“Okay, girl, don’t panic about it,” Claudette said, a look crossing her face that showed she was deep in thought. A thought that was interrupted by Anita, who still—after all this time—hadn’t stopped crying.
“I told you that it was useless. We’re all just meat, and we’re going to be used by those vile bastards.”
“Will you shut the fuck up, you irritating bitch?” Claudette snapped, taking a step back and swinging the barrel of the Uzi so that it caught the heavy blonde full across the face, leaving her mouth a smear of blood and saliva, stunning her so much that she couldn’t even squeal or cry anymore. Before the sec man had a chance to move, the iron-faced young woman had the blaster trained back on him.
“We’re going to have to go through with it at least part of the way,” Ayesha said softly. “No matter what the plan was, we’re going to have to go out there with these shackles on.”
“We can’t do that,” Claudette answered. “If we even make an effort to do that, then we’re in the shit. We can’t step out of here holding blasters, and these mothers will have to have some to make it look convincing, otherwise we bring the whole of the sec down on us.”
“There has to be a way around this,” Ayesha said, picking up the shackles and looking at them. On a close inspection, she could see that the cuffs could be left unlocked and uncoupled without it appearing too obvious. She looked at the other women. “Are you with us or against us?” she asked.
The majority of them agreed, glad of any opportunity to try to escape. Those who were initially unwilling reluctantly agreed when they saw they were outvoted. Even Anita grudgingly agreed between spitting out mouthfuls of blood and sobbing.
“Okay, here’s what we do,” Ayesha said. “We take the blasters and conceal them, leaving these assholes with one empty blaster that they can wave around. We go out with the shackles undone, and when it all goes down we head back for the wag and secure it. That sound good?”
“It sounds risky,” Claudette stated, “but it’s better than anything I’ve come up with, so it’ll have to do.”
“Ya know, babe, I don’t think we’re in any position to worry about it,” Ayesha said. “We’ll just have to roll with it.”
Claudette shrugged, and was just about to comment when the voice of Baron Al crackled over the radio. “The rendezvous point is in sight. The Summerfield convoy is there, and it looks like we’ve got a dust storm brewing.”
Chapter Eighteen
Correll looked up and sniffed the air. He was standing beside his wag, and had been there ever since the distant rumble of an approaching convoy had been detected. The rumble had gotten nearer and finally ground to a halt, the wag engines just ticking over as the Summerfield convoy stood inert at the entrance to the arena, waiting for the rival convoy to arrive. From the opposite direction, a different pitch of noise signaled the approach of the Charity convoy.
Ryan joined Correll and looked up at the skies.
“Storm,” he said simply.
Correll nodded assent. “That’ll be good. We may be determined, but we are outnumbered. Mebbe the confusion will even the odds for us.”
Ryan agreed. “We know who we’re attacking. They won’t be sure what the hell is going on.”
Correll allowed himself the ghost of a smile, which seemed oddly out of place on his gaunt countenance, and for one second gave the one-eyed man an insight into the man Correll may once have been.
But before it could go any further, Catherine came running up to Correll.
“Papa Joe, they’re all in place. Should I send the lookouts up?”
Correll’s face once again became grim and set as he nodded before turning and mounting the wag once more. Ryan, left standing, followed the small blonde as she ran back to the wag in which she had traveled. It was the one in which Dean, Jak, Doc and Danny had also journeyed. That meant that only J.B. and Mildred would be attacking from the other side, and be that much more isolated from their companions. But J.B. was more than just Ryan’s trusted lieutenant. The two men had spent so long fighting together that in many ways they thought as one, as well as fought as one.