The AK-47 held level, Ryan walked to the door and froze when he heard the chatter of auto fire. Throwing open the portal, Ryan and J.B. charged in and separated fast, their weapons searching for targets, but they only found Mildred and Jak inside the chamber, smoking Kalashnikovs held in their hands. However, their clothing was torn in places, and Jak was bleeding from a wound in the shoulder. Spent brass was scattered on the floor, and Ryan realized they had to have jumped while firing their weapons.
“What happened?” he demanded, hauling the woman to her feet. She clung to him for support, panting for breath. “Changing mass in a jump might turn you inside out!”
J.B. knelt and offered the teenager a canteen. “You two know better than to take a risk like that.”
“Had to,” Jak said between sips, then splashed some on his bloody shoulder. He winced, but didn’t cry out.
“They were at the door,” Mildred added. “Damn near came through with us!”
Just then, Krysty came in with the med kit, but Dean stayed in the doorway, a gren in each hand.
“What was it, stickies?” Krysty asked, using a knife to cut open Jak’s shirt and exposing the shoulder. It was a flesh wound not very deep, just wide and blistered. “That’s laser damage.”
“Sec droids,” Ryan said, recognizing the blister pattern.
Taking a long pull on the canteen, Mildred nodded weakly. “In the armory. Soon as we picked up some ammo boxes they came charging out of the shadows, firing everywhere. Idiot machines destroyed more than we could ever have taken.”
“Lucky you weren’t chilled,” Krysty stated, washing the area and tying on a clean bandage. “Those things are hard to stop.”
Ryan merely grunted, remembering when he had been chased across Deathlands by one of the predark mechanical hunters. It was the closest he had ever come to catching the long sleep.
“Stopped them,” Jak grunted, gesturing at the mat-trans chamber. “Used thermite grens on fuel stores. No redoubt left.”
“Thermite!”
Eagerly, J.B. walked over and lifted the lumpy canvas bags to look inside. “Good haul,” he said in appreciation. “Additional MRE packs, some med supplies, half a dozen thermite grens, a few AP grens, box of 12-gauge shotgun shells, two Claymores, bottle of whiskey, two flares, full box of 9 mm APC rounds.”
Ryan caught the box of ammo as J.B. went into the control room. Taking his Samp;W shotgun from the corner, the man shoved a 12-gauge shell into the bottom slot and worked the pump to feed in the cartridge. He did this three more times, then filled the empty loops along the shoulder strap. When he was done, J.B. distributed the remaining shells in several pockets.
Ryan was already at the main console, thumbing rounds into the empty clips for the SIG-Sauer. As he filled each, he tucked them into the pouch on his belt, then slapped the last clip into the butt of the hand-cannon and jacked the slide.
“Better,” he said.
“Any blasters?” Dean asked, as the rest of the companions entered the room.
Mildred scowled. “We never got close. Tried to lure the droids away and then double back, but time was too short.”
Studying his friends, Ryan made a command decision. “We’re calling it a day,” he ordered in a no-nonsense tone. “Let’s get some food and sleep. We can start hunting for weapons again in a few hours.”
“Dawn soon,” Mildred said, glancing at her wrist chron. “Sleep sounds good.”
Krysty started for the control room. Doc was still sprawled asleep in the chair, snoring softly. “Thank Gaia we aren’t in a rush,” the redhead commented, brushing some hair out of his tired face. “If Sheffield and his sec men left this valley, we’d lose our back door.”
“Be shit out of luck if that happens,” Ryan stated, starting for the hallway. “Come on, let’s go eat.”
SEARCHLIGHTS CUT through the Tennessee darkness, the bright rods of light sweeping over the Shiloh ville to brightly illuminate each area in an orderly pattern.
Walking patrol along the wide top of the stone block wall, a blue shirt studied the weird landscape surrounding the ville. Not a blade of grass was in sight, nor a tree or even a bush. Just the oddly flowing bed of gray rock. The ground rose and fell in endless irregularities, the acid rain having solidified windblown piles of ash into foamy rock harder than limestone. It was as if a gray winter sea had been instantly frozen, catching the waves before they broke upon the shore. He knew it made farming here impossible, and the sec men would have to move to another location, but the thought neither pleased nor annoyed him. It was just another chore to do for Sheffield, easier than some, harder than most. Nothing special.