Chapter 8: Rebecca and Pilar
The blistering sun poured down on the endless desert like molten lead, the air scorching and distorting in the heat.
A heavily modified—and currently smoke-belching—Goodwood-style off-roader, its rear bumper hanging on by a thread, bucked and struggled between the dunes like a dying drunk.
"DAMMIT! DAMMIT! DAMMIT!" Rebecca's fist slammed into the steering wheel. The horn let out a pathetic, broken squawk, a bizarre contrast to the sheer, explosive rage radiating from her small frame.
Her pale green hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her pretty face was a mask of grit, grease, and pure, unfiltered psychosis.
"This piece of scrap is gonna die! Pilar! Did you even fix this gonk-brained thing or not?!"
"Workin' on it, Becca! Workin' on it!" In the passenger seat, the lanky, goggle-wearing Pilar was halfway out the window, his upper body jammed into the engine bay. A multi-tool in his hand was uselessly trying to tighten a junction that was spewing acrid blue smoke.
"But those Slasher bastards' bullets have eyes! The radiator's a goddamn honeycomb! It's a miracle we even made it this far!"
"Miracle? I'll flatline your miracle! What I want is for us to get out of this shithole alive!" Rebecca roared, flooring the accelerator again. The engine screamed with the sound of grinding metal, the RPMs redlining, but the vehicle's speed didn't budge.
"If you hadn't taken that gig without checking who the 'cargo' was—that it was the Slasher boss's personal 'sweet-thing'—would we be getting chased like two bullet-riddled coyotes?!"
"Hey! That's not fair! The eddies were bright enough to blind you! How was I supposed to know that scumbag had such a good memory, or that one of his gonks would recognize my ride!" Pilar yelled back, his hands never stopping. "Okay… I think it's stable… for a second! But the coolant's dumping like a busted water main! We don't have more than a few minutes!"
Behind them, on the distant horizon, several menacing dust plumes, far from fading, were closing in with terrifying speed, like hyenas that had scented blood. It was three armed pickups, retrofitted with crude armor plating and heavy machine guns—the Slashers' pursuit squad.
"Fuck! They're like chrome-plated ghosts!" Rebecca glanced at the cracked rear-view mirror, watching the shadows of death grow larger. She nearly bit through her own teeth in fury.
She yanked the wheel hard. The off-roader plunged wildly down a steep dune, the violent lurch nearly shaking the chassis apart as she tried to use the complex terrain to lose them.
Pilar was thrown hard against the window by the inertia, his goggles knocked sideways. "AGH! Easy, Becca! My meat-bones aren't as tough as your chrome!"
"Shut it! Ammo check!" Rebecca yelled, one hand frantically digging through the pockets of her combat jacket. Her pistol mags were almost empty, and "Guts," her trusty shotgun, had fired its last slug in the desperate exchange earlier.
Pilar quickly rummaged through an open weapons case in the back seat, his face falling. "We're dry, Becca. Maybe enough for one short burst, and that's if they don't get too close… and don't forget, the heavy mount jammed for good."
He gave the silent heavy machine gun on the roof a frustrated slap.
A cold tendril of despair began to wrap around both of their hearts.
A dying vehicle, no ammunition, and relentless, determined pursuers—all datapoints led to the same dark conclusion.
"FUCK!" The word hissed from between Rebecca's teeth. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but it was less from fear and more from the unadulterated rage of being cornered. "This is how it ends? In this bird-shit-nowhere desert? Getting zeroed by a pack of rabid gangers?"
Pilar was uncharacteristically quiet for a few seconds. He pushed his goggles straight, his voice a little lower, but laced with a strange resolve. "No, Becca. I won't let that happen."
His eyes scanned the horizon desperately, and he suddenly pointed at a distorted mass shimmering in the heat haze. "Look! Over there! Looks like an abandoned town!"
Rebecca squinted, her eyes stinging with sweat. Sure enough, on the burning horizon, a cluster of low, derelict buildings wavered like a mirage.
"Drive!" Pilar screamed. "Maybe we can hide! Or find something useful, even just a place to fix the damn ride!"
It was the only straw to grasp at in a sea of desperation.
Rebecca didn't hesitate. Squeezing the last drop of life from the off-roader, she aimed it at the ruins in a final, desperate charge.
The engine gave one last, agonizing wail and died completely.
The vehicle coasted miserably down the last dune, its front end plowing into the collapsed wall of a building on the edge of the town. It finally came to a stop with a piercing shriek of tortured metal, throwing up a massive cloud of dust.
"Quick! Out!" Rebecca kicked open the warped door, grabbing her nearly-empty pistol as she jumped.
Pilar scrambled out after her, grabbing his toolkit and the pathetically light ammo box.
Behind them, the roar of the Slashers' engines crested the dune, echoing like the laughter of an executioner.
"Into the town! Find cover!" Rebecca yelled, her small body exploding with incredible speed as she bolted for the nearest derelict street.
Pilar, wheezing, followed close behind, casting nervous glances over his shoulder.
They plunged into the dead-silent, wind-eaten ruins of the town, their hearts hammering against their ribs, their lungs burning as if they were inhaling fire.
The sound of the pursuit vehicles stopped at the town's edge. It was followed by the messy, malicious sounds of footsteps and shouting—the Slashers were out, and they were coming in on foot.
"This way!" Pilar's sharp eyes spotted a relatively intact building. It was a garage, its entrance crudely reinforced with a thick metal plate. "That door! Looks solid!"
They sprinted for the sealed garage door. Rebecca slammed her shoulder into it, but the barricade only returned a dull thud, not budging an inch.
"Dammit! Locked! Or barred from the inside!" She punched the cold metal in despair.
Pilar frantically looked around, his eyes scanning every surface. He quickly spotted a hole near the base of the side wall, formed from corrosion or an impact, just large enough for a person to squeeze through.
"Here, Becca! Quick!"
Behind them, the roars and footsteps of the Slasher gangers were getting clearer. They could even hear the sharp click of weapon safeties being disengaged.