Evidently the man had been trying to take Jak down without alerting anyone to the fact. To manage the knife throw downward onto a man on horseback and come as close as he had, the albino knew the soldier was deadly.
Crossing the man’s target zone, Jak flicked two of the leaf-bladed knives toward the soldier. They glimmered in the moonlight for just a second. The dull thunk of a blade sinking into wood told Jak one of them had buried itself in the eaves, but the other had to have found flesh.
The rat-faced man cursed and curled in on himself for an instant. The machine pistol in his hands chattered briefly, cutting a staggered line of bullets into the street and chipping away at the rooftop.
Counting down the seconds in his head, Jak brought the horse around. An irregular line of gunners had formed at the far end of the alley. Kicking his heels into his mount’s sides, he rode back the way he’d come, knowing he was a moving target for the man on the rooftop.
He searched the alleyway for the second explosive, then spotted it in a lopsided rut that had been cut through the hard ground. Bullets rent the air around him.
Relying on his acrobatic skills, knowing he had only seconds left before the first plas-ex package went off, Jak shoved himself out of the saddle. He ripped the knife loose from the pommel base and gripped it, sliding it expertly through his fingers until he got it in a throwing hold.
Both legs on the left side of the saddle, his right foot in the stirrup, Jak dropped his free foot and kicked the plas ex. The pounding horses’ hooves swallowed whatever sound there might have been. The package flew from the rut, then slammed into the rear tire of the second wag and bounced underneath. Jak figured the curb or the back of the tavern would stop the explosive somewhere beneath the wag.
A beefy man with a shotgun stepped from the back door of the tavern ten yards in front of the bolting horse. He raised his weapon to his shoulder.
Seeing the danger, Jak whipped his arm back and let the knife fly. The keen blade lodged in the man’s throat a heartbeat too late.
The shotgun belched out a twisted orange-and-white blossom.
Jak heard the meaty smacks of the pellets slapping into flesh an instant before he felt the heat of the horse’s blood spread over him.
Knowing the horse was dead or dying from the shotgun blast, the albino dropped from the stirrup, managing a staggering run beside the faltering animal just long enough to free one of the leaf-bladed knives from its hiding place. He swiped the keen edge across the reins securing the second horse to the saddle pommel of the first, then caught them up as they fell loose.
Tugging on the reins, he guided the animal to the other side of the alley, knowing the first explosive would be blowing at any second. Gehrig’s raiders who’d taken up positions on that side of the alley were caught off guard. Jak buried the knife he held between the ribs of one man and watched the guy go stumbling away, his face suddenly waxen with pain and surprise.
The youth hooked a foot in the stirrup as controlled bursts from the machine pistol in the hands of the man on the eaves across the street took out the windows of the hardware store. He drew the .357 Magnum pistol fluidly and hunkered down so he could fire from beneath the horse’s neck.
He fired four rounds as quick as he could trigger them. The horse flinched, but it never broke stride.
The rat-faced man went to cover, breaking loose shingles that rained on the men below. Alerted to the fact that someone was above them, Gehrig’s raiders suddenly found themselves with two targets.
The rat-faced soldier was in a worse way than Jak was, but the albino couldn’t find a bit of sympathy in himself. He fired his last two rounds in the face of another raider who was in the shadows ahead of him.