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The first shotgun blast buckled the door's top hinge. Dust rained from the ceiling. Leo's screen wobbled on its stand.

A shadow passed the only window—a dust-caked pane of reinforced glass. Leo didn't look. It was just the wind playing tricks. Or the raiders. They'd been hunting him for a week, tracking the faint heat signature of his rig. download mach 4

Leo leaned his head against the cool metal of the dead terminal. The wind outside carried no sound but its own sorrow. Somewhere, out there, a farmer with a cracked earpiece was hearing the plans for a new world. The first shotgun blast buckled the door's top hinge

"Fifty-one percent," the terminal chirped. A shadow passed the only window—a dust-caked pane

Then the line melted. The terminal went dark. The smell of ozone and burning copper filled the air.

"Sixty-eight percent."

THE GHOST IN THE MACH 4