The revving got louder, until I could feel it in my chest. I could hear the sound of wheels kicking stuff up, the snapping of branches, and in my efforts to tell where the bike was on the road, I was totally lost. It sounded like it was coming right toward me.

As the bike drew nearer, the sounds became clear. The tearing sound of the wheels wasn’t from wheels on a dirt road, but underbrush. I canceled my forcefield and drew my arms closer to my chest, so they wouldn’t be out to the side.

The bike flew past me. It was a road bike, with metal teeth on the wheels, probably for situations just like this one. One hand on a submachine gun, an Uzi, the other on the handlebars, he zig-zagged heavily, riding it through dense forest, throwing his bike to one side or the other with all of his body weight. Each turn seemed like it might be his last.

His rear wheel skidded along a growth of roots that was as broad as some trees, he popped a wheelie, and when the wheel came down, he came to a stop, now facing more in my direction. Young-ish. Maybe thirty. His hair was long and he had a longer beard, black and narrow at the chin, a metal thing just below his lip. With the cut of his mustache, the points at his eyebrows, and his sunglasses all resembling the shape of the wings of the bats on his leather jacket, I was getting a sense of his theme.

I wasn’t sure if he’d seen me. I remained still. I realized a moment later that, given the theme, that might be a dumb thing to do.

His head bent down, facing the ground, and he was panting for breath. He passed his gun to his right hand.

The wind blew past us. Dust from his trip across the forest floor was riled up further, instead of settling down.

His head turned my way.

I took off, not flying directly at him, but to a point off to his side. Forcefield up, I kept trees between us for good measure.

He shot a burst, and it sounded more like one sound than a series of distinct ones. I could feel the forcefield collapse like a bubble popping. The collapse was almost instantaneous, but not entirely. The bullet had touched a point somewhere behind my feet, and once the forcefield gave, the breaking of the field cascaded from there in the blink of an eye.

My hand went out, and I grabbed a tree to help stop myself as I ceased flying. Tree between us, I flew straight up, arms around my head to shield myself from intervening branches.

Covered by the thickest of the trees, I circled around him.

The engine revved, wheels digging for traction.