Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse - Gischler Victor (читать книги полностью .txt) 📗

“I can’t tell,” Bill said. “Damn fog’s too thick.”

“It’s getting louder.”

Bill drew his six-shooters. “Get ready to haul ass.”

From the north, Mortimer saw them, like bright demon eyes in the fog, a single pair at first, then another, then ten, then a wall of headlights coming down the interstate. Vague blurs emerged from the fog, took shape. Cars.

Mortimer spotted a familiar figure in the lead car. The roof had been cut from the vehicle, a machine gun mounted in the backseat. The man stood in the passenger seat, head and shoulders above the windshield, resplendent in a crisp uniform and pink beret.

“General Malcolm!” Mortimer shouted.

The black man’s head yanked around, spotted Mortimer. He picked up a headset, shouted something into the microphone, and all the cars slowed to a halt.

“Is that you, Tate?”

“Yeah.”

Mortimer and Bill climbed the guardrail, jogged to the general’s car. “What is this?”

“It’s a Toyota Prius,” Malcolm said. “We knew fuel would be an issue, so we only scavenged automobiles that would make the gasoline stretch. We have sixty-one total cars in the attack group. Fifty-one hybrids and ten MINI Coopers. We’re the most eco-friendly assault force in history. Are you here with the underground?”

“Yeah. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Even as Mortimer spoke to General Malcolm, members of the underground emerged from the fog with gas cans, ammunition and food, beginning the resupply of the attack force.

Ted appeared at Mortimer’s side. “It’s all going just like you wanted, General.”

“Many thanks,” Malcolm said. “Tell your people to hurry. The closer we can get under cover of this fog the better.”

“Right.” Ted rushed away to orchestrate the resupply.

Malcolm turned his hard gaze on Mortimer. “You’d better be right about the Czar’s attack today, Tate. We’ve committed all our forces. It might be crippling to us if you’re wrong.”

“Can you use a couple more hands?” Bill asked.

“The MINI Coopers are short on gunners. They’re in the rear. But you’d better hurry. I’m not waiting one more second as soon as we’re gassed up and ready to go.”

“Understood.”

They jogged toward the rear of the column. The sight of fifty-one hybrids in a row with heavy machine guns mounted in the backseats was not something Mortimer had ever expected to see. It was nice to know he could still be surprised.

“You dickheads!” screamed a voice behind them.

Mortimer looked over his shoulder, saw Sheila running to catch up.

“Were you just going to leave me?” she yelled.

“Hey, you got to go on the blimp rescue instead of me,” Bill shot back over his shoulder.

They found the Coopers bunched at the back of the attack force, looking tiny and ridiculous. But they were functioning automobiles. As far as Mortimer was concerned, they might as well have been Cadillacs.

“Who’s in charge here?” Mortimer shouted at the first line of Coopers.

A square-jawed man stuck his head out of the driver’s side of the lead car. Three-day stubble, a cigar smoldering in his kisser. “I’m in charge of Yellow Group. What do you want?”

“Malcolm said you guys might have a job opportunity.”

“Not us. Try Blue Group.”

They went to the next line of MINI Coopers and yelled for the leader.

The driver’s door of a glossy blue Cooper opened, and a lithe woman stepped out. She wore leather, hair standing up in wild burgundy spikes, a black patch over one eye. “Well, you just never know who you’re going to meet along a sorry stretch of highway.”

It took Mortimer a split second to recognize her. “Tyler!”

Bill whooped, and they rushed forward, shaking her hand and patting her on the back. She held up her hands, fended off a flurry of confused questions.

“One at a time.”

“How did you get away from the cannibals?” Bill asked.

“Same as you two,” Tyler said. “I ran my ass off and didn’t look back.”

Mortimer grinned. “So you decided to sign on with Armageddon, eh?”

“I’ve always worked for Armageddon,” Tyler said. “Who do you think owned the Muscle Express?”

A man popped his head through the sunroof of another Cooper, holding a set of headphones to one ear. “They’re starting engines, boss. We’d better crank ’em up.”

“Good seeing you’re alive,” Tyler said. “Got to go.”

“Wait,” Mortimer said. “Malcolm said you might have room for us.”

Tyler nodded. “I have room in my car. Jimmy needs a gunner too.” She pointed to the Cooper all the way at the end of the line.

Sheila elbowed her way into the conversation. “Me too.”

“Don’t need anyone else,” Tyler said.

“I’m not being left behind.”

“You can sit in the passenger side of my car,” Tyler said. “But if you get in the way of my driving, I’ll pull over and dump your ass on the side of the road.”

Bill laughed. “That’s the charm school dropout I remember.”

THE ROAD WARRIORS

LI

The semithunderous whine of fifty-one Toyota hybrids and ten MINI Coopers flying south on I-75 was surprisingly impressive. Mortimer had not traveled this fast in years. Even the Muscle Express hadn’t topped more than forty miles per hour. The MINI Cooper, with the steely-eyed Tyler behind the wheel, ate up the highway at seventy.

“Isn’t this a little fast for this fog?” Mortimer asked.

“Advance scouting reports the road clear of debris,” Tyler said. “General Malcolm is hoping those underground people really threw off the Czar’s schedule. If we swoop in fast enough we might catch them before they’re set. Here, you’re going to need this if you want to follow the play-by-play.” She handed a set of headphones back over her shoulder.

Mortimer put them on, adjusted the microphone in front of his mouth.

Tyler’s voice crackled in his ear. “The radio has been rigged with a few different settings. Right now we’re just talking to each other. I can flip a switch to talk to the five Coopers in Blue Group, or I flip another switch and get the whole attack force, or hear Malcolm’s orders or whatever. It’s all plugged into the car’s electrical system.”

“What do you want me to do back here when the trouble starts?” Mortimer asked.

“The MINI is too small to mount a heavy machine gun,” Tyler told him. “But there’s an H &K full-auto 9 mm back there and a shitload of ammo. They extended the moonroof to the backseat, so you can pop up and give them hell, especially if some joker gets on my tail. Just don’t fly out if I take a sharp turn.” To Sheila she said, “You can reload for him, make sure he’s always got a fresh magazine.”

Sheila gave the thumbs-up. “Okay.”

“I’ll need you to cut the chatter while I tune in the ball game. Maybe we can get the score.” Tyler flipped to the main channel.

“-and get that first group in tight when you see them,” came Malcolm’s hard-edged voice through the headphones. “If we catch them in camp, then rip through and turn around for another pass as soon as possible. Don’t let them mount up, whatever you do. If they’ve already hit the road, then we’ll have to do it toe to toe, in which case keep your radios clear because I’m going to be issuing orders on the fly.”

Mortimer slapped a fresh magazine into the H &K, stuck two more into his belt so he could grab them quickly. He reached into his shirt pocket for the cigar Bill had given him, bit the end and stuck it in his mouth. He tapped Sheila on the shoulder, gestured to the cigarette lighter. She pressed it in, waited, and it popped out a few seconds later. She handed it back to Mortimer, who puffed the cigar to life, then handed the lighter back to her.

Tyler smelled the smoke, wrinkled her nose and glanced in the rearview mirror. She put a hand over her microphone and said, “Those things will kill you.”