The Half-Life Empire 2: An Alien Apocalypse Novel by Shami Stovall

Author:Shami Stovall [Stovall, Shami]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Podium Publishing
Published: 2024-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Isped away from the power armor. Gascoigne leaned out the passenger side window, and then hauled herself onto the top of the cab. What was wrong with her? I almost shouted at her to get back inside, but I had to focus on driving.

Brecht leaned out the window and fired his rifle, his bullets ricocheting off the Mark VI armor. It was like trying to take down a mountain with a handful of playing darts.

The enemy truck with only the one Iron-Blooded soldier flared to life and drove off after us, leaving the bridge and then hitting the dirt as fast as the electric engine could accelerate.

Our truck shook as I hit several shrubs, the thorns and branches smashing across the hood of my vehicle. Leaves and twigs flew into the cab, and I silently cursed the broken windshield.

The Mark VI pursued us—which was my intention—but with each slam of its run, my blood pressure went ever higher, to the point I thought I might pop.

We just had to keep it busy long enough for the batteries to drain. If the pilot used its plasma blade, all the better. But if the armor caught us—we were done for.

I weaved around a rock, and Gascoigne slid across the roof of the cab.

“Sorry,” I whispered, though I knew she couldn’t hear me.

Then Gascoigne started firing. I watched everything through the side mirrors, including the power armor and truck gaining on us. Her shots peppered the armor’s helmet. Sparks flew from its metal exterior.

Brecht aimed at the enemy truck, and the Iron-Blooded driver returned fire.

More bullets plinked against the back of our vehicle. Some of our valuable cargo flew out and crashed across the wasteland. The Mark VI suit and the truck had to swerve to avoid a crate.

Then Brecht stopped firing. He just leaned out the window, took aim for a solid five seconds, and fired a controlled burst. The driver of the enemy truck lost most of his face, and the interior of his cab was painted a new shade of scarlet. The vehicle flew left and then crashed into a group of small boulders, its engine smashed.

Then the power armor caught us.

The suit reached for the back of the truck and grabbed part of the trailer. The strength of the suit caused the steering wheel in my hand to jerk, and I struggled to keep the vehicle going straight. Gascoigne fired at the helmet, relentless in her efforts. Even when she needed to reload, she did so with the practiced speed of a veteran.

My truck groaned under the strain, sparks bursting from the hood as it fought to maintain its speed.

The Mark VI suit held out an arm, and the plasma blade flared to life from the wrist. The bluish blast of superheated plasma was enough to illuminate the night. Its ominous hum of power drowned out the sounds of our truck struggling to accelerate.

The armor pilot slammed the blade into the side of the trailer and then dragged the blade down to the back tire.

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