He threw himself forward in a frantic somersault, trying to roll ahead of the deadly lead stream. His body suddenly spun around like a top, flipping him over on his face. As he twirled, he screamed some gibberish, which to Kane sounded like “Domi! Do it!”
Kane stopped dodging and dancing and rushed headlong toward Salvo and the three Mags still on their feet. He stretched out his right arm ahead of him, flame blooming and sharp thunder cracking from his handblaster. One of the Mags fired at him, and he felt a pair of glancing impacts on the top of his left shoulder. He staggered, his aim spoiled. His shots missed Salvo by a whisper but ripped through the Mag standing next to him, turning his cheekbones, nose and mouth into a red jelly smear.
At the same instant the Mag corkscrewed sideways against the base of the box pyramid, an engine roar echoed throughout the warehouse. It was immediately followed by a metal-on-metal grinding and a clashing of gears.
The pyramid of boxes swayed, the lower tiers stretching and then bursting apart. Salvo tried to run, but the pinnacle and its supporting containers toppled. He was buried beneath a crashing avalanche of boxes and crates and pallets.
Kane vaulted to one side, cartwheeling his way out of the careening path of the wag. Its treads rolled over and crushed one of the fallen Mags, his armor cracking and splitting open like the carapace of a beetle.
The two Mags still on their feet backed away from the charging vehicle in a clumsy, shambling run. They fired at it, the rounds clanging and striking sparks from the armor plate.
The cross-braced steel barricade remover slammed into them like a battering ram, flinging them, arms and legs flailing, across the warehouse. One struck the wall, leaving a vague imprint of his head in the tin, and dropped bonelessly to the floor. The other crashed through the side of a large, wood-paneled packing crate.
With a screech of rusty brake shoes catching, the wag shuddered noisily to a halt. Foul smoke belched from the exhaust stacks. Even on idle, the engine roared like an enraged beast. Kane didn’t know where to look or to aim. Peripheral images crowded his vision. In front of him was the armored wag. On his right, Grant was trying to get to his knees. His face was drenched in perspiration, he was gasping in pain, but his teeth flashed in a savage grin. To the left, a dazed Mag dragged himself along the floor.
The driver’s door of the vehicle squealed open, and he glimpsed a small white wraith at the Wheel. She waved to Grant and shouted, “Come on!”
The firefight was over, ending as suddenly as it began, and Kane was in instant motion, at Grant’s side and pulling him to his feet. He hissed through clenched teeth and grabbed at his right thigh. Blood seeped between his fingers.
Kane pushed the coat aside, examining the wound, touching both sides of the thigh. “The slug went clean through, tearing only the layers of skin. It’s the proverbial flesh wound. The muscles are probably bruised, though. You’re lucky. Can you stand on it?”
Grant’s leg wobbled, but it supported him. Voice tight with suppressed pain, he said, “Let me shoot you in the leg and you can tell me how lucky you feel.”
“Since you’re bitching already, I guess you’ll make a full recovery. Wish we had a medikit, though.”
“There’s one in the Sandcat. Whatever else you can say about Guana, the fat bastard was always prepared. Except for when Domi chilled him.”
Kane nodded toward the girl in the Sandcat. “Domi. Isn’t she the same gaudy slut who nearly chilled you?”
“Yeah, but so did you, so I’m not holding any grudges. She’s not a gaudy. She saved my life.” Grant released his pent-up breath in a gusty sigh, his eyes surveying the carnage. “We’ve overstayed.”
Kane turned and began walking toward the door.
Grant called after him. “I had you going, didn’t I?”
Kane paused, a smart-ass remark on his lips. He bit it back and said simply, “Yeah.”
Grant grinned. “Bet you feel like the most triple-stupe asshole in the world right now.”