Chapter 104: Fleeing in a Frantic Dash

With this lesson learned, no other Black men in the pickup truck beds dared stand up to man the machine guns.

Racing wildly on such uneven roads, even those wearing seatbelts inside the vehicles could get injured. Let alone them, with no protective measures at all, still dreaming of standing up in the back of the truck?

However, while the machine guns were unusable, the other pistols and rifles had no such problem. As long as they could secure their bodies, these Black men continued to pour bullets onto the two fleeing vehicles.

But the main ones taking the beating were the Land Rover driven by Mark, trailing behind. The lead vehicle, which was showing the way, was running incredibly fast; with almost all vehicles in pursuit, the lagging rear vehicle naturally became the first target for the pursuers' attacks.

Sam and Old Bernie fired back from the windows on both sides, but unfortunately, two guns couldn't beat their dozen-plus guns.

Even though, under such speed and road conditions, a sharpshooter and Black men who only relied on faith shooting were on the same level, some bullets still got lucky, drilling into the car and making Sam and the others scream in pain.

Sam, also a young man, said resentfully: "Fuck! Mark, can't you grab that damn Mad-Fuck gun and fight back?"

The hair-raised Mark roared: "Shut up! Shut your dog mouth! Don't disturb me. Do you know how nervous I am right now, just trying to keep up with that son of a bitch ahead!"

"Mad-Fuck, is the lady looking for that damn assistant from the rally track? If you don't want to roll the car, don't disturb my driving. I don't have time to hold a gun right now, you know? I don't have time to hold that damn gun!"

Glancing at the speedometer breaking one hundred, Mark's inner nervousness was far worse than what he said on his lips. He had never flinched even when storming enemies under a hail of bullets; who knew that now his palms and forehead were actually sweating profusely.

Others might be distracted by the gunfight and fail to notice what speed they were traveling at, but would Mark, who was responsible for following the car, not understand?

First, they were not driving on a regular road, which meant the ground was not flat. However, no matter how bumpy the ground, one could still find a relatively smooth path; this was the route carved out by the lead vehicle driven by Henry.

You have to know that the vehicle they were driving was four-wheel drive; as long as all four tires could grip the ground tightly, it could provide maximum power. So driving as much as possible on smooth spots to reduce the vehicle's bouncing allowed them to achieve the fastest speed.

This was what Henry had accomplished.

At first, Mark hadn't noticed this point and was simply following the rear of the lead vehicle. At that time, their Land Rover was like a bouncy tiger, bouncing up and down.

It wasn't until he discovered the trick of the lead vehicle, that smooth and silky ride as if driving on a racetrack, that Mark paid attention to the lead vehicle's ruts and proceeded along the same route.

Following this path increased his speed considerably and made the vehicle much more stable.

However, the rear vehicle's speed increase did not allow him to catch up to the lead vehicle; instead, it prompted the lead vehicle driven by Henry to accelerate further. It was as if the lead vehicle hadn't been running at full effort before just to wait for the rear vehicle to catch up.

This discovery, while not making Mark explode with anger, did prick his confidence. Watching the slightly swaying rear end of the vehicle ahead, Mark chased even more intently.

It was just that whenever he adapted to a certain stage of speed, the lead vehicle would take him into the next stage. Until now, both Land Rovers were cruising at an average speed of around one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour.

On the grasslands, herbivorous animals whose main means of escape is running have speeds generally between sixty and eighty kilometers per hour.

A lion's top speed is around eighty kilometers per hour, and the fastest cheetah can reach up to one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour. But the top speeds of these predators are not maintained for long; they are only relatively short bursts.

Human cars on the grasslands are actually not famous for speed, but for so-called 'stamina.' As long as there is fuel, they can keep running forever.

But cars on the grasslands would not use such high-speed sprinting either. Regardless, racing competitions and off-road competitions are events in two different domains; no one dares to mix them together.

Yet now, the two Land Rovers were achieving speeds only possible on regular roads. Didn't they see that the pursuers' vehicles, whether SUVs or pickups, were like bumper cars, bouncing so hard that the Black men on them doubted life itself.

Moreover, besides the bouncing, the biggest problem with the pursuers' cars was that their tires were not gripping the ground tightly, unable to provide complete power output. Naturally, their speed would be inferior to the two Land Rovers, and they gradually fell behind.

If someone floored the accelerator and tried to force a follow, they wouldn't even need bullets to deal with them; just running over a hole in the ground would cause the entire vehicle to lose control immediately. If lucky, it would be a huge bounce; if not, a skid and spin; if unlucky, a direct aerial flip.

These people were old Blacks who had lived on the grasslands their whole lives. They couldn't drive at such speeds, but Henry ahead had done it.

Mark, following along, was covered in sweat, fearing those scenes of rollovers would happen to him. He didn't want to die from bullets, and he equally didn't want to die from a car crash.

If the car flipped and he didn't die, only to be shot dead by the catching-up old Blacks... tragedy multiplied by two, truly a damn miserable ending.

Sam actually wanted him to shoot right now! If Mark had the leisure to get a gun, the first thing he would do is shove it into Sam's mouth and pull the trigger a few times.

However, Mark's hard work in chasing the car was not without benefits; at least they were now gradually increasing the distance from the pursuers.

But the downside was also obvious: the pursuers began to focus fire on his rear vehicle, which was closer, rather than the lead vehicle, which was farther away from the pursuers' perspective.

It was just that now Mark didn't even have the leisure to curse. Because that madman leading the way had increased the speed again...

Suddenly, among the pursuing vehicles, one charged forward at a speed that disregarded consequences. As expected, although it broke out of the original formation, it didn't get very far before the road's bumps made it bounce into the air, and the entire vehicle even began to flip mid-air.

While Mark was thinking this was another fool, a Black man jumped out from the bed of the flying pickup truck. His jumping ability was astonishing, exceeding the level of an ordinary person. And his direction was straight down towards the lead vehicle driven by Henry.

"Fuck, a mutant!" Mark guessed the other party's possible identity and couldn't help but curse.

If the other party really managed to jump on board, interfering with the lead vehicle's driver and slowing down the speed, it would be quite unfavorable for their situation.

But such a situation did not happen. A hand extended from the driver's side window of the lead vehicle, holding a Colt pistol. Bang, bang, bang—three shots directly intercepted that mutant with astonishing jumping ability in mid-air.

The force of the bullets hitting the body prevented this mutant, who had failed before even starting, from reaching his destination; instead, he fell halfway. His body happened to land right in front of one of the pursuing vehicles, becoming a suddenly appearing obstacle.

Without any surprise, the car that ran over this unlucky mutant also flew into the air and was flipping in mid-air.

(End of this chapter)