Devil Riders

“Please, no,” Gaza begged, reaching for his blaster only to find the holster empty. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the weapon laying on the table near the roast. When had the wrinklie taken the blaster?

“Let me live,” the baron pleaded. “I’ll give you anything you want. Horses, women, blasters! Anything you desire!”

Sliding the blade along the soft skin cutting new avenues of crimson, Darvis leaned in close and breathed on the baron’s ear, sending chills down his spine.

“Anything?” the healer asked mockingly.

“Name it!” Gaza whispered pitifully. “Take my own wives!”

“Now that is a deal, my lord. What I desire,” the healer growled, spittle striking the cheek of the trembling baron, “is to piss on your fucking grave!”

The knife started to cut in then for real, and Gaza screamed in terror when a blaster roared and something slapped against the baron with a wet sound, blood, hair and bits of flesh spraying onto the floor.

Staggering to his feet, Gaza saw Hawk walking in from the doorway, his blaster firing again and again into the limp body of the whitehair.

“Damn traitor, good thing I arrived when I did,” Hawk said, kicking the dead man to make sure the job was finished. “Are you okay, my lord?”

“Th-thank you for saving my life,” Gaza stammered, running his hands over his face, the fingers coming away streaked with pinkish brains and a sticky clear fluid. “Nuking hell, this is such a waste! It really is.”

“He wasn’t that good a healer, my lord,” Hawk said, cracking open the cylinder and dumping the spent shells into a pocket for reloading.

Unexpectedly, there came the clockwork noise of a hammer being locked into the firing position from the dining table.

“Not him, you. You are the waste,” Gaza said softly and fired.

Hawk felt a searing white-hot pain in his chest and staggered from the blow, his weapon falling from numb hands. The baron fired once more, driving Hawk backward, and the man went out the window with a startled cry.

“Did you really think I would let anybody know I had begged a wrinklie for my life?” Gaza growled at the empty window, massaging his throat. “The healer may have been insane, but you were a fool, old friend.”

“Such a waste,” Gaza repeated, holstering his piece and shuffling from the room, holding his aching side. He still needed that wound stitched shut. This time he’d have the wives do the job. At least they could be trusted.

MOVING FAST, Ryan fired the Steyr without aiming, and the wall guard dropped the implo gren from his hand, the shattered wrist pumping blood from both sides.

A split second later there was a blinding flash, and the entire wall seemed to shake as wide cracks spread out like lightning bolts, making bricks tumble off.

Dust clouds rolled from the vibrating barrier, the horses rearing and whinnying in fright. Seizing the reins, the companions fought to stay on their mounts and the rumbles dissipated through the side street, rattling window shutters and shattering clay pots. As the aftereffects of the implosion slowly faded, Ryan could now see there was a gaping hole in the thick barrier reaching all the way through, only some glassy rubble covering the few yards of ground to the black desert outside.

“Walk them through,” Ryan said, sliding off the horse and leading it through the dangerous wreckage. If the animals broke a leg at this point, the escape was finished before it began.

Everywhere on the streets, people were screaming, blasters firing, horses screaming.

“They’re coming through!” a sec man screamed on the wall, his shaking hands dropping cartridges as he tried to load a scattergun.

Coming through? The feebs thought it was an invasion, not an escape, which gave J.B. an idea. While the others started traversing the littered passage, the Armorer rode to the mouth of the side street and tossed the last box of .22 cartridges into a burning pile of cloth where the canopy had collapsed. As he raced back to join the others, the bullets started cooking off, lead banging in every direction.

“Coldhearts are in the ville!” J.B. bellowed at the top of his lungs through cupped hands. “Cannies and muties at the front gate! Protect the keep!”

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