“How’s the fuel?” Ryan asked, tapping the gauge. He wasn’t overly worried about discovering that this spider could perfectly copy anything it was near and disappear. The creature fought at White Sands was a different kind of mutie from this hairy brute.
Krysty looked down. “About half a tank,” she replied.
“Same here,” Mildred answered, swerving to avoid a pothole. Every bounce made her collection of bags and blasters slam into her. The physician knew she had to be covered with bruises by now.
“Less,” Doc said. “But then we are carrying a double load.”
After checking the rearview mirror, Ryan studied the city on either side of the elevated roadway. There were mostly homes and strip malls below, the monoliths of the downtown skyscrapers miles distant. Nothing clearly dangerous was in sight, and his sweaty feet were constantly slipping off the floorboards. Time for a break.
“Let’s find someplace to stop and refuel,” Ryan ordered, carefully maintaining a steady course on the bike. Any sudden move on his part made the fuel in the flamethrower tanks slosh about, the weight shift threatening to topple the bike.
“Rest stop up ahead!” Krysty said.
“That’ll do. Follow me in,” Ryan commanded, gently slowing the motorcycle.
Blank signs announced the turnoff lane, and the companions rolled along the macadam strip into the rest area. With weapons in hand, they stayed on the vibrating bikes and closely scrutinized the vicinity. Bisected by the access road, the rest area was a half circle of forested land, packed with an untamed bramble of wild trees and thorny bushes. The public washroom was a sagging ruin of bricks and exposed pipes, with birds nesting in the exposed stalls. However, there was plenty of open area around the cracked parking lot. Nothing could come close without their seeing it in plenty of time to react.
“Seems clear,” Krysty said, turning off the bike and listening as the engine went still.
Turning off their motorcycles, the rest of the companions stood and gratefully stretched their backs. On a horse, the strain was in the thighs; on a bike, it was the lower back that got stiff.
Dropping their packs, longblasters and bags, the friends tossed away their filthy socks and pulled on fresh dry pairs taken from the department store, then pulled on their boots.
“Better,” Jak grunted, stomping the ground. The teenager had been wary of making a sharp turn on the bike, afraid he would stick out a leg to brace himself and lose a foot. First lesson he ever received in riding a predark bike was that the road hated riders and wanted to chill them every chance it got. After a few mishaps, the youth soon learned that was sage advice.
Arranging the mixed collection of weaponry on the ground, the companions distributed the blasters and ammo evenly. J.B. stuffed his M-16/M-203 into the gun boot lashed to the frame of his motorcycle, keeping his regular weapons about him, the LAW rocket launcher sticking out of the saddlebags. Since it was almost out of rounds, Mildred put the Thompson into her bike’s boot and draped the M-16 combo over the handlebars. The physician preferred the accuracy of her ZKR over the spray-and-pray firepower of rapidfires. Slinging the M-16/M-203 over a shoulder, Krysty then shifted her revolver to the middle of her belt for easy access. Doc did the same with his weapon, the LeMat bolstered at his hip, the Webley jutting from his belt.
“Behold, and tremble in fear,” Doc rumbled, adjusting his numerous blasters, “at the modern Gilgamesh.”
Switching positions, Jak took the driver’s position on the Harley so that he could put his assault rifle into the gun boot, the slim Armbrust hung across the back of his jacket. He was unfamiliar with the stealth projectile launcher, but the instructions were printed on top and the operation was fairly simple.
“We got plenty of ammo, but save the 40 mm grens for the droids,” J.B. instructed, filling a pocket with 12-gauge shells for the M-4000. The bent shotguns in the trash had been fully loaded, and he managed to salvage all of the cartridges.
“Better keep the Weatherby handy, son,” Ryan suggested, tucking the Steyr into the gun boot. “We got enough firepower with the M-16s. Could use some decent penetration.”