“Mebbe take turns riding,” Jak suggested hesitantly, rubbing his wounded arm. “Horses too tired for double riders.”
Just then a large black scorpion scuttled into view from under a rock, snapping its pinchers happily at the heat of the morning sun. Standing nearby, Dean moved fast and crushed it under his combat boot, grinding the heel to make the little killer was thoroughly aced.
“Okay, no time to waste. We leave on foot,” Ryan commanded brusquely. “We need shelter and we need it bastard fast! We’re all going to walk for a while. That will let the horses get some rest in case serious trouble arrives and we have to ride again. If that comes, Dean goes with Jak on the stallion, J.B. with Mildred on the big gelding.”
Krysty stepped to the man and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Correction, lover,” she said sternly. “We walk, but you ride. Each of us caught some sleep yesterday, but you haven’t in days. We’re alive now because of that, but right now I doubt if you could shoot the side of a barn with your longblaster even if you were fragging inside the building.”
Inhaling sharply, Ryan felt his hair trigger temper flare at the words, but then found himself too bastard weary to even argue. She was right. Even with the coffee working, he was on his last legs. Nodding assent, the man forced himself to climb into the saddle and squeeze his feet into the small stirrups. This had to have originally been a woman’s horse. Mebbe one for the baron’s many wives. Unless Gaza himself was a very small man. It was well trained and bridle-wise, but didn’t really seem to like a rider as large as Ryan.
“Okay, I’m on point,” J.B. said adjusting his fedora and swinging his Uzi around to the front. He worked the bolt, chambering a round for immediate use. “Two yard spread. Jak and Dean, take turns leading your mount. Doc, you’re rear guard. Stay razor.”
“I am honored! And shall remain as sharp as the Sword of Damocles!”
Annoyed, J.B. glanced at Mildred.
“That means yes,” she stated.
Guiding the horses by the reins, the companions started across the dune and down the other side. Ahead of them stretched the endless vista of the desert, the salty ground rippling from the gentle morning breeze.
Allowing his tense muscles to slowly relax, Ryan swayed in the saddle. Slowly stooping his shoulders, Ryan expertly leaned forward, his hands crossed at the pommel, with the reins looped securely over twice. Slowly allowing himself to succumb to the sweet siren call of sleep, the big man’s eyes soon closed.
Walking close by, Krysty smiled as she heard a soft sound of snoring. Brave didn’t make a warrior bulletproof, and even men of iron needed to eat and sleep.
AS THE COMPANIONS disappeared over the southern horizon, the salt and sandy ground of the big dune broke apart and strange figures rose from its depths, shaking off the loose debris. Standing taller than any norm, the beings were bipedal, but impossibly skinny, with every inch of their bodies wrapped in dirty rags that completely hid any possible view of their anatomy.
More of the creatures arrived from below ground, as their leader, who carried a long spear, bowed once to the sun, then gestured violently at the dead horse. Now the others pulled curved daggers from within their rags and began to dissect the corpse, the tainted blood flowing in rivulets down the slopes of the dune.
Chapter Three
Fleeting visions of a bad mat-trans jump boiled in Ryan’s dreams, constantly punctuated by distant blasterfire. Or great predark war machines charging after the man with their cannons clicking on shells no longer there. Or sec hunter droids snapping deadly scissors, or…
With a start, Ryan awoke to find both hands tied to the pommel of the saddle. For a split second, he thought they had been captured and his blood surged with adrenaline, his wrists breaking apart the twine as he clawed for the blaster on his hip. But surprisingly, it was there and as the mists of sleep faded away, Ryan saw the other companions leading their horses along the brightly lit desert. Fireblast, just a bad dream.