James Axler – Freedom Lost

“Could improve his dumb-ass looks,” J.B. muttered angrily.

The sec man Ryan had drilled staggered to his feet, holding his chest and ribs with both hands. His face was a twisted mask of agony as he tried awkwardly to stand. Ryan reached over and shoved him back down hard on the ground.

“Ow, goddammit!” the man roared. “Wearing armor under those work clothes, aren’t you?” Ryan remarked calmly.

“Best purchase I ever made. Saved my ass twice before,” he managed to gasp in a voice tight with pain and fear.

“Too bad they don’t make it for the head.”

“You weren’t aiming for my head.”

“I am now,” Ryan said, making a point of aiming the SIG-Sauer right between the man’s eyes.

“Shit!” the man cried out, bringing his hands up to his face.

“Hold still. No, don’t keep trying to get up or I’ll drop you coldcocked like your pal over there.”

The man looked over at his comrade lying unconscious at the edge of the road.

“He chilled?”

“No, just sleepy. What I want you to do is roll over flat on your stomach with your hands above your head. Cross your legs like a bashful gaudy slut and keep them that way until I tell you to move,” Ryan ordered.

The man complied, groaning with the effort of contorting his already aching body.

“Now, I’m going to ask you some questions,” Ryan said. “I want answers and I want them fast, or I’m going to start blowing you apart piece by piece, and no body armor is going to stop it. You get me?”

“Wait a second. We’re sec men out of Freedom. You’re getting awfully damn close to the area we’re supposed to protect.”

Ryan looked to Alton for confirmation. Alton shrugged and pointed to the identical green denim jackets the two men wore. On the right arm of each was a white patch with an ornate cursive F in a circle.

“They’re wearing Freedom colors and patches like sec men. Could be telling the truth.”

“Don’t mean much. They could’ve stolen the clothes from Freedom or even chilled the real guards for the threads and hardware,” J.B. said.

“What are your names?” Ryan asked.

“I’m Michaelson. The guy you knocked cold is Isaac.”

“Mike and Ike. That’s real cute,” Ryan said mockingly.

Dean had collected the dropped handblasters the men were carrying in the attack and gave one of them to J.B. for identification.

“Twin Colts, the 2000 model,” the Armorer said. “This was the first gun from Colt that broke away from the old John Browning original design of the locking breech that drops and swings. The top lug locks into a recess in the slide, and the bottom lug rides in a cam path cut into a cam blocksee? The block rests in the frame. The firing mechanisms on these pistols were also innovative. The mag release is ambidextrous, and there’s no form of applied safety. The self-cocking mechanism is set up so you can’t accidentally shoot yourself in the foot.”

“Thanks, J.B. That’s probably more than I needed to know,” Dean replied.

“One more thingthese blasters use 9 mm ammo.”

“Good, we can use the bullets,” Ryan answered, turning his full attention back to the prone captured man. “Ready to talk, Mike? Why were you and your buddy out here?”

“Looking for stickies. They been giving us holy hell at Freedom. Every night they slink around, starting fires, chilling travelers, blowing things up. Not only is it a major pain in the collective ass, but the sons of bitches are getting dangerous. We’ve started widening the perimeter of our patrols to see if we can catch them out in the daylight.”

Ryan nodded. “And what happens if you do?”

“Then we chill the stickie bastards.”

“All two of you?” Mildred asked sarcastically. Jak snorted in derisive agreement.

The fallen sec man looked insulted. “We’re the advance team, the lookouts. Looking down, we got carried away and thought you were stickies.”

Ryan lashed out with the steel-reinforced toe of his scuffed boot, catching the man in the hipbone, making him cry out. “Wrong answer, friend. Want to try again?”

“Damn, mister, you don’t have to kick me!”