Trace had the parts of the railgun spread out on the small desk of the motel room. He had already managed to finish soldering most of the components onto the control boards. It was a good thing he had ordered extras of the components, as his still somewhat shaky cyberware hand had led to him burning several of them on accident.

Morning light shone through the motel shutters, as he finished the last touches on both boards. With a critical eye, he examined them and then spat to the side. It was a shizz job. Worse than any he’d done since he had first started learning how to solder. However, it would work, though there would be a slight drop in efficiency from all the excess solder he had pooled on some of the connections. It was hard to say how much effect it would have, only that there would be some.

He would need to redo much of the work at a later date. With an annoyed sigh, he plugged everything in and tightened the screws down. With a flick of the switch, he powered the rifle on and listened to the supercapacitors whine as they cycled. The boards performed without a problem, and the new heatsinks he had installed also helped to keep the wireless energy receiver unit much more cool than before.

Content that it would work the way he needed it to, for a while at least, Trace grabbed the expanding foam and went to work. Before he could put all the sidepieces and other panels back on, he needed to make sure as little sand as possible could get into the rifle. Preferably without hurting its ability to shed heat.

The rifle would only have one shot while they were out in the badlands. However, its pure penetrating power could be what saved them. As an energy-reliant gun, it suffered from the same problem as Black Betty and any other vehicle. The grid out in the badlands had been more or less destroyed.

Batteries were an option for it, but would make the already large gun unwieldy for anyone not named Monroe.

He carefully shaped the foam with a vibro-blade and began fitting the pieces back onto it. When he was finished, he cycled the railgun again and slipped the full magazine into place. A rod was zipped into the barrel without an issue, signifying that, at the very least, he had managed to fix that particular issue. The rest would have to wait until they were out of the city to be checked over.

Now that he had finished working on the railgun, Trace packed everything up and checked out of the motel. Hopping in the car, he drove over to the shop where Black Betty was getting worked on. He had driven Monroe over to the place earlier that morning when the man had woken him up at the annoying crack of dawn.

Monroe had decided to do as much work on the inside of their building as he could while they were there. By doing the work inside where it couldn’t be seen, they hoped to avoid catching the unwanted attention of the corporations until it was too late.

The battery pack had been secured to the roof of Black Betty. Meanwhile, power cables were being run down the back to the wireless energy receiver. It would charge through the same connection that powered the van normally. The pack did add several hundred pounds to the van and would cause its tires to dig into the ground even more.

Once they reached the badlands, they would need to take things slow and release some of the pressure in the van’s tires.

As soon as the installation was finished, Monroe packed up his tools, and they went on their way. The city of Fort Collins was smaller than Denver and a couple of hours later, they had exited out of the north gate and were back on the road again.

Monroe took the lead, as he had the map to the semi. They would need to find a place to stash the car, and when they did, Trace would test out the railgun at the same time. He was fairly confident that he had fixed everything.

However, fairly confident, and actually confident, might as well be on different continents when it came to something with as much power as the railgun. That wasn’t even getting into the concerns that came with operating the stupid thing in conditions that could tear the flesh from your skin.

If it did work, he would maybe get one shot with it, depending on how long it took for the super-capacitors to discharge. He would have it turned on, but not actively charging the rails so as not to waste the shot. The capacitors also allowed for weaker, but faster shots. In the winds of the badlands though, he would need all the power he could get simply to ensure he hit his target. The front of the barrel would also have some tape on it to keep as much sand as possible out of the opening.

Trace had the chance to test out the railgun well before they stopped to hide the car. A group of raiders made an appearance just as they were turning off of the highway to follow a separate road to the border. They didn’t want to go to Cheyenne, which, while it still existed, wasn’t exactly a pleasant place to live. Every time you went outside, you had to be fully covered in a thick poncho, rebreather, goggles, and some sort of cover for your head.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

People did it since they lived there, but a solid forty percent of the small city or large town, whichever you preferred, was entirely enclosed.

No, the semi had been headed somewhere else and had taken some back roads in a bid to spend a few minutes less in the badlands. Normally, that was a smart plan. Of course, normally their vehicles were properly equipped for the trip.

Something that was questionable for Black Betty and was still an unknown when it came to the semi itself.

Regardless, as soon as Trace spotted the first raider coming up behind them, he slammed on the brakes and grabbed the railgun. Propping it against the roof of the car, he flicked the switch to single-shot mode and took aim. It only had the most basic of targeting sights, ones that integrated with his eyes, no scope or anything. All the magnification was being provided in this instance by his own eyes.

It was enough.

