James Axler – Bitter Fruit

J.B. nodded. “Doc and Jak?” he asked.

Ryan shook his head. “Not yet. We can’t wait here.”

After finishing her looting, the gaudy slut scampered out of the room, not bothering to grab her clothes.

“You make it?” Ryan asked the boy.

Tarragon gave him a tight nod. “One way or another,” he said as he stared down the short, slanted length of the eaves. “It’s got to be better than the prospect of staying here.”

Ryan helped him through the window, grabbing hold of the boy’s shirt for just a moment as he wavered unsteadily. When the boy had his feet under him, Ryan let go.

“May Ivory Ginnifer smile warmly on you,” the boy said, “and not reap you tonight.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said, not really knowing what the hell the boy was talking about but understanding the general gist of the words. “You keep your head low.”

Krysty followed him, tossing the equipment packs through first. They slid over the edge, only inches from the Celt.

“Staying behind, lover?” she asked.

“Only long enough to buy us some time.” Ryan let his hand drift down to check the small belt pack of plas ex he’d kept.

“You get back with us soon as you can,” Krysty said. She took his face roughly between her hands and kissed him hard on the lips. Then she was out on the eaves, a lithe shadow.

Ryan hurried out of the room, hearing the gaudy slut screaming for attention below.

“My God! Somebody come quick!” the gaudy slut said. “That fucker’s already killed Wieringo!”

Ryan eased out of the room, heading back to the room they’d been given. Men were already rushing up the stairs in answer to the woman’s announcement. They aimed at him and fired on the run. Bullets crashed into the walls of the hallway as Ryan streaked through, tearing leaden fingers through his clothing.

“He killed Wieringo!” the gaudy slut continued. “And robbed him, too!”

Inside the room Ryan set himself alongside the door for just an instant, then whirled around, bringing the Steyr to his shoulder. He squeezed off several rounds, riding the recoil and keeping the rifle centered on the men surging forward.

The 7.62 mm bullets drilled into the lead man and knocked him back, breaking the momentum of the crowd of raiders around him.

Ryan took better aim, then cracked the skulls of two more pursuers, already in motion before the dead men dropped to the middle of the hallway. One of them broke through the railing overhanging the stage area below and went crashing down, ripping the chandelier of candles from the ceiling.

Reaching the window and knowing he had no time to waste, Ryan threw himself through it. Glass broke around him, falling over his shoulders and back. He landed on the eaves with a thud that drove most of the breath from his lungs.

He rolled toward the edge and dropped over a heartbeat ahead of the bullets that shattered the edge of the eaves.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jak drew his .357 Magnum pistol and dropped into the shadows of the building down from the Bent Rose, warned by the sharp reports of gunfire.

“Who is it, lad?” Doc asked.

“Not know,” the albino called back. Doc was at his back, the Le Mat blaster in a hard-knuckled fist. “Gunning for Ryan, though.” He knew that from the flickering gunfire racing through the room atop the tavern that lighted up the one-eyed man’s face briefly.

A moment later, J.B. erupted from the alley atop a horse, followed by Krysty, who held the reins of the horse bearing the Celtic boy.

“Move,” Jak told Doc.

The old man was slow to react, following the albino to the edge of the sidewalk. J.B. spotted them first, bringing his horse to an abrupt stop, wheeling it around in the center of the street and causing it to rear up.

Two men rushed from the front doors of the Bent Rose and started firing.

Managing his horse with his knees and one hand yanking on the reins, the Armorer brought his mount around. The Uzi stuttered sudden thunder in his hand, chopping into Gehrig’s men and spilling their corpses across the street.