They moved toward it quickly and all of them heard the high-pitched whine from the sky. No one looked up; they just started running for a house-size rock formation. Domi, loping easily and gracefully, took Grant’s arm to help him along. He shook her loose angrily.
“I don’t need help!”
“Suit self.” Her long white legs pumped, and she pulled ahead.
The four of them dived behind the outcropping just as three missiles impacted all around it. The explosions were deafening, and dust, smoke and chips of stone blew over them.
The Deathbird screamed on by overhead, lifting above the canyon rim, already starting to curve around for another strafing pass. They watched as it turned its nose downward and dipped into a sharp dive. Two missiles burst from the port and starboard stub wings.
They had managed to scramble around to the other side of the rock formation just as it took a direct hit. The double impact knocked pieces out of it, seemingly heaved it momentarily out of the ground, as though it were about to topple from its moorings. Fragments pattered all around them, and the concussion slammed all of them off their feet. They picked themselves up just as the sleek black craft screamed on past.
“Screw this,” mumbled Grant, brushing powdery dust from his coat.
“I concur,” said Brigid. A small spot of blood showed high on her forehead where a sliver of missile casing or stone had nicked her. “I vote we run until we can’t.”
No one argued, and they raced through the canyon, bounding over tumbles of rock, dashing past the remains of the gun tower. Kane brought up the rear. Domi was far ahead, Brigid trailing her by only a few yards. Grant ran in a stiff-legged gait, grimacing with every step.
They were barely a score of yards past the Vulcan-Phalanx housing when Kane, glancing upward again, saw the chopper break off its circling and come plunging down toward them.
Yelling a warning, he skipped into a fissure in the canyon wall. He raised his Sin Eater and let loose with a 3-round burst, but not before the gunner loosed a missile. It struck very close to him. The explosion filled the canyon with rolling, thunderous echoes. A sheet of flame erupted, and shrapnel and rock fragments clattered against his arms and legs, rebounding from the armor.
Peering through the thick smoke, Kane couldn’t see the others. Turning his head, he saw the Deathbird climb skyward, trying to keep to the center of the canyon to avoid the irregularities in the walls. A notion occurred to him, and he immediately acted on it, not giving himself the chance to think it through.
Before the breeze had cleared the smoke, Kane scrambled out of the fissure and lay down on the ground, very close to the smoldering crater. He carefully arranged his limbs, lying as he had seen corpses lie, arms and legs bent unnaturally and stiffly, head slightly to one side.
So far, it appeared as if the gunner was primarily targeting him, which made sense for a couple of reasons. First, Pollard hated him. Second, he seemed to be the only member of the party who was armed. Finally, his black armor made him stand out, not only among his comrades but against the buff-colored surroundings.
As he lay there on his right side, he heard feet pounding on the ground, and Grant kneeled over him, grabbing at his shoulders. His face glistened with sweat.
“Kane”
“Just get away from me,” he hissed. “Pretend I’m dead, then work your way toward the ruins. Act upset.”
Grant’s face twisted in annoyance, but his tone was relieved. “If I found you dead, I’d skip my way toward the ruins.”
Then he was up and gone, running back the way he had come. The wind thinned the veil of smoke, and Kane watched the Deathbird hover a hundred or so feet overhead, just above the uppermost canyon ramparts. It dropped slowly, below the rim, swinging out carefully. Pollard was very cautious, not just because he was checking out Kane’s demise, but because of the unpredictable geothermals present in the canyon.
The chopper continued to descend. He imagined Pollard gazing down at his motionless body with the hope that he’d made the kill but knowing he had to make sure before he continued the pursuit. Slowly the Deathbird moved forward, at an altitude of thirty feet, airspeed at bare minimum.