"Doranna Durgin - Heavy Metal Honey" - читать интересную книгу автора (Durgin Doranna)

hydrogen-fueled motorcycle and drew their startled attention, the bomb boys went
into action. One of them jumped the woman, wrestling with the fanny pack secured
at her waist. The other turned a gun on the van, blowing out the back tires in quick
succession, not the least taken aback by Rio's sudden noisy presence. He merely
turned the gun on Rio next.
And Kimmer, leaning over the silent bike, still building speed, veered away from
the protection of the tree line and her chosen target тАФ the radioactive package.
Not Rio!
She swooped in at a calculated angle and slammed her war club into the man's
arm тАФ a wicked and unexpected ambush that made him scream in surprise as much
as pain. Broken, no doubt.
If it wasn't, she'd just have to come back for seconds.
But not now. Now, the gun skidded across the gritty desert soil. The two
immigrants from inside the van leaped on the hapless bomb boy, and Kimmer
slewed her bike around to take a run at the second target just as he separated from
the woman, his gun aimed at her head and the radioactive fanny pack dangling from
his hand. Not gonna make it тАФ
Rio blasted between them, knocking the woman to the ground and sending the
man staggering back тАФ his gun discharged into the air. But he kept his feet and with
nary a glance at his downed partner, he bolted the few yards to his sedan, diving in
to crank the engine and spit gravel from spinning wheels.
Rio's noisemaker switched off, leaving them in an eerie silence тАФ nothing left but
the crunch of car tires on gravely ground. Kimmer lined her bike up to go after the
sedan, hesitating only when she realized that Rio had stopped, had straightened
those long legs to brace the bike upright even as he bent over the woman.
"Rio!" she shouted, loudly enough to make him wince as it came in through his
earpiece. "The package!"
He froze; he stopped in the act of reaching out. Then he withdrew his hand, his
fingers curling into an angry fist. "Stay here," he told the woman in Spanish. "We
know why you're sick. We'll come back to help you."
Kimmer knew from the look on the woman's face that it wouldn't happen; she'd
bolt as soon as she could. Probably wouldn't even wait for the help of the two men
in the van who'd come specifically for just that.
Nothing to be done about it. Not with the dirty bomb materials heading out of the
cemetery with hasty purpose. "We can't outrun him on the road," she told Rio, and
kicked the bike forward, steering across the grounds. The sedan hung in her
peripheral vision, flashing behind the sepulchral landscaping and toward the exit.
Kimmer leaned forward, riding the bike over the rough spots as though it were a
steeplechase jumper.
Coming in behind her at a more extreme angle, Rio quickly made up ground; in
moments, they rode nearly side by side. The car ignored the road at its driver's
whim, cutting across the looping asphalt, bouncing and lurching over old shocks.
"Get ahead of him," Kimmer said into her mike, breathless as the bike jarred on
uneven ground. "See if he wants to play chicken at the cemetery gate."
 Rio sounded so close, right in her ear. "My pistol and I say he doesn't."
"Works for me," Kimmer said, and pushed the bike to the limit, splitting off from
Rio to pull up alongside the sedan, pacing it a moment тАФ and then pulling ahead,
with the cemetery entrance coming up fast.
The car slowed, and Kimmer gave it a disbelieving double take. The man within it
didn't look tense, or concerned, or even annoyed. Behind the glare on the windshield