Hellbenders

J.B., sweat glistening on his forehead, spectacles slipping down his nose, took the final turn with a feeling of relief. After that descent, at that speed, any kind of firefight would be by way of light relief. Able at last to take one hand from the wheel, he pushed his glasses back up his nose and gunned his engine, changing gears and increasing speed to try to make up the rapidly widening distance between himself and Correll. He breathed out heavily through his mouth, sparing a moment for a swift glance at Mildred.

The woman pulled her plaits tight behind her, rolling her eyes at the Armorer in a gesture that spoke of relief. Jenny watched them both, then said, “That ain’t scared you already, has it?”

J.B. grimaced. “Given the choice between a shootout with a bunch of coldheart mercies on one side and ravenous stickies on the other, and taking that road again, I’d choose the firefight. Know better what I’m doing then.”

The Native American nodded. “You’ll soon get a chance to prove that, I’m thinking.”

A similar conversation took place in the third wag, driven by Lonnie. Catherine and Danny made up the numbers, along with Dean and Jak.

“Hot pipe, anything’s got to be better than that!” Dean exclaimed.

“You’re not going pussy on me, are you?” Lonnie asked without humor. His close-cropped head was rigidly set on the road ahead, and his eyes stared with a dark intensity at the wag in front. He put his foot down, gaining ground on J.B. as the Armorer increased his own speed to catch up with the leading wag.

“Not a matter of that,” Dean replied sharply. “Shit like that is stupe—get us chilled before we even get a chance to fight.”

“We don’t pull out of anything,” Catherine snapped. “If you go, then you go big.”

“Bit stupe to go before you get to the enemy, though,” Danny said quietly.

“Whose side you on, son?” Lonnie barked without looking away from the road.

“It’s not a question of sides,” Danny replied, keeping his voice level. “It’s a question of meeting the objective. Isn’t that what Papa Joe has always said?”

“Just mind you remember all that Papa Joe says,” Lonnie returned. “Make up your mind where you stand, boy.”

Dean and Jak exchanged glances. Would they have to start watching their backs against the Hellbenders, as well as the convoys from Summerfield and Charity?

Convoys that they could only hope had actually left their respective villes.

ELIAS TULK WAS A FAR from happy man. As a sec man for Baron Tad Hutter, he had been selected to ride shotgun on the leading wag to leave Summerfield, laden with food supplies and seed crops, headed for the rendezvous point. He wasn’t anticipating much trouble from the sec forces accompanying the convoy from Charity. They’d be too busy trying to stop any of the women they were trading from stepping out of line. What’s more, the device Hutter had his men rig on each wag would more than dissuade them. For, on each of the wags carrying a crop or supplies, a very obvious primitive flamethrower had been erected, pointing down toward the merchandise loaded on the wag.

One wrong move, and everything they wanted and needed so desperately would be torched.

So the problems wouldn’t come from that quarter. There were more likely to be problems with the rest of the Summerfield sec wanting to stop and screw all the women they were trading before the convoy reached base again. That wouldn’t go down well with Hutter, as the women were to be saved for breeding stock, and they weren’t to be touched or damaged in any way. The women in the ville had proved barren for some time, and new blood was necessary if the ville was to survive. However, all the reasons in the world wouldn’t stop some of the sec men going on the rampage if the rumors proved true, and the daughter of Baron Al Jourgensen was part of the trade. Not yet sixteen, still a virgin and supposed to be a looker. Unless strict discipline was maintained, she would be fucked ragged and left for dead by the entire sec force before they reached Summerfield.

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