“You saw the gateway chamber in Reeth’s slaghole, just like I did. He even called it a gateway, right?”
Grant nodded grimly. “I saw a funny room, which for all you and I know, could have been a fancy clothes closet. And even if it is one of those trans-mat things, Salvo ordered the place flash-blasted.”
“He wouldn’t touch the gateway.”
“You don’t know that. Listen, Mesa Verde is a box canyon. We can maybe hole up and hide and hold off a few Mags for a few hours. But all we’ll be doing is making a last stand.”
“What’s your alternative?” Brigid inquired.
“Guana told me he was heading for the Western Islands or the Darks. He was only hitting the zone long enough to throw off pursuit.”
“We’ve had this conversation,” snapped Kane, growing angry in spite of himself. “That was Guana, not a pair of turncoat Mags and a condemned insurrectionist. For now, they’ll chase us to the Western Islands, across the Cific and to fucking Mongolia before they give up on us. Later, they’ll forget a bit and get busy with other things. Then we’ll be able to slip back in, with the heat turned off.”
Grant opened his mouth to respond, then he considered the words he’d just heard and bowed his head. Dejected, he murmured, “God help us.”
Kane said reasonably, “The gateway is our only chance. It’s a long shot, I admit. A one-percenter. But we’ve got to play out the hand those bastards dealt us.”
Grant blinked, angry tears shining in his eyes. “I’ve lost everything. Everything .”
Brigid ran a sympathetic hand over the back of his head. “We all have. Except our souls. We get to keep those.”
Kane turned back around, gazing through the windshield. Domi cast him a single, dispassionate glance, then returned her attention to driving.
He felt wretched about everything. Now that there was a respite from the action, for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, guilt filled him like a cup. His dislike of Salvo and his suspicion about the Mesa Verde penetration had resulted in the destruction of two innocent lives. He could deal with the consequences if they had landed solely on his shoulders, but when he pulled his own personal plug, he’d dragged two good people down with him. There was no way he could ever make it up to them. The sudden taste of self-loathing was so bitter, he nearly gagged. He busied himself with reloading his Sin Eater from the ammo clips taken from Salvo in the warehouse.
The Sandcat clanked and shuddered onward, entering the Outlands. Gently rolling hills bordering unbroken flatlands stretched before it. Here grew thorny shrubs and squat, scrubby trees so short they were more like overgrown bushes. In the distance were stands of cedars and evergreens. The ground bore green traces of spring, but harsh rocks and boulders pushed up everywhere. Kane had heard it said Colorado had been spared much of the devastation that overtook the rest of the country, but he couldn’t really tell it by the land they were traversing.
Every so often, Kane consulted the jury-rigged rad counter on the instrument panel. It was one of the ways to tell when they entered the hellzone.
The ride became rougher as the Sandcat began to maneuver hills and slopes. Domi took every hillock and every bluff in stride, maintaining a steady pace under forty miles per hour. She eased off on the accelerator only when she urged the vehicle to climb a particularly high slope. As the angle of ascent steepened, Grant and Brigid had to lean against the boxes of supplies in the back. Rocks were crushed beneath the rolling tracks, and Domi was forced to continually downshift until their speed was little better than a fast walk. The engine and moving parts strained and whined.
Finally the vehicle topped the brow of the slope. They had a panoramic view across the countryside. In the distance, cliffs, outcroppings and hills swelled, but they lacked trees and grass. The Sandcat was approaching the borders of the hellzone, where frequent showers of acid rains and chem storms defoliated the once lush countryside, allowing only the most hardy vegetation to survive.