"Good, that's what we needed," Knox increased speed to hurry for shore. "But there's a lot more work to do."
"Yeah, like your pal Ernie is going to have to come forward and tell us who his friend is. Maybe then we can figure out exactly what happened. I mean, this data doesn't change much about what we know, it only makes things more complicated."
"Ah, but it does tell us that there's a cover up going on," Knox pointed out as the Sleekcraft gained more speed. The nose bobbed so fast that Nina had to hold on tight. "That means there's more here than meets the eye." "So now what?" "So I think you're right. We're going to see Ernie again." — Much to Nina's dismay, traffic nearly cluttered all five of the northbound lanes on Interstate 95. Dump trucks, pickups, commercial vans and 18-wheelers hauled citrus, seafood, fuel, and other goods between the docks, warehouses, and train stations.
Scooters were a popular choice for couriers and individuals commuting to the fishing wharf or industrial centers. Most everyone moved along at a comfortable seventy miles per hour, a few slower and a few faster with lumps of like-minded drivers attached together to form herds of a sort. Gordon, much to her surprise, kept his foot light on the accelerator as they cruised with the flow on their way for Ernie's home in Miami Shores, a suburb north of downtown.
She glanced out the window, noting the Miami skyline. Several signs of battles fought dotted that cityscape, but not nearly the type of wounds other metropolises showed. She wondered if the early years of Armageddon would have been different had other people joined together with the same tenacity as the people in Dade County. She recalled her own home-Philadelphia-and how chaos, conflicting orders, and panic turned neighborhoods into isolated islands, law enforcement into small groups, and the chain of command into a joke.
Gordon grabbed her attention saying, "We get to Ernie's, he gives us the name of his contact, and then we have someone to corroborate this data." "So what? What does this mystery ship have to do with the assassination? I'm just saying, it could be a coincidence." "Someone is covering it up," he reminded. "That means it's something more." "Will he help us? Is he even home?"
"He'll help us. He owes me big time. If he's not home…if he's not home…" Gordon peered first in his rearview mirror, then a side mirror before finishing, "…then we wait."
She asked, "Problem?"
"I don't know, but I think I just saw something silver flying around back there."
He did not have to say 'Witiko' for her to understand but the overpasses of the Dolphin Expressway disrupted their view as they drove through the sprawling arms of a concrete cloverleaf.
With their attention distracted to the sky, neither Gordon nor Nina noticed the black Suburban loitering on the grassy median alongside the Interstate. Chief Hobbs sat behind the wheel with sweat gleaming on his forehead; Ray Roos occupied the passenger's seat watching traffic through dark sunglasses.
The Witiko Skytrooper Gordon and Nina failed to spot-the one with the portable rocket launcher-landed on the roof of an old office building to the east of the thoroughfare, joining another of his breed. The first alien nodded his head toward the SUV. Roos responded by pointing his finger at the aliens
The Skytroop with the rocket launcher reacted to the gesture. As he watched the target car-the black BMW 540i-drive northbound, the alien opened a small panel on a heavy gauntlet and sent a signal.
It began.
They came from the shade alongside the ramp connecting 395 west to I-95 northbound, following the curve of the on-ramp toward the interstate. An old, half-drunk hitchhiker wearing a tweed sport jacket over a Hawks jersey stood at the end of the on-ramp with a cardboard sign reading 'Atlanta or Bust'. The first blur went by him so fast that his sign flew from his hands; the second blur knocked him off his feet.
The Suburban watched the attackers race forward and then the SUV joined the pursuit from a safe distance. The Witiko Skytroopers rocketed away from their perch…
…Fast. Faster. The urge to find and destroy so complete, so compelling…an intense addiction that muffled the hatred for those who had enslaved them.
Like guided missiles, they burst onto the crowded freeway ignoring anything they had not been programmed to kill. A small passenger car-an obstacle-powered by a makeshift steam engine got knocked spinning across three lanes of traffic and over the concrete barrier into the southbound lanes where it sheered the side of a commercial van. That van careened over the west guard rail, disappearing toward Northwest 20 ^ th street below.
A man dressed in a suit and tie wearing a white helmet road an electric scooter with his briefcase tied to a rear luggage rack. One of the living guided missiles rammed his ride, propelling the man off the seat into the air while sending the scooter bouncing away where it smashed the windshield of a speeding Toyota that, in turn, skidded and rolled end over end…
…Gordon glanced in his mirror and saw a sedan rise up as if shoved from behind and nearly fly toward his car. He shifted the manual transmission down a gear and slammed the accelerator, speeding from seventy to eight-five in a heartbeat. The tumbling car fell onto and crushed its roof in a veil of sparks. A chain-reaction ensued, sending more vehicles sideways, skidding, and crashing into one another.
Nina panicked at the sudden jolt of speed.
"What? What is it?"
"We've got a problem," he calmly relayed as he steered the car from the left-most lane to the center of the five, between two big trucks, then to the left again. "Get your rifle and open the sunroof. You're going to have to keep them off us."
Even though her fear of the moving, weaving, and speeding car caused a shake in her hands, she did as instructed, pulling her M-4 from the rear seat while opening the sunroof with the push of a button.
Gordon swerved right again to avoid a flatbed tractor trailer hauling a piece of construction equipment. As he did, Nina saw his face change. His eyes, in particular. They grew sharper, but she also saw a grin poking at the sides of his mouth under that bushy mustache.
"Hey," he said without taking his eyes from the road. "Find something good on the radio, will you? This shit goes great to music."
She ignored his request, offering only a grunt of disapproval as she hauled the upper half of her body through the open sunroof with her assault rifle ready to fire.
Nina's ponytail got caught in the wind of the rushing automobile and fluttered in front of her face as she looked rearward. Traffic in grouped bundles seemed to fall away from either side of the car as the BMW raced at an insane speed.
Their adversaries appeared, running along the freeway on four legs faster than most cars ran on four wheels. They could have been earthly lions-perhaps slightly larger-save for the armor plating covering their heads in a flesh akin to iron.
She could not believe an animal could run so fast. She watched as one side-swiped a compact car, flipping it sideways.
Nina fired first at the beast to her right as it came close enough to nearly nose the BMW. Her bullets hit the monster square in the forehead. The rounds bounced away, unable to penetrate its natural shield. However, the beast scrunched its head and neck to absorb the impact, causing its pace to slow. That one fell behind, at least for the moment.
She turned her gun on the second and let fly several volleys, only vaguely aware of the cars passing in the background. Her first shots ricocheted off the highway pavement, possibly into bumpers and windshields, she did not know.
The BMW banked hard to the left. Nina saw why as they zoomed by a slow-moving cement truck. That bigger vehicle caused the closest attacker to hurriedly adjust its path, darting across two lanes to the far side.
Nina turned her barrel to the first Speed-Lion as it caught up again and fired, hitting it once more on its front end. Its eyes-featureless red bulbs-glowed hotter in what had to be frustration or anger. Yet still, while the bullets did not hurt the beast the impact of the shots caused it to decelerate. It faded a good fifty yards back, taking out its frustration on a motorcyclist that it sent-bike and all-over the bank and off the Interstate.