after.â
Hawk tried not to think of his parents, who hadnât spoken or acknowledged his presence in months. Theyâd already suffered the curse of the Intels. He could hope only for the mercy of passing nowâthat his parents would drift into death without pain or regret.
Glory flew away, glancing alternately at Faith and Hawk, until the garage door closed and she was gone.
When they were cleanly away from the training facility and out on the open road, Clooger tapped a series of commands on the Tablet-enhanced dashboard, then took his hands off the steering wheel.
âSo listen,â Hawk said, turning around to address Faith and Dylan. There was nothing like explaining new inventions for taking his mind off his worries. âThe autopilot on this monster doesnât take passengers into consideration. If it senses something up ahead, like a broken-down car or a tree or whatever, it will maintain the fastest speed possible in order to avoid the hazard while also cutting the least amount of time off our excursion. Same holds true for tight turns.â
Faith leaned forward in her seat and looked at the dashboard, where a Tablet was duct-taped on four sides with wires pouring out like licorice whips.
âWeâre doing 154 miles per hour,â Faith said. âThat canât be safe.â
Hawk put his hand up defiantly. âFaith, please. Weâre not even close to top speed yet. This thing might look like a Humvee, but itâs not. Itâs a HumGee.â
âHe likes to invent things,â Clooger said. âAnd name them.â
âWhen the Apocalypse is over, weâre going to want these patents. Gold mine, trust me.â Hawk turned back to Faith and Dylan in the backseat. âWeâre not really on the ground at all; it only seems like we are. Gyro-tech floats the wheels, so itâs a little like a glider but not quite.â
âThatâs why he calls it a HumGee,â Clooger said. âBecause weâre gliding. But trust me; youâll still feel some bumps and curves. Weâre only an inch off the ground.â
They were approaching a turn with a sign that indicated 45 miles per hour, not that anyone could see it in the darkness without headlights on; and the HumGee slowed abruptly to about 130, taking the turn at a velocity that lifted the two right tires a foot off the ground. Faith ended up in Dylanâs lap.
âSeat belts are a must in this thing,â Hawk said. âSorry, I should have mentioned that.â
The HumGee was as silent as a whisper, which only made the turns and the sharp jerks of the steering wheel more jarring.
âMe and Clooger retrofitted everything,â Hawk said. âWheels, tires, engine, electronics. Sheâs smooth, but sheâs a beast. We can go up the side of a mountain if we need to. But out here, top speed is 240. Nice, right?â
âAre we really in that big of a rush?â Dylan said, pulling on his seat belt, which came down over his shoulder. The seat belt, the speed, and the fact that no one was holding on to the steering wheel made Dylan feel as if he were heading into a demolition derby.
âThe less time weâre out here, the better,â Clooger said. âAnd donât even think about using a pulse. The closer we get, the more careful we need to be. No pulsing. Get used to it.â Clooger paused and swiped the Tablet screen, which switched to a page showing miles to go (682) and time to arrival at current speed (3.6 hours). âWake me in an hour; Iâm bushed.â
Faith and Dylan didnât believe sleep was even remotely possible in this kind of ride, but Hawk had seen Clooger do it.
âHe could snore right through a drag race,â Hawk said. âAnd trust me. He snores.â
They arrived on a long, straight stretch of highway, and Hawk let them know that the next hour would be fast and smooth.
âWe can do 220 plus out here, really pile up
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