by Mel Odom
"Sure." Stampede gestured with his pistol. "But we're going to do this slowly."
One at a time, Trazall's men moved away from the table and went through the door. Silence and Jack Hart went last. Silence didn't seem to care, but Hart carried a load of resentment in his dark eyes.
Trazall stopped at the bar and ordered a bottle of whiskey to go. He paused at the door and looked at Stampede. "Another time, when the deck isn't stacked in your favor, and this will end differently."
For a moment Hella was certain Stampede was going to shoot the insectoid anyway. Stampede didn't believe in threats, and he wouldn't let anyone he felt certain would try to act against him later walk away. She'd seen him kill men who had threatened her. He'd always told her it wasn't the guns facing her that were dangerous; it was the ones she didn't see coming. But he'd never shot a man—or an insectoid—in the back.
"Stampede." Faust spoke in a low voice, and the only reason Hella heard him was because Stampede's comm link picked up the conversation. "I got a job here. You pull that trigger, I gotta put you and the imp out for the night or Carnegie will have a new chief of security in the morning. With those Sheldons running around, maybe sleeping outside wouldn't be such a good idea."
In the next instant, as if he'd suddenly realized he'd overstayed his safety margin, Trazall stepped sideways and disappeared into the night.
Hella readied herself to follow, already mentally mapping a route through the window of the adjoining room.
Stampede took a deep breath and put away his weapons. Hella slowly let her hands become human again.
Riley waved one of his men into motion, and the guard went toward the door.
Stampede's ear twitched as he addressed Riley. "If you have your man tail Trazall too close, you'll have to burn him come sun up. If you can find the body."
"Since Trazall took an interest in us, he seems like someone to watch." Riley placed a thin slice of ham on toasted bread and took a bite.
Hella's stomach gurgled happily at the thought of homemade bread. She was suddenly torn between the bath and the meal Faust had promised.
Lacing his fingers together in front of himself with his elbows on the table, Pardot glared at Stampede. "Your insistence on insinuating yourself into this matter only seems to have made things more incendiary. I had already dealt with things."
"I'm sure you had. But when I came down here, Trazall was still seated at this table. Now he's not. Maybe you don't recognize it now, but later you'll realize that having Trazall gone is the best thing that could have happened." Stampede shifted his attention back to Riley. "You should keep that in mind. In case you see him again."
"I will."
Stampede excused himself and left. Hella waited a moment, making sure they kept some distance between themselves in case Trazall left someone they didn't know about in place inside the room. Then she went up the stairs.
"That went well, I think." Hella closed the door behind herself and double-locked it. She expected Stampede to react to her sarcasm, but he didn't. "Don't you think that went well?" She couldn't stop herself from trying to goad him into at least an argument. Adrenaline still pumped through her system.
The bed creaked under Stampede's weight when he sat on it. He looked tired. Dust filmed his shaggy coat. "One thing we didn't need, Red, was Trazall sniffing around."
"Maybe he'll go away."
"After getting a look at all the security guards and ATVs Pardot has running with him?" Stampede shook his head. "Not likely. The question is: Do we deal with the roach here, or do we do it out on the trail?"
"If we fight with Trazall inside the trade center, Faust is going to take some heat for everything. He stuck his neck out for us tonight."
Stampede smiled wryly. "And Faust doesn't have much neck to offer."
Hella grinned but the tension she felt didn't entirely go away.
Stampede rolled his neck, and the vertebrae cracked. "Go soak, Red. Lemme think about it. Then we'll take Faust up on his dinner offer. No reason for us to lose the whole evening."
Not needing a second invitation, Hella grabbed a clean change of clothing and headed for the bathroom. In minutes she was immersed in hot, scented water, and the past few days leached out of her.
"Hey, the guard?" Hella adjusted her sunglasses as she looked at the guards on the catwalk. The cool morning was still gray-pink in the western sky.
One of the guards looked down. "Aren't you that girl that has the big lizard in the barn?"
