Chapter 14: Going Coastal
"We can't just leave him!" Charlie bawled.
Pyotr joined Nuri and effortlessly drew the Resistance member backwards. "Charlie will take heed: flee, or I shall render you comatose. I am quite capable of doing so."
"Think of it this way," Quarir yelled, "Dmitri's done a great thing. Now either you hang around for a good cry and let him waste his life or we move! Your choice!"
Charlie hesitated for one more moment... then he turned and ran. It was the first sensible thing Nalore had seen the man do.
Gunfire rang in their ears, but it was impossible to tell whether the bullets were meant for them or were merely stray rounds. Dmitri was yelling and since he wasn't the kind of man to employ something as hackneyed as a battle cry, he was likely introducing the Combine to a new field of cursing. Assimilate that.
"There're a couple of, of s-scanners…" Charlie stammered hesitantly.
"They're not our problem! Less talk more run!" Quarir snapped. He'd have expected Pyotr to overtake him, but Nuri and Charlie? Sure, his leg still hurt like hell, but he was meant to have a pair of lungs with a capacity 60% greater than a normal human's. The bastards at the tech market must have fleeced him. Good job he'd given them counterfeit currency.
"Do you know where you're going?" Nuri called to Pyotr.
"Yes," the Vortigaunt said simply, lumbering through the thinning array of pipelines at high speed.
"There're—"
"Shut up," Nalore told Charlie automatically, but then he paused.
Humming. It was almost pleasant, and it carried well, stifling the noise of the battle as if it flew overhead…
"The Dropships are following us?!" Quarir gawked in disbelief, "They're not meant to have enough sense to do that!" He was enraged that the Overwatch had chosen now, of all times, to become tactically savvy.
Two of the flying personnel carriers had broken off from the main group in pursuit of the assorted rebels, and they were gaining on them. "Is there anything we can do about those?" Nuri shouted in what she presumed to be Pyotr's ear.
"The Dropships are less agile than their Gunship brethren," the 'Gaunt croaked. "We may be able to find shelter before they get up to speed."
"And if we have to run for a long time?"
"We make peace with whatever powers we hold dear."
"Brilliant…" Nuri was about to make a Quarir-esque reply when sparks erupted from every direction.
This time the fire was unmistakably aimed their way. The approaching Dropships sent a cascade of rounds pouring off the scant protection supplied by the ever-diminishing conduits.
The huge, almost beetle-like Synth carried blatantly inorganic black capsules slung beneath their bellies. The designers of the transport pods had seen fit to equip them with high-calibre pulse weapons. Soon they'd be within such short range that missing the four exhausted renegades would be an impossibility. Soon…
An apocalyptically loud engine roared, and a rusting blue van smashed through pipes and fencing alike, skidding to a halt before them.
The back door opened and a woman beckoned at the frankly bemused quartet. "Get in!"
"Who the hell are you?" Quarir wheezed.
"And where on Earth did you get a working van from?" Nuri gasped incredulously.
The woman merely waved them in again. "Someone who's offering you an alternative to being blasted into next Wednesday!"
"She makes a most valid point," Pyotr accepted, hopping up into the interior.
Charlie allowed himself to be pulled in and Nuri barely hesitated, but Nalore wasn't so sure. Then a warning sign inches from his head shattered; the flying shards of plastic spurred him into leaping inside the van, which took off as soon as his feet struck its floor.
The van's gears squealed in protest and the engine sounded as if it was going to explode, but the driver somehow managed to get them going at 60 from a standing start. Nalore almost fell out the vehicle but Pyotr grabbed him and drew him back in.
"Pretty close, huh?" their saviour drawled, slamming the doors shut.
"Yes," Nuri nodded, juggling her need to catch her breath with her desire for answers. "Thank you. Now who are you?"
"I'm Kim," said Kim. "And we're Resistance members, like you didn't notice. And this here is Maggie," she finished, pointing down.
"You said 'we'?" Charlie quizzed.
A metal flap at Maggie's rear flopped open. "You thought we'd installed an autopilot?" said a face that was just visible through the opening, "Hardly. I'm Reginald, pleased to make your acquaintance."
Quarir treated both the upper crust driver and his passenger to friendly nods, but he wasn't prepared to settle for the information they'd give him. "Yeah, hello, and thanks," he began, unaware of the loudening humming, "but what were you doing around here anyway?"
Gunfire shattered the peace and put a neat line of holes in the van's roof; Kim merely sighed at the damage but her new comrades edged away from the glowing punctures.
