his action was greeted only by silence. Sod it, Josh muttered to himself. Then the engine spluttered. Josh jammed his foot on the accelerator, twisting his body to reach it while still taking cover beneath the dashboard and now the engine revved into action, roaring into life, a sudden surge of power shaking the truck's frame. Josh levered himself upwards as the Ranger leaped forwards, skidding across the rough surface of the scrubland. The left tyre collided with a rock, jerking the truck upwards. The force of the impact briefly jolted Josh sideways, making him loosen his grip on the wheel. The truck swerved violently to the right, bpuncing a foot into the air.
The pain searing though his body was making it tough for Josh to hold himself at the wheel. He was sweating and shaking from loss of blood. Concentrate, he told himself. Concentrate or die.
He could see the biker sixty yards ahead. The man had completed his turn with military precision and was now riding the bike hard out into the open scrubland. Josh could see nothing of his expression through the shades and helmet that masked the whole of his face, but he could tell from the way he was opening up the throttle and firing up the gas that there was not a flicker of fear or doubt running through the man. He was riding with total confidence, his gun held high in his right fist, certain that his opponent could be eliminated before he could retaliate.
That's your mistake, pal. Always be a little bit afraid.
Josh levered himself higher up into the driving seat, pressing hard on the accelerator, then slamming the steering wheel hard right. The bike lay directly in his path - sixty yards of open sand was all that separated the two vehicles.
28
Still not a flicker of fear from the biker. Nor any sign of him changing direction. You're a brave man, pal, Josh repeated to himself. Brave, but stupid. 'You're going to hit him,' said the woman at his side, the words delivered as if she was trying to warn Josh of some terrible, impending catastrophe.
'You bloody bet I am.'
'You're fucking crazy,' she screamed.
'You got a better idea, you've got three seconds to tell me.'
Josh looked back into the open scrubland. The biker had raised his gun again. He was steadying himself, struggling to hold the bike level so that he could aim the pistol accurately. One factor is on my side, reckoned Josh. It's always hard to fire a gun from a moving vehicle and even harder when that vehicle is racing across rough terrain.
He ducked instinctively as the gun was fired: above the noise of the Ranger's engine, it was impossible to hear the gunshot. But he could tell from the way the man's hand jerked backwards that the bullet had already left the chamber giving him time to duck.
Prayer time.
The shot struck the metal frame of the truck. Where it had hit, Josh couldn't tell.
Not me, that's all that counts.
Using all the remaining strength in his leg, Josh pressed even harder on the accelerator, urging every last ounce of power out of the machine. The Ranger sped forward, spitting huge clouds of dust up from its heavy wheels. Thirty yards left. The biker could see that his shot had missed. Decision time, mate, thought Josh. See if you've got time for another shot. Or just turn and try to run.
For just a fraction of a second, he could see the biker struggling with the decision. Half a second is too long.
The biker started to turn, swinging the handlebars to the
29
left. There was a downward slope on that side of him, enough to give him some extra speed.
Twenty yards, and closing.
The biker was turning, his engine spluttering and his boots dragging on the ground. Josh adjusted his steering and powered forwards.
Ten yards.
The biker reared back, putting pressure on his machine's back wheel to try to complete the turn.
Five yards.
'Hold on!'Josh shouted at the woman.
Three yards.
He had lost sight of the biker as the man and the machine disappeared from view. Suddenly he could feel
The pain searing though his body was making it tough for Josh to hold himself at the wheel. He was sweating and shaking from loss of blood. Concentrate, he told himself. Concentrate or die.
He could see the biker sixty yards ahead. The man had completed his turn with military precision and was now riding the bike hard out into the open scrubland. Josh could see nothing of his expression through the shades and helmet that masked the whole of his face, but he could tell from the way he was opening up the throttle and firing up the gas that there was not a flicker of fear or doubt running through the man. He was riding with total confidence, his gun held high in his right fist, certain that his opponent could be eliminated before he could retaliate.
That's your mistake, pal. Always be a little bit afraid.
Josh levered himself higher up into the driving seat, pressing hard on the accelerator, then slamming the steering wheel hard right. The bike lay directly in his path - sixty yards of open sand was all that separated the two vehicles.
28
Still not a flicker of fear from the biker. Nor any sign of him changing direction. You're a brave man, pal, Josh repeated to himself. Brave, but stupid. 'You're going to hit him,' said the woman at his side, the words delivered as if she was trying to warn Josh of some terrible, impending catastrophe.
'You bloody bet I am.'
'You're fucking crazy,' she screamed.
'You got a better idea, you've got three seconds to tell me.'
Josh looked back into the open scrubland. The biker had raised his gun again. He was steadying himself, struggling to hold the bike level so that he could aim the pistol accurately. One factor is on my side, reckoned Josh. It's always hard to fire a gun from a moving vehicle and even harder when that vehicle is racing across rough terrain.
He ducked instinctively as the gun was fired: above the noise of the Ranger's engine, it was impossible to hear the gunshot. But he could tell from the way the man's hand jerked backwards that the bullet had already left the chamber giving him time to duck.
Prayer time.
The shot struck the metal frame of the truck. Where it had hit, Josh couldn't tell.
Not me, that's all that counts.
Using all the remaining strength in his leg, Josh pressed even harder on the accelerator, urging every last ounce of power out of the machine. The Ranger sped forward, spitting huge clouds of dust up from its heavy wheels. Thirty yards left. The biker could see that his shot had missed. Decision time, mate, thought Josh. See if you've got time for another shot. Or just turn and try to run.
For just a fraction of a second, he could see the biker struggling with the decision. Half a second is too long.
The biker started to turn, swinging the handlebars to the
29
left. There was a downward slope on that side of him, enough to give him some extra speed.
Twenty yards, and closing.
The biker was turning, his engine spluttering and his boots dragging on the ground. Josh adjusted his steering and powered forwards.
Ten yards.
The biker reared back, putting pressure on his machine's back wheel to try to complete the turn.
Five yards.
'Hold on!'Josh shouted at the woman.
Three yards.
He had lost sight of the biker as the man and the machine disappeared from view. Suddenly he could feel
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