Perception Fault

The sounds of fighting grew louder as the morning sun ascended into the light purple sky. By the time it was overhead, they’d left the housing neighborhood behind and were climbing up their target hill, which was larger than it had first looked, when they heard the rough roar of ill-maintained engines coming their way. Ryan gave the signal to seek cover wherever they could, but the group was caught in the worst position possible, on an upslope, with the nearest cover at least one hundred yards away. Everyone scattered, hitting the ground and trying to camouflage themselves as best as they could in the knee-high grass covering the hill. Ryan dived to the dirt and rolled left, shotgun out and aimed at where he thought the wag might come over the hill.

But instead of a wag cresting the top, the first thing they saw was a running human, sobbing with fear and exhaustion as he fairly flew over the top and began leaping down the other side of the hill—right toward Ryan. The approaching person wasn’t wearing the green shirt of the force that had ambushed them the previous night, which meant they were probably part of the opposing side.

Only one way to find out, Ryan thought. The runner was now only a few steps away and moving so fast he was one misstep from tripping and falling the rest of the way down the hill. Ryan let him take two more huge leaps, then rose and put out his arm to clothesline the fleeing man, careful to catch him across the chest instead of the neck.

Although he was at least six inches taller and probably fifty pounds heavier, the runner hit Ryan with enough force to nearly bowl him over. They collapsed in a pile, with the one-eyed man scrambling on top of his captive and clamping a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

“Stop fighting! We’re not your enemy!” He grunted as the person writhed and bucked underneath him. Sky-blue eyes glared at him from under a mottled green-and-brown cap that fell off as they struggled, revealing long blond hair framing what was undeniably a woman’s face.

“Wait—” was all Ryan got out before feeling her leg tense, and turned his thigh just in time to block a shot to his groin from her knee. “Stop it. We’re not with the green shirts!”

“Then who the fuck are you?”

Ryan didn’t have time to answer, as the racket from the pursuing wag was now ear-shattering as the first of them roared over the hill, sailing through the air to land with a crash on the downslope. The battered Hummer’s paint was faded to a light tan, but what caught Ryan’s eye was the open weapon mount on top, which contained a .50-caliber heavy machine gun, and even worse, a man behind it.

“Fireblast! Get down!” Ryan crushed the woman to the ground as he brought up the M-4000, aiming at the windshield and letting the weapon’s recoil ride the barrel up over the roof to the gunner’s position. The weapon turret began swiveling toward him, but Ryan also heard the stutter of J.B.’s mini-Uzi on his left, and the man behind the big Fifty suddenly slumped over his weapon.

Unfortunately, Ryan’s bold attack had attracted the driver’s attention. He swung the wheel of the armored wag over, sending the heavy vehicle barreling at him and the woman.

“Run!” Ryan rose and triggered the M-4000 again, trying to draw the driver off and give the woman a chance to get away. The fléchettes ricocheted off the windshield as Ryan ran the magazine dry, but as the woman got up and scrambled away across the hill, the mil wag altered course to pursue her instead.

“Fire blast!” Ryan turned to pursue both of them, but saw Jak standing on the hill about twenty yards away, his legs apart, his left hand bracing his right, which held the .357 Colt Python at arm’s length. The wag raced toward the woman, the driver seemingly oblivious to the albino teen with the blaster. The passenger, however, leaned out and aimed an automatic rifle at him just in time to take the first shot from Jak’s blaster in the face, making him drop his weapon and slump over, dangling out the passenger door. The albino youth kept firing, the heavy slugs fragmenting the windshield, then punching through.

The Hummer suddenly slowed and turned down the hill. “Shit! Get it, get it!” Jak shouted as he ran toward the driverless wag. Ryan slung the shotgun and followed, drawing his Sig Sauer on the move. Krysty and Mildred were also pursuing, but Ryan and Jak were the closest.

The mil wag gathered speed as it rolled toward the bottom of the hill, then hit the flat plain and tried to climb up a small hillock, the engine spluttering in protest at not having enough power to finish the job. Jak reached the stopped wag a few steps ahead of Ryan, and paused at the back of the off-roader, waiting for the older man to catch up. The moment Ryan got there, Jak bent over and crept to the driver’s door, slipping around to the other side and grabbing the handle. At Ryan’s nod, he popped the door open, allowing the one-eyed man to cover the driver with his blaster.

Ryan saw a flash of black metal and fired three times, the trio of bullets slamming into the wounded driver’s bloody side, breaking his arm and burrowing into his chest, one lodging in his heart. The black Beretta blaster fell from his grasp into the dust as Ryan grabbed the body and threw it out, then unslung the Steyr and set it behind the driver’s seat.

“Come on!” Ryan jumped into the front seat while Jak clambered onto the hood and headed for the turret, only to be met by J.B., who had climbed up the back and was already hauling the dead man out.

“Not today, Jak. Take the passenger seat.”

“Hey, was—”

“Jak, sit your ass down now!” Ryan’s tone brooked no argument, and the albino teen ripped the dead body out of the passenger window and slid in, fuming silently. Ryan shoved the M-4000 shotgun and a full mag at him. “Reload, and keep your eyes peeled.”

Jak’s red eyes widened at receiving the weapon, then he yanked out the magazine, inserted another one and pulled back the cocking lever. “What waiting for?”

Shaking his head, Ryan was about to head out when J.B. slapped the roof. “Hold on, the others are coming!” His words were immediately followed by the deafening roar of the .50-caliber machine gun, its recoil shaking the wag’s entire cab, and Jak, who’d been watching out the passenger window, whooped in glee.

“Got him!”

“Course.”

