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"Fireblast!" Ryan cursed bitterly, ducking out of sight. "That's trouble."
His lip split, J.B. spit blood on the ground and removed the partially loaded
clip from the Uzi to slap in his second-to-last full one. "Must be the ground
crew from the next part of the trap."
"Must be fifty of them!" Krysty cursed. Her face was unnaturally pale, and she
stood with shoulders slumped, her hair limp, as if completely exhausted.
"Sixty-two," Ryan corrected, guessing the distance. Eighty yards, certainly no
more than that. They were moving slow, waiting to be attacked. Ryan cradled
his rifle but did nothing. His five remaining rounds weren't going to stop the
charge of five dozen.
"Mebbe we can escape in the wags?" Stephen asked, sweat dripping off his pale
face.
"Shut up, fool," Mildred ordered, hoisting the scattergun and working the
pump.
"Running would only get us killed."
"Anybody got a gren?" Ryan demanded, but their expressions told him the
answer.
J.B. patted his shoulder bag. "Got some blocks of C-4, but they're useless in
the open like this."
"Prep one," Ryan snapped. "A big one, just in case. Dean, any more cocktails
in the truck?"
The boy grinned. "Plenty! I'll get the case." He took off with the speed of
youth.
"Any more boulders?" Clem asked, glaring hatefully at the approaching crew.
"What almost did us, should do them fine."
"Sure are," Hector said, pointing with his new wheelgun. "Just past the cook
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fire."
"Show us where," Ryan ordered, duck-walking out of the bush. "Everybody with
me. J.B., buy us two minutes."
The Armorer removed his hat. "No prob." He took careful aim down the slope,
flipped the selector switch to full-auto and put a long spray of mm rounds
down
9
the steep incline.
Three cannies cried out, and the rest hit the dirt, returning fire, the whole
expanse of bushes shaking from the passage of bullets. But lacking a clear
target, they were just shooting blind and hoping for the best.
Then the scar-faced man on the horse worked the arming bolt on his M-60, and
the massive blaster began to throw gouts of flame at the ridge. "Keep going,
ya dogs!" he shouted, riding the bucking military blaster like a pro. "First
man on top gets a live woman!"
On the other side of the bushes, Ryan and the others were following Hector
across the battlefield, jumping over bodies and blast craters until reaching a
stand of trees with a scraggly collection of bushes in front. A gate of some
kind was partially hidden behind the plants.
"Here," Hector panted. "I found it by accident."
The men removed the bushes, discovering they weren't attached to the ground
but just sitting on top.
"Camou," Jak stated. "Nice."
Exposed was a split-rail enclosure that resembled a horse corral, large enough
to hold a hundred big boulders only a scant handful of smaller, yard-wide
rocks rested behind the hinged gate.
"Shit! Have to do," Ryan growled, leveling his blaster. "Clear the path!"
Neatly,
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he shot off the knotted rope and the gate swung aside, but the granite didn't
budge.
From the ridge, he could hear Mildred discharge her shotgun again, as J.B.
inserted his last clip and started firing controlled bursts at the riders.
"Twenty yards!" J.B. yelled, switching to single-shot mode. "Nineteen!"
Growling in frustration, Ryan jumped over the fence and threw his shoulder
against one of the stubborn rocks. He was surprised when it rolled easily out
of the paddock, bumping the gate on the way out. Doc, Jak and Clem joined him
in getting the other rocks started, and soon all six were rapidly tumbling
across the sloped field. As they rapidly built speed, worn tracks in the hard
ground spread the boulders out in a pattern between the bushes before they
disappeared over the crest. Scarface screamed as the line of rocks came
tumbling his way. Irrationally, he fired the M-60 at the boulders as one hit a
bump and sailed directly over the startled horseman to crash behind him and
his mount. Unstoppable, the other boulders plowed through the startled
cannies, smashing them aside in bloody ruination, and then the rocks were past
them, rolling down the hill to ram into the trees on the far side of the road.
Ryan and the others reached the bushes and surveyed the carnage. Broken bodies
were strewed across the hillside by the score, and no more than twenty men
stood undamaged, including their leader.
Cursing bitterly, Scarface turned his mount and started to gallop down the
hillside with his crew in hot retreat. The companions opened fire, but only
managed to drop two more of the cannies before they reached the road and
disappeared from view into the low trees. "Think they'll return?" Dean asked,
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placing the case of
Molotov cocktails heavily on the ground.
"Mebbe," his father said grimly. "Jak, Doc, stay here and keep watch on
things.
Dean, get those firebombs in the truck and help J.B. check over the wags. We
might have to leave fast. Mildred, see what the hell is wrong with Krysty.
Hector, make sure your wife is okay. Clem, come with me. Let's see what's in
that cabin."
Everybody hurried to their assigned tasks.
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"Look at all this!" Stephen said greedily, grabbing a blaster from a corpse.
Then he knelt and started to untie the laces on the combat boots. "This will
triple my profit!"
Hector bumped the man in passing, and Jak retrieved the shotgun off the ground
from his hands to sniff the barrel.
"Unused." The teenager cast it to the ground.
"Stephen, none of the weps or supplies are yours," J.B. stated coldly. "Those
that fought get a slice. You don't."
"B-but I hired you!" the fat man raged.
"We're passengers," J.B. reminded him, working the bolt on his Uzi and
pointing it straight at the man. His expression was calm. "Or do you think we
still might make good mercies after all?"
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