James Axler – Bitter Fruit

“TROUBLE,” RYAN CALLED out to Krysty and Tarragon. He stepped back from the window as he watched the flames from the shattered lantern spread up the side of the building across the street. The fiery tongues licked and lapped up the dry wood, already biting deep into the roofline.

“J.B.?” Krysty asked tightly.

“Coming around back with the horses.” Ryan picked up the Steyr in one hand, then slung the straps of two of their packs over his shoulder. “Take the boy and come on.” He grabbed another pack.

Krysty took up the remaining two in both hands, urging Tarragon forward.

Ryan shoved through the door into the hallway. The lights were dim. Most of the oil was being saved for the entertainment still going on down below. A few yells of alarm punctuated the music and the catcalls of encouragement.

“Hey, somebody’s set the dentist’s office afire!”

“You laddie bucks grab up some buckets and come on!”

“If we don’t get that fire contained, it could burn that whole section of the thorpe!”

Ryan knew the confusion would only add to the cover they’d have as they tried to leave New London. But it cut the amount of time they’d have to do it. The die had been cast, and it remained to be seen who caught the last train west.

He kicked open the door of the room across the hall. From the way the building was designed, he figured it had a window view of the alley behind the Bent Rose.

One of Gehrig’s men was on the bed, naked except for a shoulder holster and a knife sheath down the back of his neck, bucking away between the bent knees of one of the gaudy sluts. The guy twisted as the door flew open, hardly breaking the rhythm he’d established. When he saw Ryan with the packs in his hand, he went for the pistol in his shoulder holster in a flash of reflex.

“Gehrig!” the man shouted as he brought the blaster around to point at Ryan. “Gehrig!”

Without breaking stride, Ryan pointed the Steyr with one hand, aiming by instinct at the center of the man’s chest. A bullet whipped by the one-eyed man’s face as he squeezed the trigger. The rifle report was loud inside the room.

The round caught the man in the chest and knocked him away from the woman, sprawling his corpse halfway off the bed and onto the floor. The gaudy slut started to scream, covering her face with her arms but still gaping at Ryan.

“Rough business,” Ryan said in a cold voice. “Men come and go all the time. Should be used to it.” He motioned with the rifle. “Now stop screaming and get the hell out of that bed.”

The woman ceased the noise immediately and crawled off the bed while Ryan shoved it against the wall and cleared the space in front of the window.

Peering down into the alley, Ryan saw J.B. gentling the horses and bringing them to a halt. He opened the window, ignoring the creak as it went up the runners reluctantly.

The Armorer turned, leveling the Uzi before him. “Ryan,” he acknowledged.

“J.B.,” Ryan responded. “Looking for a big send-off? Could have used a little less fanfare.”

“No help for it,” the Armorer replied. “The troops Burroughs sent for us damn near closed the distance.”

“In the ville?”

J.B. nodded. “Already targeting the Bent Rose. Figured stirring the pot some might slow them down.”

Ryan tossed the equipment packs onto the eaves overhanging the alley. They slid over the split shingles and dropped onto the ground. He kept his eyes on the gaudy slut. She’d been a little braver than he’d counted on, hunkering down still naked and going through the dead man’s pants. She gave him an uneasy smile over her shoulder. The woman definitely had a cheeky turn to her.

J.B. slid out of the saddle and gathered the equipment packs.

“I’m sending Krysty and the boy to you,” Ryan said. “Get them out of here. Head for the gate. I’ll be along as soon as I can. Got to take care of the wags, otherwise they’re going to be on top of us before we get a mile gone.”