"Dammit Reg," Kim yelled above the collective noise of their Synth pursuers and Maggie the van, "I thought you said you could outrun those things?"
"On a straight I probably could, but they can just fly over obstacles," the driver drolly informed her. "Hold on, we are almost at the tunnel."
"The oppressor is likely to break off their pursuit once we reach such a place," Pyotr elaborated, managing to stand perfectly still despite the violent tremors of their transport. "They intended to destroy us after a brief hunt, as Dropships are not the most agile of Synth. They would not have expected us to board this vehicle."
"Yeah? They're not the only ones," Nalore turned back to Kim, who was kicking aside the scrap metal that covered the van's floor. "How come you're here anyway?"
"I told you!"
"No you damn well didn't. We got shot at, remember?"
"Oh," Kim was nonplussed. "well..."
There was a bang and Maggie jerked violently.
"Ah, it appears that they've burst our rear tyre," Reginald informed them embarrassedly. "However I'm sure we can still make it."
Nuri wouldn't have thought it was possible, but their transit became even less pleasant, the van slanting noticeably to the right and shuddering all the way. Charlie fell over and was pattered with tumbling lumps of metal, while Pyotr watched, curious at humanity's complete lack of natural balance.
Whistling cheerily, Kim produced a small welding torch and a makeshift faceguard. She was about to fire it up when Reg spotted her in his rear-view mirror and shouted over his shoulder; "This is hardly the best time Kim, you can seal the bullet holes up later!"
Charlie gave up trying to stand and sulkily sat himself down in the corner, feeling utterly blind and impotent in the gloomy, windowless rear of the automobile. "Are we nearly there?" he called up at the viewing hatch, instantly regretting the move as he realised how childish he'd sound.
Nevertheless, Reg seemed more than happy to answer him. "We'll be there in two minutes, I can see it right ahead of our position."
"We don't have that kind of time," Kim snapped, "just drive over the barriers."
Nalore saw Reg nod and there was a slight click as he changed gears. "Uh, wait," Nalore said tentatively, "do you mean barriers as in road barriers? As in—"
An ear-rending screech announced that yes, they had torn through the metal barricades, and for a second Quarir felt weightless as they plummeted downward. The sensation didn't last. The van struck the road and the four of them stumbled.
Pyotr, of course, remained upright. As a native Xenian he was used to the Borderworld's constantly shifting continental bodies. It was making him feel intensely homesick.
Grumbling, Quarir drew himself back to his feet, pointedly refusing to offer Kim a hand up, so he was even more galled when she regained her footing with no apparent difficulty.
"We have reached the tunnel," Reg announced, as if his passengers had failed to realise it was pitch-black, "we should have enough time to change the tyre before those Combine types follow us on foot."
Kim opened the door. It hit something, something which groaned in pain and confusion.
"There're zombies out here!" she shrieked.
"That is of no consequence, as I doubt they would offer you assistance in refitting this vehicle," Pyotr told her coldly. "I shall carry out the repairs. Hand me the 'spare tyre'."
Kim pressed the rubber ring into Pyotr's hands. The Vort dropped outside without hesitation.
"Grah-gaah!"
"Ni'drth tch'kul!" There was a crackling noise and a smell of burning flesh.
"Gaah."
"Damnable hybrids." There were scraping sounds as Pyotr set about his task with skill, not that anyone had any idea how or where the Vortigaunt had last practised the talent.
"How's it going?" Charlie shouted outside.
"It is going as can be expected. I only have one and a half pairs of hands. K'ch'uthil!"
"What's that mean?"
"It means," Quarir snapped, "that he's going to feed you to the zombies if you don't stop asking stupid questions."
Pyotr gurgled in approval. "Quarir Nalore is broadly correct. Metaphorically speaking."
"I wonder if Pyotr needs covering fire," Nuri mused.
"What would you cover him with?" Kim asked Nuri, planting herself down next to her. "That revolver?"
"Sure, why not?"
"Wasting .357 ammunition on a few zombies?" Kim noticeably cringed when she said the word. "I can't stand them, but those kind of rounds don't grow on trees…"
"Oh, I've… ah… got plenty. Yes."
"I doubt you'd have enough!"
Nuri merely smiled. "No, I'm pretty sure I would."
Kim shrugged and went back to handling the welder she'd been ordered not to use.
Nuri turned her Arcadimaarian-infused pistol over and over in her hands. It didn't look any different, but she remembered Quarir commenting on the fact that it was unique. After all, how many other Earth-made weapons had been supercharged by alien freaks?
