Chapter Eighteen

 

 

Ryan found the trail behind the chimney rock and threw himself into an assault on the steep downgrade at the same time the big rifle roared from above. He didn't hear J.B.'s Uzi chatter into life, so he knew the Armorer hadn't had a shot.

 

Keeping the Steyr across his chest, his attention divided between the loose stones under his feet and the narrow corkscrew leading up into the chimney rock, he ran as hard as he could. Spots danced crazily in his vision.

 

A blastersome large caliberboomed only a few paces ahead of him.

 

Ryan came around the corner in time to see the heavy man taking up slack on the weapon's trigger a second time. Jak was covered by the man standing in front of him, the guy pressed into service by the knife blade held at his throat, but there was every possibility that the bullets would pass through the human shield and hit Jak.

 

Bringing up the rifle, Ryan fired four quick rounds, spacing them in an uneven line only inches above the blaster-wielder's head. The man ducked instinctively and brought around his weapon.

 

Ryan threw himself forward and chopped down with the Steyr's barrel, cracking the man viciously across the wrists as the blaster went off. The bullet sped by only inches from Ryan's head.

 

The man screamed in pain and dropped the heavy weapon. Before he could make an attempt to recover it, Ryan kicked it away, then booted the man in the side.

 

The man raised his hands in defense and buried his face in his arms. "Don't! Please don't hurt me any more!"

 

"Go ahead and kill us," the man Jak held said, "or leave him alone. He's not been out in this mean world overmuch. Not used to rough handling."

 

The man's words made Ryan curious about what had brought them to the Western Islands area, but not overly so. He picked up the revolver and stuck it inside his belt. Two backpacks with aluminum frames leaned against the stone wall, out of sight beyond the ledge.

 

"Stay away from those packs," Ryan growled.

 

Keeping his head buried, the man nodded.

 

Ryan looked at Jak.

 

"Hoyle," the teenager said, releasing his hold on the man's hair. "That one's Bernsen." He leaned down and picked up the Sharps.

 

Ryan stepped to the ledge overlooking the mountainside. Moving so he could be seen, he waved to Krysty, Doc and Mildred. Immediately the three began to move up.

 

The brushwooders weren't far behind, almost within rifle range, as a few of them proved by firing rounds that fell less than thirty yards behind Krysty's position. The companions had lost whatever edge mobility had given them in the long minutes they'd spent being pinned down by sniper fire.

 

"You got them?" Ryan asked Jak.

 

"Do now." Jak had his .357 Magnum blaster in hand as he waved Hoyle into place beside Bernsen.

 

Reluctantly, acting as though he was just waiting for an opportunity, the bearded man sat.

 

Ryan fixed both men with a harsh look. "Up to you now if you live or die." He reloaded the Steyr and slung it.

 

"Me, I don't much care. Easier to chill you than watch you." He glanced at Jak. "If they try anything, chill them both, then push them over the edge and let the vultures have them."

 

"Okay." Jak squatted, his pistol resting easily on one thigh.

 

"I'm going to take a look around and be back in a couple minutes." Ryan started up the grade at the back of the chimney rock. Simply outrunning the brushwooders was no longer an option. It remained to be seen what was left.