Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Sierra Ronin

I grabbed a pair of binoculars off the sagging Formica table in the kitchen and peered through the dirty screen of the back window splotched with mosquito carcasses. You could glimpse pieces of the trail on the hills above the cabin, tan switchbacks among the dry scrub and pine trees. something or someone was coming down the trail, I was sure of it. I trained the bino's on another gap in the trail where I anticipated the intruder would be revealed and got a millisecond glance of two men in camo moving quickly down the trail. How long did I have, 5 minutes? Probably less, I was glad I had left my back pack unpacked. Looking around quickly I decided that there was nothing here for me, but memories of a time when I had a family, before I made my first kill for the Combine. I knew they would be coming I just thought I'd have more time to rest and let my arm heal. The flechettes had been removed but the muscles still felt weak.
Groaning as I thew the backpack on over my shoulder, I then grabbed my helmet and went out the front door. My bike was thankfully pointed down hill so I just jumped on stuck it in neutral and pointed it down the steep fire road. They would know of my presence the second I started the bike so I waited as long as I could, until I reached the gentle up slope before the spring house. Then I cranked it over and it sounded like a machine gun going off. "Loud Pipes Save Lives" but not when your trying to outrun corporate hit men hired to force you into early retirement. I thought I heard yelling behind me I thought I heard shots but I think I imagined it.
Surprised that there wasn't a roadblock at the two lane highway but thankful somebody had slipped up, I checked my gas gauge and gunned my highly modified sportster up the road. Destination: the Big City, my real home where I could re enter the digital grid, collect my weapons, and make my final stand.

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