She frowned. They had clear line of sight across the slope, and the bobsled would make enough noise to draw their attention – and their fire. She needed to distract them, even if only for seconds.

Her gaze went to the ceiling. As well as lights, it supported a twisting maze of ductwork and pipes – the air-conditioning system, to keep the temperature below freezing, and fans to blow out an even covering of man-made snow. There was a lot of metal up there . . .

She hauled a one-person bobsled to the top of the run, seeing rings attached to the steering cables inside the streamlined fibreglass cowling. It was only then she realised there were no helmets; they would be rented from the counters below just like skiing gear. It doesn’t matter, she thought; I must already be missing plenty of brain cells just to be considering this . . .

The rearmost Nephilim passed the halfway mark. That ought to be enough of a gap, and her distraction would hopefully delay them still further. She aimed the baraka at the ceiling – and fired.

The energy bolt’s crackle instantly caused armoured heads to snap towards her. But by then the blast had hit its target. A hole blew open in the ceiling, sparks falling . . . followed by ducting and a heavy fan.

The last warrior looked up in surprise – only to be flattened by several hundred pounds of industrial air mover. Ductwork clanged into the snow around him. Another Nephilim was knocked down, others diving clear of the falling wreckage.

Nina took advantage of the chaos. She threw the spear into the bobsled, then propelled it into the icy half-pipe and leapt aboard.

The sledge immediately veered to one side. She yelped and grabbed the control cables to counter the turn. It straightened out, already picking up speed.

Flecks of ice spat up at her face. She narrowed her eyes and looked ahead. The course ran straight for a hundred feet before entering the first turn. She readied herself to steer into it, glancing sidelong.

The Nephilim had spotted her. Weapons came up—

A blast hit the edge of the run just ahead. She ducked as pulverised ice rained over her. Momentarily blinded, she shook off the freezing fragments – to see she was already at the turn.

The sled reeled, angling up the side of the pipe. She pulled frantically at the cables. The runners shrilled angrily against the ice, the vehicle shuddering as it ground along the lip of the course . . . then swung back down.

Her panic didn’t subside. The bobsled cut across the centre line into the next turn, heading up the other side of the half-pipe at an even steeper angle. If she didn’t regain control, she would vault right out – and crash into the ski run’s wall.

She hauled at the other cable. The sled wasn’t turning, runners skidding sidelong over the frozen surface—