Hella grinned. Despite the standoff in the main building the previous night, she'd slept well after her bath and the big meal Faust had promised. If she'd dreamed, she didn't know it.
"Yeah."
"The girl with the buffalo-guy?"
"Yeah."
"Interesting company you keep." The guard was an older man in his late forties or early fifties. Hella could never tell when they got to be that age. "What do you want?"
"The name's Hella and I'd like to come up, take a look around if I can."
The guard conferred with his companion then turned and nodded. "Faust gave you guys free run of the camp yesterday when he let you in. That's good enough for me. Come ahead." He kicked a device, and a steel ladder spooled down in a series of clanks.
Hella climbed the ladder easily and quickly gained the catwalk. She stamped her foot experimentally. The steel surface clanged beneath her combat boots.
The guard grinned at her. "When I first got up here, I felt the same way. Just didn't trust it. The fall's not that bad, but I didn't want to take a tumble just the same."
"I've fallen out of taller trees. Just not onto pavement." Hella walked to the wall and peered over, the edge tucked neatly under her chin.
"They say you and the buffalo-guy—"
"His name's Stampede. If you call him buffalo-guy to his face, he might stomp you."
"Well, we wouldn't want that." The guard grinned then fumbled in his pocket and brought out a packet of jerky. He offered the packet to Hella.
Even though Hella had just enjoyed one of the biggest breakfasts she'd ever had, she accepted the jerky. Food was a prized possession, and a person never took or shared food lightly.
"Thank you." Hella bit off a chunk. The salty flavor spread across her tongue and filled her senses. When she breathed out, she exhaled jerky fumes. She didn't like staying in camp towns, but the prevalence of food—and so many flavors—made a good argument for regular visits. Plus, seeing Faust again reminded her how much she missed him.
"Not a problem." The guard put the jerky away. "Right here in Blossom Heat, we stay hip deep in wild pigs. If we didn't eat them as often as we do, they'd overrun us and eat us."
The other guard chuckled, but the line was obviously an old joke.
"I heard there was a face-off in the main building last night." The first guard chewed his jerky and watched her.
"Gossip gets around."
The man grinned. "It's a trade center. That's what folks do here in between haggling, selling, and buying. Is anything going to come of the bad blood?"
"I don't know. Did Trazall leave last night?"
"Nope." The guard pointed to a collection of tents and a handful of wagons and ATVs on the north side of the wall. "They're still there."
Only three men tended the cook fire in the camp area. Hella knew the men were guards posted by Trazall. She recognized one of them from the confrontation. "How many men?"
The guards exchanged looks and smiled. "That what you come up here for? Get a headcount?"
Hella smiled back at them, as if letting them in on a secret. "I don't think knowing how many are out there would hurt. Do you?"
"I counted twenty-six riders. Including Trazall."
"Trazall stayed down there last night?"
The man shook his head. "Nope. He stayed inside the walls. Got himself a room."
Hella nibbled at the jerky and thought about that. So far she and Stampede hadn't seen the insectoid. That bothered her. Trazall was
someone she wanted to keep an eye on.
"We'll see Trazall coming if he decides to brace us, Red. Don't worry." Stampede's voice was calm.
"Not worried. Just like to know."
"We'll know. Faust has got people on Trazall."
"Trazall doesn't have to be the one that makes the move."
"You're getting to be a real pessimist. You know that?"
"You should be proud." Hella smiled. She looked out over the countryside and at the creek that meandered through the forest less than a klick away. Boats traveled the creek, and a lot of them stopped to trade at Blossom Heat. She wondered what it had been like in the ancient days, when the world had been filled with buildings and traffic. The idea was hard to imagine. She loved the open places and didn't want to think of them being filled in by structures and humans thick as ants. Trade camps were bad enough.
"Primo." The second guy reached into his chest packet and took out a pair of binocs.
"Yeah?"
"I thought I saw something in the tree line to the east."
