Jenny nodded. “Yeah, just about. That’s a wicked dust storm blowing up out there, and I figure the worst of it may just blow through these holes, so we should get out as soon as possible.”
“Get this thing going, John,” Mildred affirmed.
“Already there,” J.B. muttered through clenched teeth as he moved the wag forward.
It was going to be a delicate balance between speed and getting out of the channel in one piece. Already the storm had increased in intensity to such a degree that the sand and grit that had been churned up was hitting the windshield of the wag with a loud, clattering rain that threatened to pit the toughened sec glass that had been fitted on the preDark vehicle. But that wasn’t what worried J.B. The problem was that the rain was so dark and consistent that he couldn’t see where he was going. Funneled into the channel from the outside, the wind, sand and grit were forming a visibility barrier that was preventing him from really putting his foot down on the accelerator and getting the hell out of the tunnel. If he took the narrow passage too fast, he was running the risk of driving the wag straight into the rock and not only damaging the wag itself and risking vulnerability in the firefight to come, but also jamming the vehicle across the channel and blocking the wags behind from making progress.
Sweat stood out on his forehead as he concentrated on keeping the vehicle straight, trying to define the darker shapes of the rock walls through the opaque mist of dust. He ground his teeth, keeping a foot poised on the brake to apply it the second it was necessary, while keeping pressure constant on the accelerator.
“Chill, John,” Mildred muttered, “you’re doing fine.” But even as she said it she was aware, as was the Armorer, that the Hellbenders in the wag were impatient, their body language telling of the tension waiting to be unleashed.
PERHAPS THEY WOULD have been less so if they had realized that Correll was encountering exactly the same problem trying to negotiate his way out of the opposing tunnel.
The gaunt man had already started moving his wag before Jak was down and into the wag driven by Lonnie.
“What’s hurry?” Jak said phlegmatically as he regained his seat.
“I guess Papa Joe wants to get out of there before that storm gets too much,” Lonnie replied as he, too, set his wag in motion.
“All very well, but we can’t risk too much speed in these conditions, not if we want to get out in one piece,” Danny pointed out.
“You saying you don’t want to fight? After all this time, and when you finally get the chance?” Catherine posed aggressively. The small blonde was hyped up and agitated, moving on her seat in such a manner as to suggest that Danny would be the first to be chilled if he said a word out of place.
For Dean and Jak, this attitude just brought home the problems the companions faced if they hoped to get out of this alive.
Doc, however, had a few words that he hoped would calm the feisty blonde until the right time for action.
“My dear girl, we all want to come out of this little contretemps without being chilled. And we want a chance to actually face the enemy. All young Danny was doing was pointing out the folly of more haste, less speed. It was not a reflection on his, or indeed our, courage.”
Catherine looked at Doc, suddenly still in her seat. She carried with her a puzzled expression that told the others she had no idea what he was talking about, but at least it had opened the tap on her pent-up aggression, her confusion dissipating it.
Dean tried not to smile. A second later, even this was forgotten.
“Shit!” Lonnie yelled. “Rockfall!”
He dipped and swerved the heavy wag as the boulders started to fall from above. The howling gale had dislodged more than just shale and loose gravel. Larger rocks and stones from the top of the rock wall had begun to tumble into the narrow channel, clattering onto the roofs and hoods of the wags, hitting the ground in front of them and causing the drivers to take evasive action.