The pistol was an heirloom, and she'd always prized it above all else, but now… well, now it was something legends were made of. Except,she grinned, recalling Dmitri's words, without the gods in togas.
"I have returned a tyre to the vehicle and I see the oppressor approaching!" Pyotr shouted, noisily clambering into the van before Kim slammed the doors shut, "Let us make haste!"
"Certainly!" Reg bellowed in reply.
Maggie shook as her aging engine shuddered into life, and within moments the armour-plated vehicle was roaring through the gloomy tunnel.
"We should be back home in about an hour; I think I've got enough petrol to go the distance."
Maggie wobbled fiercely and a strange sound split the air.
"You've not got engine trouble have you?" Kim asked.
"No, I think our headlights are just starting to fail."
"That doesn't explain the jolt."
"Yes it does. I ran over a zombie."
The group talked to pass the time but the journey wasn't helped by Kim's endless enthusiasm for Maggie the van.
"She used to be a SWAT van," Kim explained happily, "so all we did was replace her burnt out components and tack some more armour on her..."
"Not SWAT, Kim," Reginald corrected tiredly, "she'd have come from whatever equivalent they have over here."
"Whatever. Either way she's supported us through thick and thin and whenever we get the chance we modify her."
"I'm afraid that Kim has a bit of an A-Team thing going on."
"What?" said Kim, and she was echoed by everyone except Pyotr and Quarir, who couldn't be bothered enough to express confusion over yet another impenetrable Earth reference.
Reg sighed. "Never mind. Kids today. I wish someone would remind you what went on in the world before the Combine."
"How old are you anyway?" Charlie asked brusquely.
Reginald seemed only to happy to answer; "Oh, about fifty, I suppose. I never really kept count in the old days… the Combine keeps all your details on file but its idea of a birthday party is its regular Socio-Biological Integrity scans. And you can be promoted, fired or even killed depending on what those find."
"Whoa, they never did that to me!"
"Oh, they wouldn't. You'd likely have to undertake an SBI if you were caught doing something they consider to be illegal, but they only seem to force them on you constantly if you're old or high ranked."
"Oh?" Charlie perked up, his interest caught, "What did you do before you joined the Resistance?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you… ah, here we are."
Maggie's brakes screeched in disapproval as she drew to an abrupt halt and, yet again, her passengers found themselves picking each other up off the floor.
Kim kicked the doors aside and stood out into the crisp air. "Looks pretty quiet today."
Charlie followed her, squinting at the unaccustomed sunlight. "Just looks like a lot of sand and grass to me."
Pyotr stepped down and gently prodded Charlie in the back. "Charlie would locate the elusive Resistance base if he were to look in the other direction."
The young rebel did so, and realised that the van was parked under a ramshackle lean-to. The adjoining building was similarly nondescript, but it was a brick structure and obviously older.
Beyond the improvised garage facility there were several small, widely spaced shacks and houses, tactically positioned behind rocks and grass tussocks in an attempt to camouflage the small base from the Combine's eyes.
Nuri looked around, and spotted the seashore and the lapping ocean. "We must be a good distance from City 17."
"Yes," said Reginald, "Grassy Knoll is well hidden, we're more of an emergency outpost than a major residence. A place to fall back to when your guerrilla attack has failed, and suchlike."
Charlie turned away from the village-turned-hideout and gasped as Reginald stepped out of the van.
Reg shrugged. "Yes, I suppose I'm not what you expected."
"Sorry," said Charlie, blushing. "Sorry."
Reginald had an eyepatch and a prosthetic limb. Quarir noted that the limb wasn't Domarian-standard. It was functional but it wasn't a marked improvement over a natural appendage; it was a slender, spring bound device that nevertheless managed to move quite fluidly.
"I'm right handed," Reginald explained, "so all I really have to do with this thing is hold the steering wheel occasionally, which it manages just fine."
"'Cept when it rusts up," Kim considered, "'cause then I have to stick a crowbar in and heave."
"If, if you don't mind," Charlie asked sheepishly, "how did you…?"
"Lose it?" Reginald dragged a briefcase out of the van with his good hand, "It was an accident, a long time ago. I lost my eye at the same time. It wasn't one of my best days."
"Reg is a right fighter," Kim declared, "just like Maggie here. Now if you guys don't mind, I need to fire up the welder and—"
"We can afford to show our guests around first, Kim," Reg said firmly. "It would be a very good idea if we introduced them to the rest of the team. Priorities."
Reginald led the way and Quarir and co. tagged on after him; and all the while Kim was muttering to the effect that it wasn't as if they had bullet holes in them.
Nalore decided not to comment on that.