The War Rig was screaming.
Ninety miles an hour over jagged rock. The suspension groaned with every impact, slamming the passengers into their seats.
Jason looked in the side mirror.
The Sawmill was gaining.
It was a mountain of steel on tank treads, crushing the earth beneath it. Its headlights were blinding searchlights, cutting through the dark like lasers.
And it was fast.
"Heat sinks at 110%!" Hughes yelled over the whine of the electric motors. He was fighting the wheel, sweat dripping into his goggles. "If I push it any harder, the battery melts! We become a slag heap!"
"Push it!" Jason shouted. "Or we become mulch!"
The Sawmill didn't slow down for rocks. It drove through them. The massive circular saws on its front pulverized boulders into gravel, spewing a cloud of dust that choked the night air.
WHIRRR-CHUNK.
A hatch opened on the roof of the fortress.
"Launch detected!" O'Malley screamed from the turret. "Drones! Twelve o'clock high!"
They weren't the sleek, silent drones of Gates or the clumsy quadcopters of the old world.
They were Lumberjacks.
Flying circular saws. Rotors made of sharpened steel. Engines loud as chainsaws. They dove out of the sky like angry hornets.
"Contact!" O'Malley spun the turret.
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.
The railgun barked. Blue tracers lit up the night.
One drone exploded in a shower of sparks. Another lost a rotor and spun into the canyon wall.
But there were too many.
One Lumberjack swooped low. It ignored the gun. It aimed for the cab.
SCREEEE.
It sliced through the armor plating of the passenger door. Sparks showered Hemingway's lap. The saw blade stopped inches from his beard, jammed in the metal.
Hemingway didn't flinch.
He grabbed a flare gun from the dash.
"Pull!" he grunted.
He waited for the next drone to dive.
POP.
The red flare shot out. It hit the drone directly in the intake.
BOOM.
The drone exploded from the inside out, raining burning shrapnel onto the hood.
"Nice shot," Jason said, reloading his rifle.
"It's skeet shooting," Hemingway racked a shotgun. "With consequences."
Suddenly, the ground shook.
THOOM.
A massive Harpoon fired from the front of the Sawmill. It wasn't a rope. It was a steel cable as thick as a man's arm, tipped with a magnetic grapple.
It flew through the air, trailing smoke.
CRASH.
It slammed into the War Rig's tailgate. The magnets locked on with a sound like a thunderclap.
The cable went taut.
The War Rig jerked violently. The tires screamed, smoking against the rock.
They were caught.
"We're losing traction!" Hughes yelled. The truck began to slide backward.
Jason looked through the rear window.
The Sawmill was reeling them in. The massive grinding wheels on its front were spinning, hungry for metal.
"It's going to eat us!" Hughes screamed.
"Cut the cable!" Jason yelled.
"It's hardened steel!" O'Malley shouted. "Bullets won't scratch it!"
"Then melt it!"
Jason grabbed a Thermite Grenade from the crate at his feet. Stolen from the Detroit Armory.
"Take the wheel!" Jason shouted at Hemingway.
He kicked the door open.
The wind hit him like a physical blow. The noise was deafening—the roar of the Sawmill, the whine of the drones, the scream of the tires.
Jason climbed out onto the running board. He clawed his way toward the bed of the truck.
A Lumberjack drone buzzed past his head, clipping his ear. Blood sprayed.
He didn't stop.
He vaulted over the cab, landing in the bed next to the winch.
The Harpoon was locked onto the tailgate. The cable was vibrating with tension, pulling the truck backward inch by inch.
Jason pulled the pin on the grenade.
He jammed it into the gap between the magnet and the steel.
"Fire in the hole!" Jason screamed.
He dove back into the cab.
FZZZT.
The thermite ignited. It burned white-hot, thousands of degrees. It melted through the hardened steel like butter.
SNAP.
The cable broke.
The War Rig shot forward, released from the weight.
The loose cable whipped back toward the Sawmill.
CRACK.
It smashed into the fortress's windshield, shattering the armored glass.
The Sawmill swerved. It hit a rock outcropping, tearing off a chunk of the cliff.
"We're free!" Hughes laughed maniacally. "Eat my dust, you rust bucket!"
"Not yet!" Jason pointed ahead. "The canyon narrows! Devil's Gap!"
It was a slot canyon. A crack in the earth barely wide enough for a truck.
"Thread the needle, Howard!" Jason ordered.
Hughes didn't brake. He drifted the massive six-wheel truck sideways.
The War Rig slid into the gap.
SCREEEECH.
The side mirrors were ripped off by the rock walls. Sparks showered the windows. The truck scraped through, metal screaming against stone.
They burst out the other side.
The Sawmill tried to follow.
But it was too wide.
CRUNCH.
The fortress slammed into the canyon entrance. The impact shook the ground. Rock and dust rained down, burying the front of the machine.
It was stuck.
"We lost him," Hughes breathed, slowing the truck down. The engine temperature gauge was flashing red. "We actually lost him."
The War Rig rolled to a stop deep in the canyon. Silence returned.
Jason slumped back in his seat. His ear was bleeding. His hands were shaking.
He looked at Amelia in the back. She was unconscious, still plugged into the portable battery pack.
"Is she alive?" Jason asked.
Hemingway checked her pulse.
"She's burning up," Hemingway said. "Her blood is mixed with coolant. She needs a radiator, not a doctor."
Jason looked back at the blocked canyon entrance.
The Sawmill was silent.
But then, the radio crackled.
A voice cut through the static. Warm. Familiar.
"Nice driving, son," Ezra Prentice said.
Jason froze.
"You blocked the door," the voice continued. "But you forgot about the windows."
A low buzzing sound echoed from the canyon walls.
Drill. Drill. Drill.
Jason looked up.
Small holes were appearing in the rock face above them. Hundreds of them.
"Termites," Jason whispered. "Drilling drones."
"He didn't stop," Hemingway racked his shotgun again. "He's just changing tools."
"Drive," Jason ordered.
But the truck didn't move.
"Battery overheat!" Hughes slammed the dashboard. "Safety lockout! We're sitting ducks for ten minutes!"
"We don't have ten minutes," Jason said, watching the first Termite drone fall from the ceiling.
It looked like a mechanical beetle with a diamond drill bit for a mouth.
It landed on the hood. It started drilling.
"Get out," Jason said. "We fight on foot."