by James Axler
“You two all right?” Ryan’s night vision revealed another two bodies, one hanging half on the bed.
“Of course.” Krysty’s voice dripped with disdain. “Lecherous bastard thought he’d cop a feel before killing me, so I broke his jaw before breaking his skull. Mildred took hers out with a scalpel to the throat. Decided to arm herself after the pig-rats.”
“Good. J.B.’s checking on Jak and Doc. It’s time to go.”
“Ryan? You should see this,” Mildred whispered.
Frowning at the delay, he strode to her. The woman had pulled her dead body’s face so it was in the moonlight and had pulled back its lips.
Yellow teeth shone in the moonlight.
Yellow, pointed teeth.
“We didn’t avoid the cannies in Madison,” she hissed. “We let ourselves be driven right into their fucking town!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Even more reason to get the hell out,” Ryan whispered, snatching up the pair of slender knives. “Come on, we’ve got to get the blasters.”
He led the two women to the door, checking the hallway, and especially the stairway to make sure a rear guard wasn’t cutting off their escape. Everything was deserted and silent. The whisper of a door opening caught his attention, and Ryan saw J.B. exit the far door, leading Jak and Doc to the middle room. Ryan waved Krysty and Mildred to go and slipped out behind them, closing the bedroom door behind him.
Once he was inside, he closed their door as well and wedged the chair underneath the knob.
“Why are we in here? We’re trapped now!” Mildred whispered.
Ryan put his finger to his lips, then picked up the body next to the bed and began stripping it. He waved Jak over and pushed the dark shirt into his hands.
“Feel like taking them on straight up?” He nodded toward the closet and showed the albino teen the pair of knives he’d taken off the bodies.
Jak’s feral smile gleamed white in the moonlight. “Fuck yeah. Tired all pussying around.” Grabbing the shirt, he wriggled into it.
Ryan rolled across the bed and started stripping the second corpse. As he did, he waved J.B. over. “When the shit goes down, you, Doc and the others’ll get to the main floor and meet us at the kitchen. It’s most likely where she’s stored the blasters. Chill anyone in your way.”
“Want to tell me something I don’t know?” the Armorer grunted. “We’ll give you a sixty count, then we’ll go. Don’t be late.”
Ryan yanked the black cloth mask over his head, grimacing at the sticky blood on it. “See you down there.”
Jak had already gone to the closet and was about to head down. Ryan stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Fake like you’ve been wounded. Take them by surprise.”
“No shit—not stupe!” the albino teen hissed through his mask. Grabbing the wooden ladder inside the narrow passage, he clomped downward, holding his side convincingly as he went. Ryan gave him about ten feet, then swung onto the ladder as well, knife clamped between his teeth. He caught the flicker of candlelight below, and heard the soft thud of someone trying and failing to move quietly.
Beneath him, Jak groaned in simulated pain, causing a head to poke into the shaft and hiss. “What’s taking so long?”
“Uh, they awake. Surprised me.” Jak was laying it on thick, but the ruse had the desired effect.
“Damn it, get back down here, and we’ll take them—urk!”
Jak had reached the bottom before the man could finish his sentence, and then the teenager finished him. The boy stepped out into the room, and Ryan finished clambering down, snatching the knife from his teeth while drawing his panga as he burst out, armed for bears, cannies and anything in between.
The kitchen was dead silent, except for the last hissing breath of a man slumped over the wooden island in the middle of the room, the wooden handle of one of the flensing knives jutting from his nose. Ryan spotted another body beside the opening to the hidden tunnel, the second knife buried in his throat. He gurgled once, a gush of blood bursting from his lips before he expired.
Edging around the island, Ryan saw a third man down near the doorway to the dining room. Jak crouched over him, pulling a throwing knife from his neck. He looked up and smiled. “What took you, old man?”
Aware of how he looked, Ryan stabbed the flensing knife into the butcher block of the island, pulled off his mask and shirt and tossed them aside. “Find the bastard blasters.”
The pair quickly tossed the kitchen in under a minute, but all they found were utensils and cooking supplies. “Shit, where the hell are they?” Ryan whispered.
