Yellow headlights burst from the smog. Gale brought one hand over his face as the bright glare cut through the darkness. Numerous huge golden eyes blinked into existence out of the shadows, accompanied by the rip of motorcycles and the howling of their riders.
Raiders, thought Gale, his heart tightening with fear.
They rode into view like a pack of starving wolves. Black leather bodies with spikes and chains atop huge metal bikes that spat and roared gouts of oily smoke. Their chants ringed the air, wild and animalistic.
Gale scanned their ranks, silently counting. He saw the white skull crossed with two guns on their leader's banner. The Ghostbloods, he thought. How unfortunate.
Gale had been caught by raiders before and he had fought the Redhands, the Ruffled Feathers, and the Whiteskulls. He had never dealt with the Ghostbloods before and didnt know their customs.
Then he saw their cargo.
The motorcycles were chain linked to a massive wooden wagon, belted with crude metal bands, where a number of young boys and girls were chained up and gagged. They all wore grey dirty tunics, their skinny legs poking out and tied up. There were maybe fifteen in total, all jammed together in a cage, their feet sticking out of the bars in some places. Each jostle of the wagon tossed them around, into one another, or against the cage wall.
Slavers.
Gale backed away, dropping his backpack full of wildberries. He raised one hand and a small machine extended out, letting forth a ripple of bullets.
"He's a damn Windrunner!" The raiders cried as their motorcycles exploded, flinging them into the gloom.
"Get the boy alive! Theyre worth a fortune on the market!" The bikers converged on him, tightening the circle they wove around him.
One threw a chain that lashed his right wrist. Gale yanked on it to no avail. He grabbed another pistol from his belt and closed one eye to aim. He pegged two more riders as well as the one chaining his wrist in quick, professional motion.
"Damn hes good!" cried the raiders in frustration.
Two more gun bursts and Gale knew hed ran out of ammo. Half of the raiders were still alive and just as crazy on capturing him.
He unsheathed a pair of rusty knives and sprinted at the nearest raider. The raider goosed his bike and the huge motorcycle hurtled towards Gale, roaring. A joust. The nimble boy leaped up last minute, his body horizontal with the ground, cape flapping, and knifed the raider through the neck like a surgeon.
Gale hit the ground in a roll. He heard a massive explosion as his victims bike crashed into some rocks.
He had a way free! And yet, as he looked behind him, the collection of boys and girls were still trapped. Just a few feet away.
Should he go back and help them? There was no reason to and he had no more ammo and yet...
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