GunBarrel Gauntlet: The Last Bronze II

35. Wheels on Fire.

Leading them through the sea of grasping fists and improvised clubs, the Nomad cut a wine red path through the mob resistance, the ends of the propeller blades chipped and splintered from being worn down in the struggle to escape the pit.

Twisting the accelerator grip, he flew through the closing doors of the colosseum gates, leading Carrion and her passenger Shamrock between the shrinking gap of the double panels.

Momentarily alone in the gloom of the access tunnel the headlight beams from their bikes swayed on the path ahead, revealing hints of the enclosed walls and fleeting side exits.

Looking over back over his shoulder, Shamrock caught sight of other headlights pursuing them through the tunnels, casting dancing shadow-puppets across those surfaces within their projected reach.

"We got company!" He shouted into Carrion's ear.

Nodding, the trucker kept her mind on the industrial passages, taking a hard right with a swinging skid of the back wheel to pull the frame of her bike onto course, chasing the tail of the Nomad into the arbitrary detour.

* * *

Elsewhere in the refinery, Weary and Yesterday had eluded any contact with the aid of the riot to creep closer to the garage block. Pushing the invalid's motor-chair without engaging its engine to keep from discovery, Weary steered them away from the roaring lion and microphone threats that were carrying from the tower, Mt Olympus.

"How much time have we got to find a car and get out of here?"

"Ten minutes left, I set the timer for fifteen." Yesterday looked up to the man pushing his chair. "We're almost there, the repair shop is at the end of the corridor."

"Good. Where are we gonna go, once we get out of this place?"

"El Dorado." Yesterday replied.

"North? You sure that's a good idea? It would be the first place I'd be looking for a man like yourself."

"They don't know where to look, and they'd never find it. El Dorado is out in the storm countries, the surface always shifting with the dunes. That's why they call it the Virgin Road, Weary, the way to El Dorado."

"Poetic." Weary grinned as they reached the end of the corridor.

Snapping the links of the chain lock that were wound through the hand-holes of the checker plate gates with a boltcutter, Weary cautiously pushed one of the doors aside, scanning the parked lines of vehicles within the warehouse. The interior details were barely discernable, Illuminated by the skylight rays of the venting torch burning atop the tower.

Confident that no one else was waiting in the shed, he returned behind the wheelchair and rolled it into the wide enclosure, guiding it through an avenue of war chariots and raider bikes.

"Nothing here can carry your motorchair easily, we might have to abandon it."

"I know." Yesterday consoled himself. "Do you see anything that can help us escape, Weary?"

Closing his jaw on the answer he was about to deliver, Weary stopped pushing the chair, immediately recognizing the Corolla that Tiny had driven from Sanctuary.

"This one will do."

"This one? It doesn't look particularly fast."