“Ryan.” Jak pointed to the back of the room, where a narrow wooden door was set into the wall.
Ryan moved to one side of the door, panga ready, waved Jak to the other side. When they were both set, he yanked it open. Behind it was darkness. Ryan grabbed the candle from the counter and held it up. Narrow concrete stairs led down. The air drifting up from the basement was chilly and redolent of a strange, meaty smell.
“Stay here. I’ll be back.” Holding the candle high, Ryan edged down the stairs, straining to see anyone in front of him. The odor got stronger the farther he went, until it was almost overpowering. When his feet hit the bottom stair, it was all he could do to not throw his arm over his mouth to breathe through his coat. That, or simply throw up.
The basement was an abattoir. Human carcasses in various stages of dismemberment hung from hooks attached to the ceiling. A bloody table took up the center of the floor, stained and crusted from who knew how many butcherings, a set of well-used knives scattered on its surface. In the corner was a steel barrel that Ryan wouldn’t have been surprised to find was full of human blood.
Glancing around, he spied their weapons, piled haphazardly in a corner. Sheathing his panga, he ran over and slung the Steyr longblaster, then grabbed his SIG-Sauer and slammed in the magazine. The click-clack of the action as he pulled it back to chamber a round was one of the more satisfying sounds he’d heard lately. Shoving blasters in his belt and pockets, he grabbed J.B.’s mini-Uzi and ran back upstairs.
Jak stood at the dining-room entrance, turning to him as he emerged. “Anything going on?”
“Not yet. Think we got all?”
“Looks that way, though I haven’t seen the old woman. Come on.” Handing Jak his .357, Ryan led him through the dining room and into the main room, where J.B., Doc, Krysty and Mildred were coming down the stairs. The weapons were quickly distributed and loaded, and Ryan turned to head out the main door. “Let’s go, quick and quiet.”
He was at the foyer entrance when he heard Doc at the back. “Madam, you are not safe here. Come with us, quickly.”
“Who’s he— Shit!” Pushing past the others, Ryan got to the living room entryway to see Doc just inside the room, holding out a hand to Grandma Flannigan, who stood framed in the doorway leading to another room opposite the fireplace. Although Krysty tried to move him along, Doc refused to budge, beckoning to the old lady with his fingers.
“It’s all right, madam. We shall escort you from this den of killers.”
“Doc, she’s one of th—” Ryan began, but was cut off by the old woman.
“When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord shall lift up a standard against him. No weapon that is formed against you shall prosper, and every tongue that shall rise against you in judgment you will condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of Me, says the Lord. You have come among us to sow destruction and hellfire, and for the wicked there is only one punishment!”
Her voice rose as she spoke, until it was an eldritch screech of insane rage. During her rant, Ryan had been trying to edge around Doc to get a clear shot without setting her off, but hadn’t been able to line up the kill yet. Now he feared he might be too late, as Grandma Flannigan launched herself at the old man, the bloody carving knife hidden under her apron raised high to bury into his chest.
Ryan leaped to one
side, tracking her with the SIG-Sauer but before he could squeeze the trigger, he saw Doc raise his ponderous Le Mat, the hammer already cocked.
“No, Doc!”
But it was too late. With an ear-blasting roar, the ancient blaster’s scattergun barrel went off in a plume of smoke and fire, the grapeshot tearing a fist-sized hole in the old woman’s abdomen. Staggered by the blast, she stumbled sideways, almost reaching Doc before crumpling to the floor, the knife skittering from her hand. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, revealing her pointed teeth as the mad, glittering light faded from her rheumy eyes.
“And the wages of sin are death indeed.” Doc crossed himself with his smoking Le Mat. He turned to Ryan as if seeing him for the first time. “Ah, Ryan, there you are. Shall we depart?”
Grabbing the other man by the arm, Ryan hauled him toward the front door. “Fireblast, yes, we need to ‘depart.’ That shot’ll probably bring the whole bastard town here. Move!”