Ryan stole a look out the passenger side to see another mil wag on the ridge, stopped and aflame. The rear passenger door opened, and a figure wreathed in orange flame fell out, rolling on the ground to try to extinguish the fire crisping his body. Bullets started cooking off in the heat with dull pops, and one of them had to have struck the flamer, as he suddenly jerked and lay still on the ground.

The back doors of Ryan’s transport popped open, and Krysty, Mildred and Doc squeezed into the cramped compartment. The women went in back, leaving Doc to try to crowd into the front. “Nukeshit, Doc, put stork legs somewhere not crotch!” Jak shouted as the lanky-legged timer traveler tried to arrange himself in the passenger seat. Ryan didn’t wait, but had popped the clutch and was moving the wag forward, his eyes on the fleeing figure pulling away from them with every step.

“I say, Jak, if you would just place that shotgun elsewhere—”

“Not happen—hold still!” Jak had squirmed out from under Doc, and was now sitting on his lap, a position neither one was enjoying. He stuck the barrel out the passenger window as the wag began to accelerate and fired five quick blasts into a group of running men, downing two and making the rest scatter for cover. J.B.’s fifty had also joined the fray, the weapon’s deeper roar overwhelming the S&W’s reports.

“Come on! Could get out run faster!” Jak egged Ryan on as he scanned for another target.

Ryan gritted his teeth as he forced the gearshift into Second. “Overloaded as we are, I might just take you up on that.” The Hummer was finally starting to catch up with their target when J.B. called out from the turret. “Wags at three o’clock!”

The one-eyed man glanced right to see two more mil wags crest the hill and speed toward them, one peeling off to chase the running woman, the other on a course to intercept Ryan’s hijacked wag. “Get them off us, J.B.!”

“No prob—” The Armorer depressed the trigger of the Fifty, which spit a short burst before going silent. He cleared the action and tried again, with similar results. “Black dust! Blaster’s jammed!”

“Marvelous.” Doc was pressed back into the passenger seat, fending off Jak’s elbow in his face as the teenager tried to get a better angle on the approaching wag. “Nothing like riding in style.”

“Better than hoofing it like she is, Doc.” Ryan struggled to shift into third, the engine whining with the effort. Krysty was already shooting at the enemy wag, but a burst from their turret, manned with a green shirt toting an automatic rifle, quickly made her duck back inside.

“If you’re going to fire that thing, Jak, any time now would be great!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He stuck the shotgun out again and let fly, the fléchettes sparking off the hood and roof of the other mil wag. Just as quickly, Jak jerked the blaster back inside as bullets hit all around the window, one even penetrating to lodge in the dashboard next to him.

“How close, J.B.?” Ryan shouted.

“Ten yards and coming up fast—they’re gonna ram us!”

“Not if I can help it.” Ryan waited one more moment, then jammed on the brakes with both feet as he down-shifted, decelerating so fast Jak and Doc were thrown against the windshield. Caught by surprise, the other driver tried to compensate, but couldn’t slow down in time. The rear quarter panel of the other mil wag smacked against the right front fender of Ryan’s, but didn’t do any serious damage. “Chill that bastard!” Ryan snapped as he wrestled the obstinate vehicle back into motion.

Jak recovered faster than the turret gunner, poking his head out with the M-4000 tucked into his shoulder. The man’s eyes widened when he saw the shotgun’s maw pointed at him, but he still tried to bring the AK-47 to bear on his opponent.

He failed.

The albino teen squeezed the trigger, sending dozens of razor-sharp steel darts flying into the man’s chest, piercing his lungs and slicing between his ribs, shredding his stomach, liver and kidneys into pulp. The man fell forward, and was immediately pushed out of the turret by someone else inside, the body rolling off the sloped back to land in front of Ryan’s wag. Bracing himself, the one-eyed man didn’t stop, feeling the heavy thump as the wheels rolled over the body, finishing him off if he hadn’t been dead already.

“Where’s that big blaster, J.B.?” Ryan shouted, seeing the other mil wag begin to pull away from them. His question was answered a moment later by a long burst of bullets from up top that chewed into the back of the Hummer in front of them, blowing off the spare tire and punching large holes into the armored top. The squat wag slewed from side-to-side, but kept going, so J.B. aimed another two-second burst at the left rear corner. The cluster of shells disintegrated the armored fender and continued into the tire, blowing it apart in a cloud of flying rubber. The driver lost control of his vehicle, which swerved around in a 180-degree turn and stalled.

Suddenly face-to-face with the coldheart through his side door window, Ryan scrambled to draw his Sig Sauer and aim it at the wheelman, who was just as frantically lining up his own blaster. A single shot cracked out, and the enemy driver’s head snapped back, a small hole appearing in his forehead. If anyone else was inside the wag, they were staying put behind the armored doors.

Ryan reholstered his blaster and hit the gas. “Thanks, Mildred.”

“No problem. Now let’s get that woman.”

Squinting through the dust-covered windshield, Ryan spotted the second mil wag pulling alongside the woman, who tried to dodge away, but was grabbed by a man in the rear passenger seat who drew the kicking, screaming woman into the back. “Nuking hell, they got her!”

“Well, then, my dear Ryan, I suggest that we get her back.” With a feral grin, Doc had his LeMat drawn and ready, and seemed to be fully in the moment. “Tallyho!”

“Tallyho indeed, whatever the fuck that means.” Ryan goosed the accelerator, and the ancient mil wag, as if sensing his urgency, now leaped forward, straining to catch up to the vehicle ahead of them.

“J.B., can you take them out without hitting anyone in the rear?” Ryan shouted.

“Ask me to shoot off their hats without mussin’ their hair, why don’t ya!” J.B. yelled back. “This is a machine gun, not a bastard scalpel!”