"Richard Harding - Outrider 02 - Fire And Ice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harding Richard)

blizzard. "Head on until we get to the place where we found Cooker." The last
time out they had found the poor old gas hound trussed up like a chicken in
the forecourt of an old motel. He had been captured by Stormers and Bonner and
Starling had set him free. "You remember where it was?" "Think so," said
Bonner. As they stole on through the cold white night they found themselves
slowing down to a crawl. Bonner was driving on instinct and memory. Although
they were out of Trash Alley, the road was littered with broken masonry and
junked cars. Bonner had cut his light; it was worse than useless. He could
still hardly see anything. Coming up ahead he could just make out the line of
one of the few overpasses on the old highway that still stood. As they
approached it Bonner saw, unmistakably, the orange and blue flame of a muzzle
flash. A force, a small one, but a force nonetheless was dug in on the bridge
above him. Bonner hit the gas. "Hold on, Meanies," he yelled, and the big car
lurched forward, the fat tires thrumming on the cracked asphalt. The big twin
exhaust pipes opened up and the sound cut through the snowy night. He heard
Starling push his big bike right up behind him. Together, side by side, they
tore a wide gash in the white curtain of snow. A rip of bullets streamed by
Bonner's ear and he shot a glance over his shoulder. The overpass was lost in
a swirl of snow, but he could tell exactly where the bridge was. It was picked
out by a line of muzzle flashes, spewing bullets into the whiteness. Bonner
was steering blind, hoping that there was no old junked bus or a slab of
bridge pillar lying in the road ahead. The mixture of snow and blackness
played havoc with his sense of distance. He hunched over the wheel, squinting
into the icy darkness. Then, relaxed, he slumped back in his seat. If it was
going to happen, it was going to happen. He decided to worry about something
he could do something about: the unknown men behind him who were definitely
trying to kill him. That much he was sure of. A bumpy, black five miles
passed in a matter of seconds. Bonner hit the brakes. Starling glided up next
to him. "Who the fuck was that?" screamed Starling. Snow was matted on his
leather jacket and in between the fingers of his gauntlets. "Good question,"
said Bonner. "Shut down." They killed their engines and suddenly the night was
quiet save for the low moan of the wind and the snow hissing on the hot
engines. Bonner sat stock still, like a beast of prey sensing his
quarry. Through the night it came, like the howl of a wolf. A dark, cold
chorus of engines.'.. "Seven," said Starling. "Yeah," said Bonner,
"bikes." In the snow-wrapped night they saw the first prob-ings of powerful
spots. "Who?" said Starling. "No idea, but they're not very
friendly." "Stand or go?" "Do you feel like chasing all over the place
tonight." "Nope." "Me neither. Stand." The sky behind the riders was
lighting up as the headlights of their pursuers refracted off the swirling
snow. Bonner muscled his car up onto the shoulder of the highway. When the
lights hit that part of the road he didn't want to be sitting there giving
them any kind of target. The two men moved quickly. Starling too had moved to
the side of the road and carefully put his bike under the cover of a slab of
pavement. Then he readied himself to do battle with the weapon he had
mastered. Starling carried a gun like everybody else, but he carried it only
to back up the firepower of his steel-shafted arrows, the tips packed with
black powder primed to explode on impact. Starling knelt in the darkness,
taking cover next to his bike. He waited. Bonner took the ice-crusted canvas
cover off the firing mechanism of his.50-caliber machine gun. He clipped a