Mutated - 04 by Joe McKinney Page A

rested across his thighs. He was even older than the first guard. He didn’t even bother looking at her. The expression on his face, Niki realized, was boredom laced with sadness at the way the world was now.
    Niki rocked back in the other direction, toward the first man.
    “Keep still,” he told her.
    “My ribs hurt. I think you broke something.”
    “Yeah? I hope it fucking hurts.”
    She rolled over onto her right side so she could get her legs free.
    “What are you doing?”
    “I can’t breathe. How about loosening these cuffs?”
    “Yeah, right. Just sit still. We’re almost there.”
    The truck hit a pothole, bouncing her off the bed. She winced. Every bump sent a pulse of pain through her ribs, sharp as a knife in her side. Niki closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, forcing the pain down, down, down. A moment later she was still breathing hard, but she had the pain mastered. If she was going to get out of this she needed to act quickly, and that meant playing dirty.
    She rolled over onto her shoulder and arched her back, turning her breasts up toward the black shirt.
    “Please,” she said, a bit of the helpless female creeping into her voice. “Loosen them up just a little. They hurt real bad.”
    He didn’t react, at least at first.
    He was looking right into her eyes, still tough, still the pro. But she could see the sweat on his forehead, his Adam’s apple pumping up and down in his throat. Finally, he broke. He glanced at her breasts and swallowed, and Niki knew that she had won a little ground. Men and boobs, she thought. God, they’re idiots.
    The redheaded soldier looked at the older man across the bed from him, hesitated for a moment, as though about to ask permission, then seemed to think better of it.
    He stood up. Took the keys from his belt.
    “Turn over,” he said. “Put your ass up here where I can get at those cuffs.”
    She could see him waiting for it. She could see his grip loosening on the shotgun. And when she saw the barrel of the gun swing up and away from her, she kicked, planting her heel squarely into his balls. He doubled over with a grunt, the air rushing from his lungs. She twisted over onto her back and kicked again, this time catching him under the chin and sending him sprawling over the side of the truck.
    “What the . . .” the older guard said.
    He jumped to his feet. Niki was watching his knees. As soon as she saw his weight come down on his left knee she kicked it, and a momentary thrill shot through her to hear the crack of his bones.
    Spinning over onto her shoulder blades she jammed a heel up into his teeth. He fell backward, the shotgun falling overboard onto the road when he grabbed the side of the truck to try to keep from falling.
    She didn’t lose any time. Niki rolled over onto her knees just as the driver hit the brakes. When the vehicle stopped she was ready.
    She jumped over the tailgate and hit the road running.
    To her left was nothing but vacant lots. She turned right and ran for a series of mismatched concrete buildings, the colors faded from years of neglect and exposure. Where there were buildings, there were places to hide.
    She heard the familiar whumpf of their shotguns and felt something hit her in the back, but it wasn’t hard enough to knock her down. They were still using the rubber rounds, and those things only had a range of twenty yards or so. Beyond that, they were just a nuisance. She’d been hit harder during sparring practice.
    It didn’t slow her down. She ran toward the buildings and veered to her right, looking for a way to create distance and conceal her position. The more buildings, the better, just like in training; and the building at the far end of the row was a storefront, mostly windows, the glass all busted out. She glanced through it, saw the way was clear around the corner, and ran for it.
    Three black shirts were waiting for her near the back of the row of buildings, advancing abreast in a skirmish