Page 35 of Hollow State

The woods went quiet, except for the sounds of engines and rotor blades. Wynn kept scanning for movement. Those fucking soldiers were out there somewhere.

Zadie cut left. The harness locked across Wynn's chest as the machine slid sideways toward a hemlock, and the rear tires caught two feet from the trunk, slinging them the other direction.

The helicopter swept the gap behind them, low and sideways with its nose down.

A man, hooked onto a strap, leaned out the open door with his weapon canted toward the ground. Muzzle flashes. Bright, stuttering, and almost pretty.

"Left," Wynn yelled as she raised her rifle.

Zadie jerked the wheel.

Bang. Bang.

Rounds stitched the trail and tore a fallen log into wet yellow splinters.

The chopper slid behind a stand of pine, and a branch rushed her face. "Fuck," she muttered as she folded forward. The thick part of it dragged across the roll cage with a metallic squeal, and the broken end raked her side at the exact same instant something hot punched straight into her thigh.

She sucked in air and grabbed her leg. Pressing down hard, she ignored the pain signals trying to make their way to her brain. She chose not to look. She knew what she'd see if she did, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it right now. Besides, it wasn't that bad. Certainly not life-threatening. She'd deal with it in a minute or two.

Or ten.

The helicopter climbed above the canopy and rolled into another pass. The rhythm of the rotors changed. The clean, even chop morphed into a deep, uneven whumping, like the disc had slipped out of balance. The aircraft lurched sideways. Its tail swung toward the trees, snapped back then overcorrected. The nose popped up, dropped, then the whole damn thing spun.

"Holy shit," Zadie muttered as she hit the gas and swerved.

The main rotor clipped the crown of a pine, and the tree split down the middle. Metal screamed through the forest as a blade shattered. A piece of it spun off, scything the canopy, taking branches with it, until it vanished somewhere behind them.

The helicopter rolled onto its side right before it dropped from the sky like a dead bird.

Wynn grabbed the roll bar and braced for impact as the aircraft slammed into the ground hard enough to jolt the SxS’s suspension.

Fire erupted from the wreck in a bright orange bloom.

The pressure wave hit Wynn between the shoulder blades and shoved her forward into the harness, as the heat rolled over the back of her neck like an opened oven.

A slab of twisted metal cartwheeled past the passenger side. Another one blew through the branches overhead and dropped across the trail in front of Coulter and Neve, and their SxS swerved around it in a spray of black mud.

"Those soldiers are right on top of us." Wynn pointed to the screen, which flashed eight red dots surrounding them.

"And here comes one." Zadie pointed to the east. "Neve's taking a shot."

Neve had one boot braced on the side of the SxS and the other planted on the floor. Two rounds hit the soldier. One in the shoulder. One near the chest.

He jerked both times but kept coming, barely slowing.

"Fucking enhanced assholes," Zadie muttered as she spun the SxS. Wynn lined up a third shot aimed for his neck.

Pop!

He paused, grabbed his throat, and stared at them for a second before faceplanting.

"You've got one on your back," Coulter said. "I'll take the one coming to your east."

Wynn twisted against the harness, found the man through the strobe of passing branches, and fired.

The round hit his vest.

"Fuck," she muttered.