The whine of the supercapacitors could barely be heard through the foam and the various plates he had screwed back onto it. As soon as they finished charging, a small light on the barrel lit up, letting him know it was ready to be fired. He steadied his aim and squeezed the trigger. The air boomed, momentarily deafening him as the metal projectile tore through the intervening space.

Trace was sent skidding back several feet, while the large pane of reinforced glass on the lid of the fastback suddenly developed a web of cracks. He winced. That would be expensive to replace.

In the distance, the car he had been aiming at imploded. A hole appeared in the front grill and then proceeded to pull everything it could through that hole. It turned the entire car and everyone in it, inside out and crushed them, as they were all equally reduced in size.

The rest of the raiders all hit their brakes, their vehicles coming to dirt-chugging stops as they suddenly began to regret their life choices.

Trace saw the light on the barrel flash as it finished charging. He stepped away from his car, took a better stance, aimed, and pulled the trigger again. A second car was ripped clean through, while the force of the shot pulled everything nearby along for the ride. He only needed to take a couple of steps back this time. He was firing it while cradling it against his cyberware shoulder. The fleshy bits nearby had started to bruise just from those two shots.

He clicked the power selector down a notch, from single fire mode to semi-auto. The most powerful mode, he would say, was equivalent to a powerful anti-tank round. Semi-auto would hopefully be a fair bit weaker, and more useable than that.

Clutching the rifle tightly, he privately thanked that aberration bear for damaging this gun as quickly as it had. This rifle was an absolute monster and would have shot straight through the concrete walls of the basement if it had ever been fired.

Losing two vehicles in such dramatic fashion was enough for the raiders, who turned around and left like the devil himself was on their tail.

“So, that’s the gun you’ve been working on lately?” Monroe asked, stopping Black Betty beside him.

Trace jumped in fright and turned the gun off, letting it discharge the energy it had gathered. “Yeah, what do you think?” Trace asked with a grin.

“I think that is even more powerful than my rifle.” He admitted with a wry grin. “I’ve never been able to turn people inside out, let alone entire vehicles.”

“Yeah…” Trace muttered softly. “It’s a little scary what the corporations are cooking up these days.” He shook his head. “Anyway, let’s find a place to leave the car and keep going.”

***

The barn they had found had seen better days, but it would provide Trace’s car with protection from the elements. Something that was needed, as this close to the border, sandstorms could happen at any time. Just regular increased wind speeds carrying sand had become an increasing concern over the last couple of miles.

The inside of the car was coated in a fine dusting of sand by the time they parked it in the barn.

After that, all they needed to do was tape up every seam and opening on both cars before heading out again. Despite their best efforts, a little bit of sand had still managed to get inside the van, and it was only going to get worse.

Monroe took the wheel, Trace dug out their suits and laid them out on the bed that had gone unused the night before. It had been a good idea, but plans changed.

The suits were made up of a rubbery material that didn’t breathe in the slightest. The rebreather unit would be pulling double duty to feed them with fresh oxygen, while also circulating cool around their bodies. Without it, they would be swimming in pools of their own sweat in a matter of minutes.

Trace struggled to slip his suit on over his boots and clothes. It felt ridiculous, and all sensation was muted through the thick material. He kept the hood off for the moment as he noisily slid into the passenger seat.

“Alright, your turn,” He told Monroe, motioning to the second, larger suit still lying on the bed. “Do I just keep heading straight?”

Black Betty slowed and then came to a stop as the two drivers swapped positions.

“Yeah, for now, just keep heading for another four miles. I should be back up here by then, if not yell at me.”

Trace did his best to concentrate on the road. As behind him, weird noises erupted every few seconds. Rubber against the skin produced a lot of noise.

Outside the visibility had decreased to mere feet in front of the van as they drove into a sandstorm that rocked the sides of the van. The lines on the road had long since been worn smooth, but Trace was able to change visual modes on his eyes, which helped to keep track of where the road was. It was a good thing too, as the reinforced windshield gradually became scratched by the diamond-like shards of sand etching away its surface.

Monroe joined him up front a few minutes later and promptly cursed at the terrible visibility and poor condition of the windshield. “Frack it all! I didn’t even think about the damage it would cause the glass.” He looked at the window beside him and widened his eyes in horror as he grabbed the tape.

“This semi had better be there, otherwise all we’re walking away with from all of this are empty crypto-vaults and some halfway interesting stories,” Trace muttered as he increased the pressure on the pedal a little more.

Thanks to his eyes, he could see the road better than Monroe. As long as they could keep the tires on the pavement, they shouldn’t have any problems with getting stuck.