Curious, Hella looked in that direction down the row of guards lining the catwalk. One hundred fifty meters away, the guards in the sniper tower talked among themselves.
"Clancy." The first man's voice was tight.
Hella didn't hear the answer because Clancy was at the other end of a radio connection.
"Yeah, I think there's movement out at the eastern perimeter."
Beyond the guard tower, a half klick away across the barren expanse of land shorn of trees, Hella tracked the landscape. The morning sun made it hard to look in that direction because the light slanted in at just the right angle to be near blinding.
The first guard, Primo, dropped his assault rifle from his shoulder into his waiting hands. "Clancy says he sees guys out in the bush. Must be three or four dozen. All of em just waiting. Go sound the alarm."
The second guard hurried down the catwalk to a crank-driven air horn.
Primo turned to Hella. "Gonna need to you clear the catwalk, kid."
The guard tower exploded into flaming pieces that rained down over the camp. A deafening boom battered the inside of Hella's skull, and the catwalk shivered, making her stomach clench.
Before the second guard reached the air horn, the back of his head evaporated in a spray of blood.
CHAPTER 10
Primo lurched across the catwalk and made it two steps before a bullet ripped through his left thigh. As he crumpled, at least one more round struck his body armor. He cried out in pain and reached for his dropped rifle.
Crouching, Hella morphed her hands into pistols and took up a position with her back to the wall. Stretching out her right leg, she kicked Primos assault rifle over to him. He grabbed it and pulled it to him gratefully.
"Hella!" Fear underscored Stampede's voice.
"I'm fine."
"Get down from there."
"We're under attack. I can't see what's going on down there." Hella edged up and peered over the top of the wall. Bullets continued to rip along the catwalk, picking off slow guardsmen and creating a hellish racket as the rounds drummed against the sheet metal before ricocheting off.
A pack of Sheldons aboard motorcycles broke from the tree line. A few of the armadillo bikers flew small flags with snarling, purple dragons. For the most part, they rode two to a motorcycle, and a few of them were in sidecars that jerked and sailed over the uneven landscape.
"It's the Purple Dragons."
"Kid." Primo tried to lever himself up. His eyes locked on hers. "Gotta sound that air horn. There's guards in their racks that aren't gonna know what's going on."
Hella didn't know how anyone could miss the fact that the trade camp was under attack.
"The guard's right." Stampede sounded calm but Hella knew he would be moving into a position to return fire. "If you can sound that alarm without getting killed, do it." His voice rose. "Faust! Hey, Faust! We have to open the gates, get those people outside inside before those Sheldons massacre them!"
Thinking about the people trapped outside the trade camp made Hella more angry. She morphed the guns away and took back her hands then scuttled down the catwalk to the air horn.
"I know the Sheldons are counting on the gates being opened!" Stampede sounded rushed but he was calm at the same time. His urgency was tangible. "We're going to have to get the gates closed again before the Sheldons get in here. Move it."
Hella reached the air horn, grabbed the crank, and turned it swiftly. Instantly the eerie wail rose over the trade camp. Down in the streets, the stunned guards shook off their paralysis and immediately raced into positions.
When everything went south, rely on training. That had been one of the first lessons Stampede had taught Hella. She released the crank on the air horn and raced along the catwalk toward the flaming guard post. The biker army had targeted those emplacements because they had heavy artillery there, but Hella hoped that not all of it had been destroyed.
Bullets hammered the catwalk and whined off around her. A round glanced off her left shoulder, turned away by the chain mail. She cried out at the pain, stumbled, but kept moving.
"Hella!"
"Chain mail caught a stray round. I'm fine."
Flames twisted inside the guard post and reached for the sky. Evidently the rocket that had struck it had carried an incendiary secondary payload. Dead men inside the ruined structure tightened up as the heat caused the ligaments to contract. Hella had seen a lot of bodies left by a fire. The ones that weren't totally burned up were always left looking like people getting ready to box, their clenched fists raised before them.
