Chapter Twenty-Eight

 

 

Ryan went to ground behind an outcrop as the wag switched on its lights. He brought up the Steyr and put rounds through the driver's side of the windshield. One of them cratered the hood over the engine, ripping through the metal with a shriek and scattering sparks across the hood.

 

The driver turned away. If he was hurt, it wasn't enough to interfere with his driving. The wide bumper caught muties mercilessly, the tires rolling over them where they dropped.

 

Other wags joined the first, the wheels digging into the ground, throwing out huge rooster tails behind them. Their lights blazed over the sudden battleground.

 

One of the armored vehicles suddenly zipped out of the formation. As the headlights came around, Ryan spotted Mildred trying to outrun the wag. The driver must have recognized her, because he stayed with her without running her down.

 

"Millie!" J.B. shouted. He switched back to the Uzi and rattled a trio of short bursts across the front of the vehicle, the slugs hammering the metal but failing to penetrate. The autofire also failed to break off the wag's pursuit of Mildred.

 

For a moment Ryan lost sight of the action as more wags cut off the woman's escape route. He picked his targets, sighting carefully, then taking up the trigger slack. He put bullets through the heads of two men who swung free of the blocking wags and attempted to seize Mildred. The woman stood her ground fearlessly, willing to sell her life as dearly as possible. Every time her pistol cracked, a sec man or a mutie went down.

 

Abruptly the wag trailing her slewed sideways. Two men in back who'd been manning the machine guns whipped out a section of heavy netting equipped with weights. The net flew true, unfurling in midair until it dropped around Mildred.

 

She went down hard, trying to shake the empty brass from the Czech-made ZKR and struggle up from the folds of the net. Before she had a chance to finish the reload, at least six men pushed her back to the ground. When they cleared off her, she wasn't fighting anymore.

 

Ryan couldn't believe the woman was dead, but any kind of rescue was next to impossible. J.B. worked the Uzi calmly and dispassionately, raking short bursts across the wag personnel and the handful of muties who hadn't quit the area.

 

Ryan dropped one of the two men who'd thrown the net. The Steyr's round blasted the man backward over the side of the wag. Despite the supposed orders not to kill, the other machine gunner opened up on Ryan's position. Clods of dirt and rock ripped loose around him. He sank back into cover. Slinging the rifle, he drew the SIG-Sauer.

 

J.B. was already moving in on Mildred's position. Two 3-round bursts knocked down two of the men trying to lift the woman from the ground.

 

Ryan took that as a sign of hope. If they'd killed the woman, they'd have left her there. He broke cover, moving in from the other side, backing J.B.'s play. It was possible they could recover her if they got control of one of the wags and put the others out of commission.

 

He ran toward the nearest wag, the SIG-Sauer raised before him. The sec man on the passenger side noticed him first, yelling a warning to the men in front of him. Both had their hands full with muties determined to take their lives.

 

Ryan fired two rounds. Bright scarlet blood, illuminated by the lights from the other wags, splashed against the fractured windshield inside the wag's cab as a sec man dropped inside the vehicle. The driver had a chance for one quick, terrified glance at Ryan, then a bullet took him squarely between the eyes, snapping his head back.

 

Slipping his free hand onto the door latch, Ryan triggered it and started to yank it open. The sec man's body tumbled to the ground as a hail of bullets punched through the door.

 

Having no choice, Ryan abandoned his position. He dived toward the back of the truck, spotting one of the saddle tanks. He threw himself under the wag and unleathered his panga. Three quick thrusts opened holes in the gas tank. Liquid spilled out the holes, pooling rapidly in the sand.

 

The sec men cautiously approached the side of the wag.

 

Ryan scrambled through on the other side and saw J.B. cutting away at the net that held Mildred. The Armorer glanced in his direction once, hand sliding back for the Uzi. When J.B. saw who it was, he turned back to his task.

