Headlights and whitelines

In the shade of an old battered billboard, that still attempted to display in badly faded letters,”Mars, New World, New Beginning”, sat the Interceptor. She was the last of the old V8’s, a thing of fading beauty, a thing of power.

Inside the driver sat motionless, gloved hands resting on the steering wheel, eyes hidden behind mirrored shades.

Suddenly the comms unit on the dash burst into life with a screech of static that eventually became a voice, “Max? Max you there? Got three incoming vehicles to the north of us, looks like more of Slimes boys on a run, guess we are running decoy? Max? Max you bastard answer me!”

The man called Max  turned the radio off as the second Interceptor pulled along side, it was one of the old style Dodge police cars, and it had seen better days. The windscreen had been replaced with meshing, armoured plates has been welded across parts of it to give the driver and passenger a small amount of protection. Most of the body work had been patched with whatever had been at hand, and mostly held together with rust and a prayer. Through the grating on the drivers window Max could see the other driver raising his hands as if to ask what the hell? Max smiled.

“You gonna sit there all day or you actually gonna help out?” When there was no answer, Pinks gunned the engine of the Dodge, and flipped on the one remaining roof light, then throwing one more look in Max’s direction, floored the accelerator and sped off.

But Max was already looking down the road, in the heat haze of the distance three plumes of sand were rising, grabbing the binoculars from the cluttered passenger seat he quickly brought the approaching vehicles into focus. Yes it was definitely some of Slimes boys, three vehicles, all with turreted machine guns and extra crew hanging off the sides. One of the vehicles was slower, an old utility truck pressed into service and now as he watched it began to veer away from the other two vehicles.

Max thru the binoculars back onto the seat and as he checked his shotgun was loaded snatched the comms unit, “Pinks,” he growled into it, “break left take the truck.”

He thumbed the ignition switch, and with a roar the engine burst into life, gently rocking the vehicle with barely restrained power. A flick of another button on the dashboard and on the front wing a panel slid to one side and a gattling gun popped up, followed by a electronic voice muttering through the comms, “Weapons hot”

Max gently edged the Interceptor out of the billboards shadow and onto the hot cracked tarmac, then turning to face the oncoming vehicles he veered off the road causing an explosion of dust and sand, slamming his foot down hard on the accelerator he allowed himself a small smile as he sped towards the rapidly approaching enemy.


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