GunBarrel Gauntlet: The Last Bronze II

33. Death Choppers.

Wrapping one forearm about the gladiator's neck, the Nomad buried the knife blade between the folds of armour. Tenacious, the gladiator remained upright in the saddle, violently trying to shrug off the ex-Bronze and steer away from incoming obstacles in the avenue of tyres.

Changing tactics, the Nomad let the knife go and reached instead for the brake lever on the handle grip. Caught off guard by the sudden halt, the rider's body jerked forward over the spinning blades, mutilating the black grille of their helmet into torn strips of gore.

From the vantage of the stadium's seating, the Irishman had been a spectator to the contest between his friends and the menacing propeller cycles of the gladiators. Anxious to try and help in some way, he raised his head like a rabbit over the crowd and searched for obvious guards or tribal warriors nearby who might impede his desire to act. Counting five or more in the aisles surrounding his own, the area was also choked with too many factory residents.

Lowering himself back to the seat, Shamrock tried to think of a way to escape. Everything had gone wrong since their capture, the three of them unprepared once they had been divided. Now Carrion and the Bronze would be carved up as entertainment whilst he serve the very people whom had tortured all of his comrades. He dreaded to think what chances Liu had in finding the bunker to warn them in time before they too were massacred, giving Zeus complete dominion over the wastelands and the Gauntlet superhighway.

In the tyre maze below, Carrion was gnawing at her wrist restraint as though it were candy, impatient to remove it. The Death Chopper had come to rest, allowing the rider to dismount and take up a half spear like weapon from where it had been holstered at the rear of the vehicle.

With deliberate patience, the gladiator stalked closer in delayed cruelty, adjusting the haft of the short spear in their gloved grip to find the best angle they could use to strike between the bars of the sled cage.

Sensing her approaching peril via the rising mood of the vocal spectators, Carrion quit biting the restraints to look into the shadow of the hunter standing over her. Bruised, shot, and bleeding from the days of constant struggle, she blinked through her remaining black eye as it traced the rising shaft of the spear, poised like a javelin.

Grunting with the will to contract every muscle at once, Carrion rocked the sled frame, deflecting the steel tip of the spear in a ringing blow as it glanced over her bald head.

Unperturbed, her foe returned to collect another spear from his bike, the swagger from his earlier performance replaced with an earnest motivation to kill her.

Throwing her weight to one side in an attempt to tip the sled frame over, the trucker woman was out of strength, burnt out on adrenaline and exhaustion. Keeping her gaze on the warrior that would be her executioner, Carrion felt the world unravel in slow motion, every voice and colour distinct in the audience above the pit, the Mohawk of shining crow feathers splayed on the peak of the gladiator's grilled helmet.

A whirring engine howled in a flash of movement behind the gladiator, and before Carrion's mind could comprehend the change in fortune a wave of tomato puree had painted her face. Opening her eye against the contrast of red, she laughed with incredulous surprise to see the Nomad on a Death Chopper whose propeller was slick with the same colour.

Stunned like many others in the audience, a man with a cleft lip and lead tooth lent out of the elite's balcony, fixated on the Nomad. Eyebrows hunched in thought, Bullet Tooth, the new chieftain of Dogtown, felt certain he knew who the Nomad was as the cheering crowd commenced hailing the two survivors as heros.

"He's the Lion! I swear it!"

A few paid heed to his warning, then more as he spoke louder:

"The Lion! That's the one who attacked us and murdered Blue! Down there with the woman!"

Rising from the couch he had shared with Boudisha, the hulking presence of Zeus was soon beside the Dogtown chief, the pupils behind the mask flitting from Carrion to the Nomad, both of them riding the Death Choppers to explore the maze for an exit.

"Stop them! Don't let them get away! I'll give your weight in water for whoever brings me their heads!"

The first few words were unheard by the audience until a lackey had found the public address handset and raised it to catch Zeus' speech. All present had understood the booming words "your weight in water", causing a stampede of human bodies that erupted from their seats to charge over the barricades into the pit.

Shamrock had already found his way to the aisles directly over the pit by the time of the announcement, losing his balance in the surging momentum of the riot to fall in a heap with other unfortunate spectators over the side.

Picking himself up from those that had broken his fall, Shamrock limped into the arena, waving frantically at the pair of bikes that were holding back the onslaught of thirsty souls with their spinning blades. Carrion recognized him at once, cutting her way through an antagonist reaching for her torso to pull up beside him.

"Is there a way out?" Carrion yelled over the pandemonium.

"Of course! Share tha' saddle and let's get tha fuck outta 'ere!"

Straddling the rear mudguard, Shamrock held on to the trucker as she turned away from the hundreds of hands snatching at them with all manner of tools and weapons. Both bikes mowed a path to a gatehouse in the pit wall from which the gladiators had originally emerged from, riding into the narrow access tunnels before a horde of factory slaves and Skin Pirates.

* * *

In another passage of the refinery, Weary caught up with the spluttering motor sound of Yesterday's wheelchair. Turning off the battery switch so he could understand the younger man, Yesterday asked sadly:

"What do you want?"

"You said something about a 'ka-boom'. What did you mean by that?" Weary squatted to the same level as the sitting elder.

"Just that, blow this damned refinery to pieces for breaking their word and murdering my friends and family."

"Alright, I'm with you." An image of Tiny wearing the burning tyre as he screamed pricked a tear in Weary's only eye. "What's the plan?"

"The plan is simple; I've been stockpiling and wiring explosives for years around the containment tanks and other core installations. We just need a car to get away over the bridge. It will be down for the games tonight, so we must hurry! Take me to the garages before they realize we're gone!"