73: Brice
Brice
Brice ducked around the pallets, peered through the miasma of smoke. The rocket launcher aimed at the lorry again, scorching and denting the trailer this time. Deva cried out in shock.
He could see her, a blurred figure in the cab. Not clear enough to focus on. But she was alive.
And beneath the shouts and the gunfire, Brice heard a hum. It grew, taking on a life of its own. Then there was a roar, and the lorry shuddered.
“She’s on,” Deva yelled.
Brice sprinted. He held his body low, dodged the fallen bodies. He reached down to scoop up a discarded Preben. It would be lattice-locked, but there was always the over-ride.
A man ran to the cab, managed to climb to the roof, started to stomp and kick.
Deva gasped.
The Aethon trembled. The engine roared. The lorry lurche
