As Leeloo said, they knew what they were doing.
The fighting force of Bullard ville advanced like a seasoned army, leapfrogging with precision from hard cover to hard cover. The younger kids carrying black-powder blasters were keeping well to the rear, in a position to put up shielding fire if the folks forward had to suddenly pull back.
Ryan glanced along the row they were in. Right off he could see the companions needed to move to two beds down, as that would block the sec men’s line of sight of their only route to the convoy of parked wags, and escape.
Ryan led Dean, Leeloo and Krysty across the five-foot gap between the beds. They made it without a problem. When J.B., Mildred and Doc followed, all hell broke loose.
One of the sec men shouted over the din of the shooting, “It’s the other ones! They’re tryin’ to get behind us!”
As J.B. shoved Doc facedown in the dirt, withering fire poured onto the front of the bed. The range was only about forty feet. In the hail of bullets, half the sheet-metal awning ripped loose and tumbled onto Dean and Leeloo. Ryan kicked it aside. He and Krysty could only fire blindly over the top of the bed; they didn’t dare raise themselves up to take proper aim. Slugs from the opposition were chewing great hunks of wood out of the top edge of the frame inches over their heads. Ryan stopped firing and pulled back the SIG P-226. Down the row, J.B., Mildred and Doc were likewise pinned. In the space of a few seconds, everything had gone to shit.
“Ryan, what are we going to do?” Krysty shouted as she jammed a speed loader into her Smith & Wesson’s open cylinder. “These people want our heads.”
“The sec force is about to flank the looters,” he told her. “Once they close in and lower the hammer, the carny chillers are dead meat. And when that happens, we’re going to have a whole bunch more pissed-off folks waving blasters in our faces. I’d say we’ve got four or five minutes, tops, before that happens.”
“But what are we going to do?” Krysty repeated.
By way of an answer, Ryan turned to his son and said, “Dean, make a break for the circled wags. Take the little girl with you. We can’t leave her here. She’d be cut to pieces. Find Jak. He’s there somewhere. Go with him, get out of the ville. Even if you have to go on foot. We’ll track you down and meet up later.”
The last part was very unlikely, given the circumstances. The boy’s face dropped. “But, Dad…” he began. “No argument, son. When we commit ourselves, it’s going to be all out, everything on the line to get you to the wags. You’ve got to take Leeloo and run. Don’t stop for anything. You wait for my signal, and then you go. You understand?”
With great reluctance, unable to conceal his hurt, Dean answered, “Yes, Dad.”
“Good boy.”
Ryan reached over and gave his son’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. Then he signaled to J.B., pointing at Dean and the girl, then behind them in the direction of the tent and the parked wags. J.B. got the picture at once, and nodded in agreement. He spoke to Mildred, who looked at Ryan and also nodded. The Armorer then took out his Tekna knife and with a single swipe cut himself free of Doc. The old man was down on his hands and knees, swaying back and forth, mouth in constant motion, seemingly unaware of the hellstorm that surrounded them.
That J.B. and Ryan would attack the ville shooters from opposite directions went without saying. It was their standard skirmish procedure since the days with Trader. The intent was to divide the opposition’s fire, to come from unexpected angles, to startle and confuse them.
There was no time for goodbyes.
Ryan and Krysty shared a look that only lasted an instant, but said everything that needed to be said.
The one-eyed man held up his hand so J.B. could see it. Five fingers extended. Then four, then three. On none, he rolled to his right and came up running.