Perception Fault. James Axler
“Are you crazy!” He heard before the mil wag surged ahead as the spasming driver’s foot floored the gas pedal while the steering wheel turned hard left—aiming the vehicle straight toward the steep hillside. Ryan shoved the driver’s body down as he lunged over the seat for the wheel, but he was too late. With a roar, the off-roader tried to drive up the slope, making it a few yards before gravity took over and brought it tipping over on its side. The wag hung there for a moment before slowly falling over on its roof, the engine stalling as it crashed to a stop.
Ryan ended up on the ceiling with the driver’s leaking body on top of him. Hearing scrabbling sounds nearby, he shoved off the corpse and rose to find the woman pushing at the passenger door, which wasn’t budging, with all her strength.
“Come on!” she panted in the heat. Glancing back at Ryan, she whirled to face him while putting her back against the door and shoving. “Come any closer and you’ll regret it!”
Ryan sat back on his haunches and showed his blaster, careful not to point it directly at her. “Strange way to thank the man who just saved your life.”
“Are you shittin’ me? Have you seen the army running around these fuckin’ hills? You haven’t saved me at all, stupe! By getting’ in the way, you’re just in for a world of trouble.” She didn’t let up on the door at all, but kept straining at it, jerking at the handle. “Why won’t this fuckin’ thing move?”
“If you give my friends a minute, they’ll get us both out.”
“Sure, and you’ll end up ransoming me to my father instead of them—don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”
Ryan frowned. “Girl, I don’t even know who you are.”
That stopped her, just in time for Ryan to hear J.B.’s voice outside. “Ryan, you alive in there?”
“Yeah, but the doors are jammed. Can you bust them?”
“Sure thing.”
Ryan heard fading footsteps, then a strange whine, like metal rasping on metal, then a clink on the other side of the door. “So, who are you?”
Puzzlement clouded her features. “You really don’t know?”
Ryan poked the body of the driver next to him. “I know you’re important to these green shirts, since they went to a lot of trouble to capture you alive, but other than that, you’re just another outland woman to me.”
“Just another— I’m Rachel Carrington, the daughter of Josiah Carrington, the leader of Free Denver.”
Ryan nodded. “And the green shirts are fighting against your father, right?”
“Yeah, lousy traitors. They want what my father’s spent his whole life building. They just think they can come in and take over. Not if I can help it.”
J.B.’s voice sounded from outside. “Keep away from the door.” The engine of the other mil wag revved outside, followed by a sudden jerk on the frame of the upside-down 4x4. The engine revved again, and with another lurch, the door tore away from its hinges, letting in bright sunlight.
Ryan motioned toward the door. “There you go.”
“You’re letting me go?”
“I don’t kidnap people for ransom. It looked like you were in trouble back there, and I thought you could use some help.”
She stared at him for long seconds. “Who are you?”
Ryan grinned. “No one of consequence.”
Her expression changed from exasperated to puzzled. “I very much doubt that.”
J.B.’s voice sounded from outside. “Company’s almost here, Ryan. You coming out, or fixing to stay in there for the rest of your bastard short life?”
“You can go with us, or take your chances with the green shirts outside. It’s up to you.”
“Choice like that isn’t any choice at all.” She scooted to the opening, scooping up the dead gunner’s blaster as she did so. But instead of pointing it at him, she extended a tanned hand, still oozing blood from a scraped knuckle. “Let’s go.”
Taking it, Ryan was surprised by the strength in her wiry form. “Thanks.” He got up and glanced at J.B., who was regarding the woman with his habitual expressionless face. “J. B. Dix, Rachel Carrington, Rachel, J.B.”
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