Hitching around in his seat, he asked, “What’s your assessment of the kind of pursuit we can expect?”
Grant considered the question thoughtfully for a moment. “Not overland, even though we’re cutting a trail a blind jolt-brain could follow. By air is the most likely. Three Deathbirds are flight ready, but the division is down to only two experienced sky jockeys, since me and Carthew are out of the loop. That leaves Pollard and Salvo, since you couldn’t break your habit of not chilling Mags.”
“I may not have chilled him, but the condition he’s in, he couldn’t jockey himself to the can. What about that new guy, Zack?”
Grant shrugged. “Zack’s only in pilot’s training, but they might press him into service.”
“So, worst case is a pair of Birds, one piloted by a novice. Time factor?”
“Let’s cut ourselves a break and hope it takes a minimum of an hour before Salvo and others are found and taken back to the division. Factor in another forty-five minutes before the Birds can be crewed and launched.”
“Leaving us approximately two hours before we have to worry. But only half a minute to agree on a destination and a route.”
Grant said, “Guana had a plan to hit the hellzone in Mesa Verde. He figured no one would want to look for him there.”
“Not for him, maybe,” replied Kane. “They’ll be looking for us no matter where we go. Besides, there are no roads into Mesa Verde.”
“Don’t need no roads if you know the way,” declared Domi.
The wag hit the base of a bluff and jarred everyone, dragging a pained curse out of Grant. “At the speed we’re traveling,” he commented, “two hours is barely enough time to reach the Outlands, much less the zone.”
Kane tapped the side of his helmet. “I’ll be able to pick up the comm link transmissions when they’re three miles away, assuming they don’t rescramble the frequency. We’ll have a few minutes’ warning, at least.”
“What good will going into a hellzone do?” Brigid demanded. “You didn’t save me from a quick death just so I can contract rad cancer and die slow, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.” Kane looked at her. Brigid’s hair was tangled and disarrayed, and her lips were compressed and white with fear. He grinned.
“What’s so funny?” she asked irritably.
“Remember what I said about surprising you?”
“So?”
“So, Baptisteprepare yourself for a very big surprise. Maybe the biggest one of your life.”
“After what I’ve just been through,” she retorted, “it’ll have to be gargantuan to impress me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Sandcat was a miserable conveyance, especially traveling over rough terrain. Domi completely circumvented the single road from the ville, opting to drive along gullies and coulees. The old vehicle groaned a perpetual protest from every joint, seam and rivet. Many of the wag’s metal tread sections were worn to thin wafers, and the racket made by the return rollers was incessant, as was the clatter from the diesel engine.
Brigid treated Grant’s wound as best she could from materials in the medical kit stowed under the driver’s seat. His pain was evident as she swabbed the shallow gouge with antiseptic and sprinkled sulfa powder into it. There were ampoules of morphine in the kit, but Grant refused them, saying he needed to keep a clear head.
While Brigid bandaged his leg, Grant told Kane how Salvo had triangulated his position over the trans-comm in his coat. “Seemed to make sense to wait for him instead of running, since I expected you there at any time. Domi hid inside the wag, and when Salvo arrived, I fed him the same story I gave you, about Uno and Guana chilling each other.”
“He told you I’d fused?”
Grant nodded. “Said Baptiste here had seduced you, tried to get you to join the Preservationists. Said he had vid proof of you two in the nasty.” Responding to a sharp glare from Brigid, he added hastily, “No offense.”
Kane shook his head in disgust, wishing he could remove his helmet, but it was critical to their escape that the Magistrate trans-link frequencies be monitored. “Salvo is the one who fused out. Or maybe not.”