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At a signal from up front, all the engines cut off at once. I pull to a stop and shut mine down. While the dust settles, I crawl out of the driver’s seat. My ass and back ache like someone gave me a baseball-bat massage. I stretch, trying to work the kinks out, when Traven comes over.
“What now?” I say.
“It depends. It isn’t always the same.”
“But this is where the havoc gets to havocking.”
“Maybe today will be different.”
“Sure. Maybe today.”
We’re pretty far back in the pack, so I climb on the hood of the truck trying to see something. I can’t make out much besides a crowd gathered at the edge of the town. Nothing happens for a while. I think the Magistrate is having a nice chat with whoever runs the burg. After all the driving and the last day of abject terror and confusion, frankly, it gets kind of boring. Traven climbs up on the truck with me.
“See anything?” he says.
“The Wizard gave the Scarecrow a heart. I hope he has something for Dorothy.”
Traven points into the distance.
“What’s that?”
There’s a plume of dust winding its way through the havoc in our direction. A few seconds later I hear the roar of a bike engine. A sweaty soul on a dirty Hellion Ducati stops next to the truck.
He pushes up his goggles.
“You Pitts?”
“Last time I checked.”
He moves up on the seat.
“Get on. You’re riding bitch.”
“What makes you think that?”
He looks up at me.
“The Magistrate wants to see you right fucking now. So get on, bitch, before you get us both in trouble.”
“When you say it nice like that how can I resist?”
I climb down and head over to the bike. The rider is a big bare-chested sweat pig. To be clear, I mean he’s literally a sw
eaty, upright pig—busted snout-like nose and everything. I stand there for a minute looking over his wheels.
“You checking out my ass? Get on, faggot.”
“Sure.”
I move like I’m getting onto the seat, but instead I swing my leg around and kick him in the back of the head. He falls forward and dumps the bike. I drag his sweaty ass off and haul the Ducati upright. I didn’t hit him hard enough to knock loose anything essential, but he’s going to have a long, embarrassing walk when he comes to. Traven comes over but doesn’t say anything. He just raises his arms and drops them again like he’s exhausted. I give him a little salute, gun the bike, and head for the front of the pack.
No one tries to stop me as I weave through the havoc. When I spot the Charger, I open up the throttle and hit the brakes just right to land in a nice stoppie up front.
Daja looks at me blankly while the Magistrate frowns.
“Where is Billy?”
“Taking a nap.”
