16
The bullets whine as they ricochet off the side of the Chevrolet and pass within inches of your body. You reach cover and Kate tosses her machine pistol to you over the side of the roadster. You catch it near the ground, but before you can draw back the firing bolt and return fire, you spot the outline of a man standing away to your right. He is armed with a pistol and he has you dead in his sights.
‘Do like the man said, buddy, or take your last breath,’ he says, and reluctantly you let the G-12 slip to the ground.
‘Ain’t no good you hidin’ in there, honey,’ says the voice from the pay booth. There is a pause, and then slowly Kate climbs out of the car and stands beside you.
The man with the pistol is tall and muscular and dressed in green army fatigues. His blond hair is cropped close to his head and his eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. With his pistol still aimed at your heart, he walks slowly towards you, stopping at the entrance to the pay booth. Two more men in uniform emerge from the doorway—the rifleman and one other who is armed with a sawn-off shotgun.
‘They don’t look like clan punks, Sarge,’ says the rifleman.
‘We’re not,’ interrupts Kate. ‘We’re running from the clans.’
Bemused, the blond-haired man scratches his chin and turns to say something quietly to his two companions. It is then that you notice the faded sergeant stripes and the circular globe-of-the-world emblem that adorn his sleeve. Instantly you recognize the latter: it is the emblem of the World Defence League. At length, he turns to face you once more and says, in a friendlier tone, ‘I think you two had better tell us your story.’