 

Rocks lay scattered across the ground. Ryan seized two that looked as if they had heavy mineral content. He hoped some of it was iron or flint. He tossed them underhanded toward the broad pool of gasoline beneath the wag. When they landed, he fired immediately.

 

The 9 mm rounds struck the rocks, knocking sparks from one of them. The sparks proved enough to ignite the gasoline. Flames spread across the pool, then started leaping up the torrents pouring from the ruptured gas tank.

 

"Cover her!" Ryan yelled at J.B. "There's going to be a blow!"

 

An instant later the gas tank under the wag exploded from the built-up vapor inside. The vehicle jumped in its tracks, the tank reduced to shrapnel that blasted in all directions. Several pieces ripped the sec men to shreds, and two of the wag's rear tires went flat.

 

Ryan pushed himself to his feet. Alerted by movement in his peripheral vision, he yelled a warning to J.B. just as a shadow stepped around the front of the wag that had come up behind Mildred.

 

The Armorer was deadly and quick, rounds from the Uzi chopping into the man standing there.

 

Ryan added two shots of his own, blasting the man's face apart. Then he watched as J.B. turned and fell to his knees. He dropped the Uzi before Ryan covered the distance.

 

Once he was close enough, Ryan saw the fletched darts buried deeply into the side of J.B.'s neck and cheek. "Fireblast!" he swore. Managing Mildred while unconscious would have been difficult enough even if they'd been able to commandeer a wag. With the Armorer out of the picture, the remotely possible had become decidedly impossible.

 

"Go!" J.B. whispered hoarsely, struggling to remain on his knees and failing by degrees. "They don't want us dead right now. Mebbe we got some time. As long as you and the others are free."

 

Ryan looked at his oldest friend. "If there's a way, J.B., I'll be there for you."

 

"Know you will." J.B was almost prone on the ground, his hand reaching for Mildred's. He almost made it before the drug in his system shut him down.

 

A bullet cut the air only inches from Ryan's eye, galvanizing him into action. He snapped off shots, emptying the SIG-Sauer's magazine. As he changed clips, he headed on a tangent that would take him across the fire burning the tarp from the back of the wag he'd left crippled. He knew that for a moment he'd be as clear a target as he could imagine, but after that, whoever had been watching him would lose their night vision.

 

It was a good plan, the best he could hope for under the circumstances. But he hadn't planned on the small wag that rocketed at him before his own vision could completely clear.

 

He glimpsed it for only a second, trying to pinpoint the sound. Then the wag was on him, skidding in the sand and the loose rock as the driver tried to avoid a head-on collision. Ryan's own footing was treacherous as he suddenly changed directions. His ankle turned under him painfully, costing him inches.

 

Unable to totally clear the vehicle, he twisted and put his hands out before him, cushioning the impact. When contact was made, it felt as if his arms were going to tear out of their sockets. The SIG-Sauer left his hand, lost from sight before it hit the ground.

 

He arced his body onto the wag's hood so he wouldn't go down under the four-wheel-drive, all-terrain tires. Out of control, he smashed up against the windshield, fracturing the glass with his bodyweight. He recognized Hayden LeMarck's face on the other side of the spider webbed windshield, mouth moving as he shouted orders to the driver.

 

Breath knocked out of him from the impact, Ryan pushed himself from the hood as the wag came to a halt. His legs almost wouldn't hold him as he forced himself to stand. He managed only trembling steps. Angrily he ripped the panga free of its sheath as LeMarck climbed out of the halted wag.

 

Ryan went at the man full tilt, knowing if he could buy himself only a few more seconds, he might be able to function better. His ribs ached and his ankle throbbed, but nothing seemed broken.

 

LeMarck was taken by surprise, but the sec boss's reflexes were quick enough to dodge the deadly panga.

 

Ryan drew back to try again, then felt the sharp bite of trank darts pinning him from his knees to his neck. Stubbornly he stayed awake to make one more slash at LeMarck, missing the sec boss by more than an inch. He didn't remain conscious long enough to feel the impact he made against the ground.