She had some luck, though. Thrown free by the blast or lost by someone standing outside the guard post, an XM25 grenade rifle lay on the catwalk. The rifle was squat and ugly, designed with a bullpup configuration that placed the six-round magazine behind the trigger to help provide better balance. The weapon weighed fourteen pounds but felt like an anchor as Hella tried to stay behind cover and lift the XM25 at the same time.
With the grenade rifle settled over her shoulder, Hella took a quick breath then popped up and swiveled so she faced over the wall. She squeezed the trigger slightly and activated the laser rangefinder.
Stampede had taught her to use weapons, all kinds of weapons, and she knew more information about weapons she still had yet to see. Weapons were important for survival, but they were even more important to use for barter. Rifles and pistols, things that could be easily carried by travelers, were constantly in demand. Gunsmith knowledge, which she also had, was highly prized.
The Sheldons were still seventy meters out but closing fast. The trade camp's gates were open, and getting all the people to safety was going to be a near thing.
With the rangefinder locked in, Hella squeezed the trigger at the onrushing armadillo bikers, shifted targets immediately five meters to the left, and fired again without waiting to see what the first round did. She moved to the third target and kept going till she'd launched all six grenades.
Once the laser rangefinder had the distance locked in, the twenty-five-millimeter grenade measured the flight through the number of turns it made then exploded in midair. Judging from the flames that covered the six different groups of Sheldons, the rounds had been thermobaric. The fuel-air mixture had spread more than five meters and dropped a layer of fire onto everything it touched.
Armadillo bikers dumped their rides and screamed in fear and rage as they beat at the flames covering them. Their hides and shells were proof against a lot of bullets and edged weapons, but fire burned them. When they pulled their heads or feet into their shells for additional protection, they only pulled the flames in after them. Several of them stewed inside their shells, and their burned corpses relaxed out of hiding as they hit the ground.
A wave of bullets drove Hella back behind the wall, but by then other guards along the catwalk had regrouped. Heavy sniper rifles cracked all around her; then mortars thumped as they hurled shells into the advancing ranks of b
ikers.
Crawling on her stomach while dragging the XM25 after her, Hella searched the dead bodies on the catwalk. The second guard had five spare magazines for the grenade launcher in a messenger bag. All of the magazines had colored tape on them, evidently shorthand code for the man using the weapon, but the only one she knew for sure was red because that matched the one inside the weapon.
She dumped the empty magazine and inserted a fresh one, also marked with red, though it was the last one, shoving it home with a click. She scrabbled on hands and knees, got to her feet, and sprinted twenty meters down from where she'd been.
One of the guards flipped around and dropped to grab another magazine from his chest rack. Blood, some his and some from someone else, judging from the amount of it, stained his face and clothing. He nodded at her and smiled. "Great shooting, kid."
"Thanks." Hella stood just tall enough to reach over the wall again.
The battlefield had changed drastically. Before it had looked as if nothing could stop the Purple Dragons, but holes had opened up in their lines. The fallen motorcycles became hazards for the motorcycles following too closely, and most of them were.
The motorcycles were within forty meters of the trade camp.
Hella emptied her borrowed weapon into the center mass of the biker gang. Three gas tanks on motorcycles blew up, launching the bikes, riders, and passengers into the air. Only scorched earth, exploded motorcycles, and corpses remained.
Hella dumped the empty magazine and popped in a fresh one, noting the blue tape. At the tents maintained by Pardot's expedition, two hardshelled security guards held on to Colleen Trammell and tried to get her to safety.
"Stampede! Colleen's in the open!"
"I see her, Red. Got my hands full."
At the gate, a small group of Sheldons engaged the security team. Stampede and Faust fought shoulder to shoulder, just as they had in the past. Hella guessed the Purple Dragons had sent a crew in at night and set them up in tents to blend in with the other campers. They'd lain in wait till the gates were open.
