James Axler – Bitter Fruit

The spider swayed drunkenly, trying to use the amputated limb as it retreated. A broken line of muties formed behind it, the ululant wails still keening sharply.

“Incoming!” J.B. warned.

Ryan withdrew quickly, aiming his headlong charge at the Armorer.

J.B. stood up from behind cover, a LAW rocket launcher settled comfortably over one narrow shoulder. His face was grim and sand encrusted under the fedora as he took aim.

Ryan tightened his grip on the panga and the Steyr. There was no way he was going to get entirely clear of the blast areaif the LAW even worked. They’d found it less than an hour ago, and J.B. hadn’t had time to clean it.

The muties were already in motion. Some of them approached the spider, acting as if they wanted to help. The arachnid brushed them away like tenpins. The rest of the muties rushed at Ryan and J.B. with renewed fury.

The warhead leaped from the LAW with a distinctive whoosh. The trailing vapor burned orange and green, demonstrating that the chemical propellant wasn’t perfect quality. But the explosive still fired when it impacted.

Ryan felt the heat wash across his back, deeper than the direct gaze of the desert sun, then the concussion flattened him in midstep. He went down, going with the force, then pushed himself back up again at once. A few more staggering steps, and he dropped into position beside J.B.

“Never chilled a god before,” the Armorer said.

“Could of done this one a lot sooner,” Ryan told his friend as he reloaded the Steyr.

The warhead wasn’t as destructive as it might have been decades earlier. A smoky, burning husk of the giant spider remained, all seven legs curled inward in some kind of warped fetal position. Several of the muties were down around it, but at least eighteen were making their way toward Ryan and J.B.’s position.

“Hard to see the thing at first,” the Armorer said. “You scored that hit, and it started to bleed, I couldn’t miss.” He dumped the rocket-launcher tube and whipped out the Uzi, burning through half a clip at the approaching muties. “You want to chastise me some more or run?”

“Run,” Ryan replied. He gathered his weapons and led the sprint for the opening to the installation. Bullets landed around them, then spanged off the sides of the opening a few seconds later.

Ryan took a standing position at the side of the entry-way and started firing. His first bullet took a mutie in the throat, nearly decapitating him. The corpse fell to the ground and jerked spasmodically.

J.B. opened up at his side, and two more of the muties spilled to the ground in lifeless heaps. “We withdraw, they’re going to follow us inside. Could be they know this place better than we do.”

“Reckon you’re right.” Ryan had seen the bodies of muties in some of the corridors. “Holding up here’s not going to be an option. And there’s probably ways inside this place that we don’t know about.”

“Awful helpful, thinking about them coming up on us from the back,” J.B. commented, and he fired another round burst that only cut the top off a dune but didn’t touch the target that went diving away.

“I can stay here,” J.B. offered. “Buy you some time to get the others back up here.”

“Fuck that. We stand together, same as always.”

The muties were massing, yelling at one another and putting their nerve to fever pitch.

“They’re coming,” Ryan said grimly.

“Never had a doubt of it,” J.B. replied.

“You got anything else in that little pouch of nasty surprises you managed to salvage from this place?”

“Couple of grens. Might give them some pause.” The Armorer took them out and passed one over.

Ryan cupped the gren gingerly and hooked a finger through the ring just as the muties broke cover and began their charge. “On my count.”

J.B. nodded, his face set and impassive.

The muties were fifty yards out and closing.

“Three,” Ryan counted down, “two”

Before he could go any further, he heard the sound of clanking machinery, joined by at least three blistering lines of heavy machine-gun fire.