi Sporting Purpose Automatic Shotgun, one of his favourite weapons. Suddenly he found himself wishing he had a couple of those himself, stored in the backseat with eight rounds of 00 buck and the full-auto mode already selected. But he didn't. A customer in New York had sapped him of most of the guns and ammo that he had in the car a few days ago and he hadn't picked up anything since; it had been a slow week. The Manhunter paused outside the Buick and said something to his partner who picked up the radio and started talking into it. Now Dennis began to worry. "Oh shit," he said, turning to Forbidden Image. "You packing anything heavy?" He pulled a black Beretta out of a worn leather holster, showed it to Dennis and said "Just this. You?" Dennis sighed. "I have mine with three rounds short of a full load and a Derringer strapped to my wrist..." Karen, who was nervously staring out the back window at the Manhunters, spun around, stuck her head up into the front and looked Dennis straight in the face. "That's it?!" she exclaimed. "I thought guns were your business?! Jesus, the average guard dog packs more heat than you do!" She retreated into the back and began rummaging around under the seat. "Give me an extra vest and we can just drive off. They can't catch us in this car with that piece of shit that they're driving!" "Listen up!" Dennis yelled and she froze. "First off, guns ARE my business and at the moment my business is helping your boyfriend stay alive. Second, this is not a 747; we do not keep crates of bulletproof vests under the seats. There's only ONE extra vest and your aforementioned boyfriend is wearing it. Even if you DID have a vest it wouldn't matter because Manhunters all carry explosive shells in their shotguns and in case you didn't notice, the little doozy that our friend is toting back there is the mother of all shotguns. It carries eight rounds and can shoot in full-auto which brings me to point three: we can't outrun a bullet." He stopped for breath. "Now keep your head down and your mouth closed." Karen gave him a hurt but obediant look and said "Sorry." "Okay, okay. Apology accepted," he replied, waving her head to the seat. "Now stay down." She did as she was told, leaving him and Forbidden Image to discuss things. "Remind me to install some guns in the back," Dennis said, taking another glance in the rearview mirror. "None of the shit in the trunk can help us now..." He sighed and shook his head. "So what have we got?" "A Derringer, two Berettas and we almost forgot about Bessie under the seat," Forbidden Image said. Dennis's eyes lit up. "Bessie! That's right! We can just--" "Too late," Forbidden Image broke in. "He's coming." Dennis looked over his shoulder and saw that the Manhunter was indeed approaching. "Okay, okay," Dennis said, giving curt little flaps with both hands and trying to calm himself down. He took another peek behind him and saw that the Manhunter closing in on the back of the Lexus, moving cautiously but quickly. "Well," Dennis said, "we have you, Leonard. You're our army." Forbidden Image gave a hesitant nod and shifted in his seat. The Manhunter came up to the window and tapped on the glass with the end of the gun barrel. "Any quick moves, Sanderson, and your head is jelly. Your friend too."SAUCE00Lengths & Extremities Part 4 The Retarded WarriorDark Illustrated 19941017Ç.P