Blackout Read Online Free PDF Page B

to out-drive and outwit this opponent. Not in my current state. I stand and fight. That's my only chance.
    Josh tapped the brake. The truck started to slow. He
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    bunched all his strength into his shoulders, took a second to compose himself, then threw himself into action. I'm getting one chance at this, he told himself. Screw it up, and it's an early supper for the vultures.
    With his right hand, Josh wrenched hard at the steering wheel, spinning it around. With his left hand, he pulled savagely on the handbrake as his foot jabbed viciously against the footbrake. The combined impact of the sudden deceleration and the violent turning of the wheel yanked the vehicle into a classic bootlegger's turn. The heat of the day had already made the truck's tyres soft and slippery, loosening their grip on the road. The Ranger skidded, hurtling off the track and out onto the scrubland. A huge cloud of dust kicked up, briefly blocking Josh's vision. Beneath him, he could hear the engine roar and the suspension creak under the pressure put upon it by the sudden manoeuvre.
    'Hold steady,'Josh rasped to the woman at his side.
    She looked back at him, clutching the side of the door as th*e suddenness of the movement threw her sideways. 'I'm trying.'
    Josh swivelled his gaze right, looking up the road. It had worked. The speed of the turn had caught the biker by surprise. In the seconds that it had taken him to assess what was happening and react, he had sped past and was now fifty yards up the road. Already Josh could see that he was slowing, preparing to turn around. Just as I thought you would, Josh exulted inwardly.
    My plan owes nothing to brajns or cunning, he told himself. Just guts and adrenalin.
    The trick was to get behind your assailant. In any battle between a pick-up truck and a motorbike, the bike was always going to win on speed and agility. But the truck, like a tank, could win on size and strength. From the right position it could attack.
    And that position was from behind.
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    Josh started driving into the scrub. The wheels of the Ranger kicked up sand in every direction, but its grip was steady. Summoning his strength into his shoulders again, he spun the wheel hard to the left, and yanked again on the handbrake. The truck stopped, its metal frame shuddering, then started to turn. The wheels struggled to get a grip on the sandy surface of the ground and for a moment Josh could sense the vehicle skidding. He was losing control -- he could feel the truck starting to slide backwards. Then the tyres found some pebbles they could grip onto. Slowly, the Ranger started to move around, facing directly back at the road.
    Turn, Josh told himself. Then drive straight into the bastard. He'll get one shot, straight at me, through the windscreen. And if he doesn't kill me with that shot, then I'll crush him like an insect.
    Josh tapped his foot on the accelerator, waiting for the surge of power to carry him forward.
    The engine stalled.
    Christ, thought Josh. Prayer time.
    'Duck,' he hissed to the woman. 'Get your bloody head down and keep it down.'
    Up ahead he could see the biker turning, could hear the wheels of the Honda screeching. Josh pushed his head down low, taking himself below the level of the windscreen. The truck was still moving forwards, carried by its momentum even after the engine had died, but it was slowing fast. Josh's leg was squeezed up against the pedals, sending terrible pains jabbing upwards through his spine.
    Count to five, he told himself. The engine might just be flooded. Give it a moment to cool down, then try it again. One, two . . .
    A bullet smashed into the windscreen, this time shattering the glass. The shards tumbled downwards, falling on them like solid, sharp-edged rain. The woman gasped, her
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    hand shooting upward to try and protect her head and her face. 'No, no,' she screamed.
    Three, four . . .
    Josh jabbed the Ranger's key back into the ignition, twisting it viciously. For a brief moment,