They hit the front door and found their companions clustered tightly in the shadow of the stairs. “Lights going on.” J.B. pointed at the surrounding houses with the muzzle of his Uzi.
“Around the corner, let’s go, now. J.B., take the rear.” Ryan led the way into the shadows, cutting behind the boarding house of death and the home behind it to come out on another street. “Got mebbe five minutes before they raise the alarm, but we can be halfway back to the wag by then. Take the back way to the main road, then head out to our ride. Stay low, and only shoot if we’re about to be discovered.”
Ryan took point, cutting through backyards and sticking close to the dark shadows cast by the houses they passed. Once he was about to signal the all clear, when the front door on the house they were hiding next to slammed open and heavy boots tromped down the front steps, fading as their occupants headed back to the boardinghouse. Ryan gave it a ten-count, then kept the group moving again, prowling through the night.
A small group of mounted men met at the intersection of Hudson Street and the main north-south road, talking loudly enough so Ryan could hear them.
“What happened?”
“The outlanders killed Grandma and everyone at the boardinghouse, and now they’re loose in town! You two, guard this road. You, go warn the gate guards to watch for them! And send a group to guard that wag of theirs. They’ll be trying to get back to it for sure.”
The group split up, with the main contingent heading toward the boardinghouse, a pair of them staying put, and a lone rider heading toward the checkpoint.
“Whoever’s running the show doesn’t lack brains,” J.B. said.
“So what now?” Mildred asked. “If we stay here, we’re dead for sure.”
“We need those horses. We can use them to fake out the guards at the wag, take them by surprise.” Ryan rubbed his jaw. “Just need the right distraction.”
“I’ll do it,” Krysty said.
“Hell, no!” was Ryan’s immediate reply.
“Why not? There’s no cover to sneak up on them, and any man they see’ll be shot on sight. Besides, they’ll want to capture me to learn where the rest of you are. I can take one out by myself, it’s the other one that’ll be the hard part, especially without any shooting.”
“No way, you can’t risk yourself.”
Krysty’s response was to unzip her jumpsuit and tear open the T-shirt underneath, revealing a generous expanse of cleavage. “Don’t think I’m going unarmed, lover.” She kissed him quickly, then ran out before Ryan could grab her.
“Shit!” Ryan was about to go after her, but was restrained by J.B.
“Where the hell you going?” the smaller man demanded.
“Stoppin’ her.”
“Krysty knows what she’s doing. The best thing you can do is help when she needs it, not fuck everything up by running out there now.”
Knowing J.B. was right but not wanting to admit it, Ryan let himself be pulled back into the shadows, watching while she approached the pair of riders, her arms held high above her head.
“Don’t shoot, I give up!”
Her words caught the men by surprise, but they quickly wheeled their horses around to cover her with their longblasters. “Stay right where you are!”
Krysty did, but slowly turned. “I don’t have any weapons. I need yer help! Please, he’s crazy!”
“That might work.” Mildred nodded in grudging admiration. “Amazing how you boys always seem to fall for a damsel in distress, particularly one with her, ah, assets.”
Ryan estimated the distance between him and the nearer horseman to be about thirty paces, a hard shot under perfect conditions, and nearly impossible at night. Breath hissing through his teeth, all he could do was watch in frustration.
The conversation had quieted so much as to be inaudible now, with Krysty gesturing frantically while she talked. The riders seemed to be discussing what to do with her, and Ryan couldn’t help noticing how each one was more than a bit distracted by the very attractive woman in front of them. Finally they reached a decision, with one of them holstering his rifle, then reaching down and pulled her up onto his horse in front of him. The second rider turned and began cantering down the side road back to the boardinghouse.
“Get out of the way!” Ryan took off back around the house, rounding the corner and skidding to a stop at the corner that hid him from anyone coming down the street. Holding his blaster up in front of his face, he concentrated on the thud of the horse’s hooves as it approached, visualizing the rider, estimating how tall he was, how he sat in the saddle. One more second and—
Ryan stepped out and aimed at the lead man, not more than fifteen feet away. The rider glanced over, his mouth opening in surprise as the one-eyed man triggered two shots. The first hit the rider high in the shoulder, snapping his collarbone as it tore through flesh. The second entered his mouth, breaking off his front teeth as it ripped through his soft palate and into his brain, killing him instantly. Dropping his rifle, the man fell from his saddle, one foot tangling in his stirrup. Without pausing, his horse kept going, dragging him down the road.
