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toward her. He paused not more than a meter from her. His eyes followed the path of her tracks, then slowly moved up the snowy curves of her silhouette. Dammit if he wasn't looking right at her. It was obvious he saw her— he must! But it was equally obvious his limited brain couldn't compute what it was he was looking at: this icy, translucent figure of a woman.
    Four trembling fingers reached out to touch her. They never made it.
    Sigrid grabbed those fingers, pulling his arm around and twisting as hard as she could. He cried out in alarm, drawing the attention of the others, but it was too late for him. She drove him to the ground hard, kneeling on his back, though not before she relieved him of his rifle. She kicked it up with her foot, flipping it over in midair to catch it one-handed.
    Unable to hold the cloak any longer, she appeared before the group of startled soldiers—which actually served to confuse them all the more. They froze in their tracks, not sure what they were seeing—this pale, naked girl waist-deep in the snow, the hulking auto-rifle tucked in her arms.
    That moment was all she needed. Her finger grazed the trigger. Four rounds barked out in less than a heartbeat. Four shots fired. Four soldiers dropped in quick succession. Four more deaths.
    But she was hardly out of the woods. Hurtling toward her at treetop level, the Thunderhawk screamed into view, its four thrusters rattling the ground and blowing up pillars of ice in its wake. Fast and maneuverable, the Thunderhawk brimmed with weapons—forward-firing missiles sat in side-mounted pods, while a hulking chain gun extended from its blunt nose—and it was coming her way.
    The truck sat waiting.
    She ran for it, climbing the steps and hauling herself into the driver's seat. Jamming her foot to the floor, the fuel cells fed power to the drive engines instantly and the truck shot forward. It was a heavy, lumbering machine, and its tall studded tires chewed up the terrain as it fought for traction.
    The narrow road slashed through the trees as it wound its way toward the lights of the main road ahead. Sigrid skidded wildly around one bend, glancing off a tree trunk before bouncing over a cluster of rocks. Somehow she kept the machine on the path, if just barely. But she daren't slow. Her foot was heavy on the throttle, threatening to push the pedal all the way through the flooring. The road straightened ahead, and the trees thinned, making the going easier, but she was also losing her cover. There was a bridge ahead, a narrow causeway built over a frozen riverbed, and the highway was less than a kilometer beyond that. She was going to make it.
    Pushing the truck to its maximum speed, a spine-jarring 144 kph, the truck bounced as she hit the bridge, and the front wheels lifted from the road before crashing back down. The truck skidded wildly, glancing off both barriers. Sigrid cursed as she gripped the wheel, fighting for control on the ice-covered causeway.
    Her pursuers were not about to let her go either. The Thunderhawk swept by overhead, not more than a meter above her. It reached the far end of the bridge, where it performed a high pirouette and swung sharply about to face her. Sigrid saw the missile pods swing out into firing position.
    Her PCM dutifully alerted her to this new danger as it flashed its warnings in large, bold letters before her eyes.
    "I know!"
    Sigrid stood on the brakes with both feet. The spiked tires dug in hard and the truck came to a skidding, juddering halt. The Thunderhawkstopped as well. It sat there, hovering above the end of the causeway as if staring her down. A fireteam of four soldiers leapt from the gunship. They moved quickly, taking up positions along the far end of the bridge.
    For a moment, Sigrid sat there, waiting, watching and clutching the wheel as her breath fogged up the windscreen.
    None of them fired. What were they waiting for? They had her. All they had to do was take the kill shot.
    No, of course