Monday, March 30, 2009

EVINRUD - 10

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They’re there. They’re right there. Turning, and fast. We counter arc through the sky. Katana is in my hand. Almost get the cut, almost touch them, so close I can still see his smile. He likes it, wants to fucking dance.

Old bastard on a black, twin motor. Never seen anything like it. I’m armed with steel and it’s got a mini gun and missiles hanging off it. Ahh, tits! It’s back around. No time to even think. Pace it, pace it, pace it… and drop hard. That’s a sword too and I’m missing a patch of hair. Damn he pre-empted that within a degree.

Alright more speed really tilt it, sky fly, cloud hug. Think. Think. If we can make it to the city, even the outskirts, we might be able to shake them. But getting that far isn’t... Bullets slice the air then disappear around us. I skim one off the blade. I’m using the sword for deflection? Shit, I’ve never done that outside of the pulse.

We fly random, ligament twisting, tendon snapping random. Old man can’t do that. It will take longer to reach Beijing and I might need intense physio but fly any straighter and we’re going to lose and we don’t lose. We take a hard corner and I really feel it in my Achilles which gives me another idea.

Evinrud responds immediately, we swerve right, drop and slow. The dual tries to match us and soon he’s right above. We’re in almost vertical free fall, like two dead birds chasing their graves.

Let him think he’s got us, let him get closer…. my sword goes out, the flat catches the air, let it seem like a mistake… his blade is there but the old man isn’t my mark. The tip catches his leg rope and blood and umbilical fluid splatter in the sky before me. There is a scream like tortured whale song, I’ve severed their connection. Gotta move now. We’re quick but not quick enough. I feel the bullet pass through my leg.

Urgghhhhh… Forced to sit I can feel the blood wet on my suit pant, can feel Evinrud’s anguish. But he won’t stop.

Without the bio-connection the dual and its rider can’t keep up, even with me on my ass. They don’t even try. But maybe he knows that last spray of bullets hit their mark. And shit there’s the missile lock, count ‘em, one, two, three.
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