 

 

 

WHEN RYAN WENT DOWN less than sixty yards from her position, Krysty started for the top of the ridge, snapping the cylinder of her .38 closed after reloading. Her attention remained focused on her lover, and the man standing above him.

 

The mutie ranks had been broken, existing now only in retreating clumps. Some of them fought on from behind cover, directing their vengeance on the sec team. Snipers deployed at the sec commander's instruction and began to mop up the muties who chose to fight rather than flee.

 

Before Krysty reached the top of the ridge and was seen, Jak wrapped his strong arms around her. He clapped a hand over her mouth and put his face close to her ear so he could whisper without his voice carrying far.

 

"Do Ryan no good, go running out there," he said.

 

Krysty gave up the struggle almost at once, anchored in the harsh realities of the situation. It was almost too much for her the visions, the not knowing if they really were the future or if they were just bad hallucinations, the secrets she was keeping from Ryan, and the suspense of what was happening with Dean. She pulled Jak's hand away and made herself exhale.

 

"It's okay," she said, going back to ground behind the ridgeline, "I'm not going out there."

 

"It would be a very brave thing to do," Doc said sincerely, putting a hand on her shoulder.

 

"It would be stupe," Krysty replied. "There'd only be one more person to rescue, and one less to help."

 

"Yes," the old man said quietly. "Dear Krysty, having a care toward our own freedom is how we may best serve our fallen companions."

 

Krysty knew that, but it didn't assuage any of the feelings of guilt that assailed her. She holstered her weapon. Below, sec men surrounded Ryan and carried him to the back of a wag. She watched until she couldn't see him anymore.

 

"Follow," Jak said. "Best make tracks away from here before they see us and come after. Then no one come rescue."

 

"We're going to find them," Krysty said so there'd be no mistake.

 

"Yes, dear lady," Doc agreed, "we shall. And it appears we have at least some time on our hands. The Big Game in Vegas is not until six more days."

 

But Krysty also knew transportation would be a problem. The wags could go much faster than they could. Crossing the desert on foot to Vegas would be almost impossible. Even if they made the distance, and on time, they'd be in no shape to help anyone.

 

"Gaia, help me find a way," Krysty prayed. She followed Doc, while Jak kept point, motioning to Bernsen to keep up with him. They weren't followed.

 

 

 

"GOT THREE OF THEM," Wallis Thoroughgood said, gazing into the back of the wag where the three captured outlanders lay caged and still unconscious.

 

LeMarck gazed around the battlefield. Everything was a flurry of activity as the sec teams secured their gear, tended to the few wounded and made what repairs were necessary to the wags. Two of the vehicles appeared destroyed. The first had been set on fire by the one-eyed man, and the resulting explosions had killed four men and burned the wag badly. He'd given the order to drain the surviving tank and leave the wag behind.

 

The second wag was lost when a group of muties had rolled a huge boulder at it while it had been going down the hillside. The boulder had smashed into the wag and buckled the vehicle's frame and drivetrain, flipping it onto its side. The driver's side had been buried in the sand, and it would have taken too much time to attempt a recovery of the saddle fuel tank on that side, so only the one on the passenger side had been tapped.

 

Both of the wags were being jettisoned. They didn't dare try to haul them across the desert because it would have reduced their top speed if they were attacked. And pulling them would have increased gas consumption, as well as announcing to the other barons that they'd undergone a hardship.

 

LeMarck looked at the three captured outlanders. "There are still three of them out there."

 

"I know it," Baron Hardcoe said, running a hand across his broad face. "But how many men is it going to cost us to try to dig them out?"

 

LeMarck nodded.

 

"Cut our losses here," Hardcoe said. "Three of them, from what I've seen, are going to tip the odds in our favor in the Big Game. Mebbe we ought to be satisfied with that much."

 

"All six would have been better," LeMarck remarked.

