The shouts grew louder and louder until they echoed off the rocky cliff faces, sounding as though they were far closer than they could possibly be. There was no possible way they were here yet. Shifting down, you banked a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding an unsightly death with a mountain of serrated rocks. The canyon walls were known for being rough, and yet smooth, worn down by eons of wind-whipped sand, and earthquakes ripping stone from stone. Natural disasters were the least of your worries, at least on the good days, and those good days consisted of not being hunted down. Today was not a good day.
There was no telling if your pursuers were gaining ground, or if the canyon walls continued to deceive you, sending their war cries bouncing around until they reached your ears. Just ahead of you there was a sloping curve in the path. Recognizing it for the route you took to get here, there was no doubt in your mind that it would be the safest way out, for it was sheltered by a canopy of dead trees. Their roots and branches intertwining to form a kind of ceiling for nearly 500 yards before the path dipped underground, coming back up outside of the canyon walls.
The was no question about it now, they were closer than before. Now inside the canyon, their engines rang louder than the war cries.
As you neared the sheltered passage an explosion, followed by a wave of heat and wind knocked you backwards, off your bike. For what felt like a brief moment and yet the longest period of time, you flew through the air before coming to land in a heap against a craggy wall. Pain sliced like a knife through the back of your head. Opening your eyes, you watched, to the best of your abilities, through blurry vision, as the dead trees burned and collapsed, falling on a mound of rocks that now blocked all chances of escaped through the the passage. Laying on the hard ground seemed like a brilliant idea after you attempted to sit up, and nausea forced you back to the ground. Either way, getting up was of no use, your bike had your lower half pinned.
Mistress and her Street Breed gang were closing in on their prey. One of her scouts had gone ahead, and judging by the sound of the explosion, something had either gone very wrong, or very right.
Rounding the bend, they were greeted with the sight of the burning pass, and their fallen quarry. The whooping and cheers ricocheted off the walls, creating an earsplitting raucous. "Gather what you can. " Mistress cried above the noise, as she climbed out of her own dune buggy, careful to avoid the twisted, serrated metal spikes that had been welded to the frame. She approached you from behind, weary of any futile attempts to escape her now. Coming to face you, she squatted just out of arms reach and watched as the fear registered in your eyes, and your breathing became labored from struggling to free yourself.
"And you," she cast a sharp glance at her ecstatic Street Breed warriors, chattering away while they picked through your things. A fight had broken out over your leather satchel and shiny hip flask, "I'm so glad we could meet again, Bones."