Bounty Hunter

Chapter 59

"The counter shut off at zero. It's time. Take the shot," Romy said.

"I'm not ready yet," Nick grumbled without looking up. He lay on his stomach, holding an honest-to-God real rocket launcher. Romy sat next to him, holding a blaster, and constantly scanning the area for soldiers beyond the boulder they hid behind. Pride bloomed in his chest. He was going to be a hero.

Romy blew out a breath. "Seriously, Nick. I'm close enough I could hit it with a spit wad from here."

"Val's counting on us. She says everything falls apart if I miss the shot. I can't miss this shot." He wriggled beneath the weight of the launcher. Through its scope, he saw the mechanical jumble of pipes and tanks, which Val called the oxygen processors. She'd said they were extremely flammable, but he wasn't so sure. He'd shot metal plenty of times before, and it'd never burst into flames for him. But he'd also never had a rocket launcher before.

"You won't miss. I believe in you," Romy said.

Nick kept the mechanical beast in his scope. It was pretty easy since the giant unit filled the entire view. Val had said that as long as he hit the processor, the grenade from the rocket launcher would do the rest, but she'd also said that the tanks were the best parts to hit, so he aimed very carefully.

His finger pulled the trigger, more jerkily than he should've, but the trigger was a harder pull than he'd expected. There was a whoosh, and if Nick had been standing, he would've been knocked on his butt by the recoil. A smoking ball zoomed through the air, and he watched—it felt like slow motion—as the ball rammed into the oxygen processor. There was a really cool explosion, followed by a series of even cooler explosions.

His jaw dropped, and he looked back at Romy. "Did you see that?"

"Finally," she said. "Let's go." She pulled him to his feet, he hefted the rocket launcher, and the pair ran toward the open-air cutter parked behind a store. Grundy Campo sat behind the vehicle's yoke, all hunched over like he always was. The man looked older than dirt, and his skin looked about the same color and texture as most of the rocks in the Midlands. Romy was faster than Nick and reached the vehicle first. She dropped the blaster into the back seat and reached out for the launcher. Nick handed it to her—she tossed it in the back seat too and covered everything with a heavy, musty smelling blanket—and then he jumped into the front seat alongside her.

"Nice fireworks," Grundy said as he pulled away.

"What are fireworks?" Romy asked.

He looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "Magnificent things. I'll show you pictures."

"Can't you drive any faster?" Nick said.

"There's no need. Those murcs don't care about some old geezer and a couple of kids." Grundy glanced up at the sky. "Besides, it's a nice day for a Sunday drive."

Nick frowned. "It's Thursday."

"Figure of speech," Grundy answered, and continued driving slowly through Cavil's roads. Nick debated if he could walk faster than Grundy drove and decided he could, but didn't voice his opinion.

Grundy had called his vehicle a convertible, but Nick just figured that was a fancy name for a cutter missing its top. The breeze blew at Nick's hair, and although it was hot, it felt good because it dried his damp shirt. He'd been nervous when he fired the launcher and was sweating like he'd just finished a game of soccer.

"Look happy, like you're having a grand ole time riding along with your gramps," Grundy said.

Nick frowned. "Why?" Then he noticed the blue vehicle speeding toward them. His eyes widened. Romy forced a laugh—it sounded awful—and he forced a wide grin and belted out, "Ha ha."

The transport whizzed by without even slowing. Nick leaned back in his seat and grabbed his chest.

"Good job back there, kids," Grundy said as he turned a corner. "You two are quite the actors. Now it's up to Sheriff Vane and her deputy to do their part."