Page 22 of Ruined Omega

“Hold tight,” he roars. “This is going to get a bit hairy.”

Going to? I can’t help but wonder about the future tense. In less than a minute, we have plummeted from a third-story window, been shot at, and now we’re barrelling down the city street at an insane speed on a motorcycle.

How could things possibly get more hairy?

Then, through my squinted eyes, blurred with wind and rain, I realize what Tal means.

We’re rocketing toward the end of the industrial zone. Up ahead, the road is quickly becoming filled with traffic, even at this hour.

I manage to blurt one quick phrase before we fly into traffic at full speed.

“Oh shit!”

Then my breath is sucked out of my throat and my lungs are pulled deep into my bowels to join my stomach. My heart skips, clenches like a fist. My muscles go rigid with terror.

We must be going at least a hundred miles an hour now. Cars are flashing past, indistinct shapes and blurs of light and shadow.

“Tal slow down!” I scream.

“Can’t.”

I blink away the rain and tears and manage a quick glance in the rearview mirror protruding from the handlebars. Behind us, a quartet of black cars swerve precariously out of a sidestreet, tires flinging rain and wet trash.

We’re being chased.

The size and maneuverability of the bike should give us an advantage. However, the dark cars somehow manage to gain on us, barrelling between the lanes of traffic amid a welter of angry horns.

Within seconds, they are looming on our tail, less than five or six car lengths behind.

“Tal, they’re right behind us!” I shout.

“I know.”

Of course he knows. He’s an Alpha. His senses are attuned with a canine sharpness. But this is my first high-speed chase, and I can’t help the obvious words from tumbling out of my breathless mouth.

Up ahead there’s a red light. Traffic is lurching to a halt. But Tal keeps the bike between the lanes. He doesn’t let up on the accelerator. Not even a bit.

“Tal, look out!”

The intersection passes in a heartbeat. Crossing traffic screeches to a stop. Horns blare, Doppler-shifting as we blow past. We dive back into traffic on the other side driving so fast the tires barely seem to touch the wet pavement.

My eyes dart to the rain-flecked mirror.

Our pursuers slalom through the blocked intersection. One of them slams into a delivery truck and turns over in a shower of shattered glass. The other three, however, make it through unscathed, and within seconds they’re back on our tail. Shit…

Around us, traffic has begun to thicken.

“It’s no good,” Tal shouts over the roar of the engine and howling wind. “We’ll have to lose them in the undercity.”

The undercity? Oh, that’s not good.

The motorcycle shears across four lanes of traffic and into an off-ramp leading down into the deepest bowels of the city. With a shriek of hot rubber, the bike drifts sideways down the curving ramp. The concrete barrier flows past, mere inches away.

I clamp my eyes shut and press back into Tal’s tensed body.

At last, the bike straightens and accelerates.

When I open my eyes, we are in the lowest levels of the hive. The motorcycle’s headlights lance into the darkness, disclosing the ruins of the undercity. Ancient buildings long since left to dereliction, their crumbling walls blackened with grime. Sidewalks choked with heaps of debris. Gangs of looters crouched around flickering bonfires.