 

"I think so, too. But we got three. Let's work with that."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Get your men ready," Hardcoe instructed. "I want to shake the dust from this place in ten minutes or less."

 

LeMarck went to see that it was done, but he ordered men to keep an eye on the ridges around the area just in case. And he could always hope the other three would find a way to follow them. If they arrived in Vegas before the representing teams were dropped into the pit, they could be added. The thought gave him hope.

 

 

 

KRYSTY AND THE OTHERS waited almost an hour after the sec teams left before coming down out of the mountains. The muties had left, too, going back to wherever they'd come from.

 

They split up, reccing the area to see what the sec men had left behind. Bernsen went with Doc, since the two of them were more mechanically inclined.

 

Bodies lay everywhere, muties and sec men. Hardcoe and LeMarck hadn't bothered with their dead.

 

Krysty and Jak prowled through the interior of the overturned wag. She kept her mind occupied on what she could find and off what might be happening to Ryan, J.B. and Mildred.

 

"Got gas in outside tank," Jak said. "Slapped it. Sounded full. Got four tires still whole that side, too. Take lot of work to dig out."

 

Krysty found two boxes of .38 ammunition and a box of 9 mm in the sliding drawer under the driver's seat. Sand had spilled in through the open window, and she had to dig to get at it, then pry it open with a crowbar Jak dug out of the toolbox in the back.

 

"Got shovels," Jak said, holding up one of the folding trenching tools. "Some other things."

 

"Keep it in mind." Krysty put the ammo in her backpack. "Mebbe we'll find a use for them." Netting caught her attention, hanging from a hook above the door and disappearing under the mound of loose sand. She dug patiently, following the netting, getting to the bottom and finding a half-dozen self-heats in the bag. She took them out and stored them, too. They'd lost some of their food when Ryan and J.B. were taken. Mildred had been carrying half of the medicine Krysty had turned up in the helicopter.

 

"Krysty!" Doc bellowed.

 

Standing up awkwardly between the seats, Krysty looked through the shattered passenger-side window. Doc and Bernsen were under the raised hood of the burned wag. It had still been burning in places when the companions had arrived. They'd thrown handfuls of sand onto the flames until they died away.

 

"What's wrong, Doc?" she asked.

 

"Actually, my dear," the old man replied with a white-toothed grin, "things have the appearance of being very right." He turned to Bernsen. "Hit it."

 

The scientist leaned under the wag's raised hood with a screwdriver. Sparks flashed, then the wag's engine started with a throaty snort. It ran for only a few seconds before dying.

 

"The good news," Doc said, "is that this engine is capable of running in spite of the fire. The bad news is one tank was ruptured by an explosion and the other was drained of fuel."

 

"We've got fuel over here," Krysty replied. "It'll take some digging to get to it."

 

"By the Three Kennedys, then we shall give this the proverbial old college try. Repairs also necessitate replacing some of the fuel lines, but that appears possible, as well."

 

"Get on it," Krysty said. "Jak and I will get the fuel."

 

"Capital!"

 

She walked to the rear of the wag, sliding around the seat.

 

Jak waited for her, handing her one of the trenching tools he held. "Got can, too." He pointed at the empty jerrican in the back. "Looks usable. Get under tank, puncture mebbe with knife, drain into can and carry to Doc."

 

"Sounds like a plan." Krysty took the shovel and walked out the back of the wag. Rounding the vehicle, stepping over two muties who'd almost been eviscerated by heavy-caliber rounds, she scanned the ridges, wary of anyone who might be waiting.

 

"Nobody," Jak said. "Animals starting creep back into area. They feel safe, we feel safe."

 

Krysty took the youth's word for it. Her senses weren't as sharp as Jak's, but they registered no threats waiting in the shadows. She put her foot on the rolled shoulder of the shovel blade and rammed it deeply into the sand. The sand moved easily, but there was a lot of it. She kept working as Jak fell in beside her, concentrating on the effort, knowing every shovelful put her that much closer to Ryan.