Ryan was already tracking the other one in his sights, but Krysty had the situation under control. Although little appeared to have changed in the few seconds they’d been riding, her captor’s face was pale, his mouth gaping in shock as a dark red stain bloomed on his side. Pulling the flensing knife out, she stabbed him again, hard enough to push him off the horse. The man flopped to the ground, vainly trying to suck in enough air to scream a warning.
“Grab the other horse!” Ryan hissed as he ran to the second man and planted a boot on his neck, shaking his head. Drawing his foot back, he kicked the man twice in the temple, breaking the thin bone there. Grabbing a foot, he dragged the body back into the shadows. Krysty followed a few moments later, leading the other horse by the reins, the lifeless body of his rider still dragging along beside it.
“Not bad,” J.B. said.
Ryan didn’t say a word, but the look he gave Krysty said they’d discuss this later. “Get their shirts off. We can fake the rest.” They stripped the two bodies and J.B. pulled one of the shirts on. Ryan tossed his to Krysty “Put it on. You’re taking Mildred with you.”
“What are you—”
Ryan held up a finger. “No arguments! J.B., you take Doc. Jak and I’ll follow quick as we can. Get to the wag and take them out fast, then get it up and running. Soon as we get there, we’ll get the hell out. Now go!”
Her face dark, Krysty held out an arm for Mildred to grab and pull her up onto the horse. J.B. had a harder time, having to dismount and get Doc on his mount before he could scramble up behind the old man. Clapping heels to hide, the foursome trotted off into the night.
Ryan scanned up and down the street, which was still quiet, although he heard shouts and galloping horses on the other side of the ville. He was just about to rise when the night’s stillness was shattered by the loud clanging of a church bell.
“Well, that tears it.” Ryan glanced back at Jak.
“Ready to move?”
The albino youth’s teeth flashed as white as his hair in the moonlight. “Quicker’n you ever be.”
“Let’s go.”
The other side of the main road held no homes, just a bare expanse of fields. Ryan led Jak into it, running out about forty paces, then turning south to parallel the road. As they dashed through the dark, he heard blasterfire ahead, the staccato burst of J.B.’s mini-Uzi interspersed with the flatter blaster shots from the women, along with a couple of longblaster shots from the defenders. Glancing over his shoulder, Ryan saw a cluster of bobbing torches thunder down the road and turn onto the main highway.
“Keep going, Jak! Get to the wag!” Skidding to a stop, Ryan unslung the Steyr and chambered a round as he dropped to one knee. Trying to steady his rapid breathing, he sighted underneath the lead light, led it by just a fraction and squeezed off a shot. The lead horse screamed and the torch went flying as the rider pitched headlong, the one behind him also going down. The rest of the party kept going, swerving to miss the tangle of horseflesh and humans.
Ryan worked the bolt, sending brass flying, and sighted the next rider. Another shot boomed, and he went down, too. The others scattered, not even returning fire as they wheeled their mounts toward the ville and galloped for cover as fast as they could go. Ejecting another shell, Ryan stood to sight another rider and squeezed the trigger, watching through the smoke of his longblaster as he threw up his arms and slid off the saddle. He took slow, careful steps to the side, weapon at the ready, scanning for any movement from the town. A part of his mind registered that the firing from around the wag had died down, too.
After seeing no movement or blasterfire from the streets for several seconds, he ran into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ryan loped across the fields, the Steyr held loosely in his hands, ready to shoot again if necessary. He still heard noise back in the ville, but the church bell had stopped ringing—a small mercy.
Jak had left him far behind, and as Ryan approached the war wag, he was pleased to see it ready to go, the engine idling and parked in the field. Dark forms littered the ground around it—two men and one horse, all dead.
