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   Chapter 83 No.83

The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1 By Christina Engela Characters: 6158

Updated: 2018-06-29 19:01


A few precious seconds went into getting the wounded starship captain to his feet again, and tottering back the way they'd come. The side-street seemed brighter than before when they left the darkness of the alley. Just as they were halfway across the street, bright headlights shone on them and a motor roared again. Blachart went cold, and the pistol came up instantly – but it wasn't the big black pick-up truck this time – it was a little red sports convertible! The car was closing fast, loud music pumping, probably heading towards Moogies for a good time. Blachart dropped Mykl and stepped into the road – he fired a quick arc over the car. It screeched to a halt with only feet to spare.

"Get out!" He ordered the occupants – four teenagers, two girls, two boys. The boy and girl in the back were half-naked. Out for a good time indeed, Blachart thought wryly.

"Omigods, my dad's gonna kill me!" The one boy said as they clambered out and backed away from the car. He let them run away. The engine was still running. He stuffed Mykl in the back seat, as gently as possible under the circumstances, and laid him as low as he could. He relieved him of his last clip of ammo and tossed it, together with his weapon onto the vacant front passenger seat. Then he climbed in behind the wheel and slammed the door shut with a solid, satisfying sound. He frowned as he realized the sound system was still playing, and turned it off. Then he worked the clutch and tested the gears. Old school, he thought. He prodded the accelerator and was rewarded with the smooth, powerful vroooom of a free-revving engine. Grinning involuntarily, he shoved it into 1st, turned the wheel hard over, and put his foot down.

* * *

There was a main road, somewhere in Tortuga, the capital city of Meradinis. It was quite a long straight road, reasonably

and was trying to sit up, oblivious to the occasional burst of fire directed at the car. Blachart reached back between the seats and, grimacing, shoved him back down. More bullets cracked past. One took the side mirror off his door in a shower of glass splinters.

The traffic began to thin out and the cruiser started gaining on him. Blachart decided this was getting them nowhere fast, so at the next intersection, he braked hard and swung the wheel hard over. The car did a 180 and stopped, along with the now familiar screeching and tire smoke. A pursuing motorcycle cop followed – and was struck by a delivery van side-on. One of its missiles went off, sending bits of burning debris into the air. The cruiser was still coming on, on the wrong-way side, guns blazing. Blachart stood up and fired at it with Mykl's pistol. A full magazine burped at the thing's windshield, hitting home. The cruiser swerved, mounted the island, swerved back the other way, and went over a motorcycle in the next lane. Men in black were spilled off the rear, flapping around as they rolled on the tar. Finally slowed down and came to rest against a lamp post, smoke pouring from the engine. The pursuit seemed to have ended for the moment.

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