“Any more horses?” Doc asked, leaning against the brick wall.
“Too weak,” Jak said, touching the man on the shoulder. “Shot.”
Doc winced at the contact, but stayed firm. “Nonsense. That trifle will not even slow me!”
“Doesn’t matter,” J.B. stated glumly. “He killed all of the horses in the stable. Or at least badly wounded them.”
“Did Clem return with the truck?” Ryan demanded, clenching a fist.
“Not through this locale,” Doc answered. “At least, not since I have been here.”
Nathan grimaced. “We have several wags. But unfortunately, they are at Ox Bow, near the fuel dump. My sec chief wanted them away from Overton in case of emergencies. And I wasn’t planning on leaving the ville alive.”
A good notion that just backfired on them.
Ryan stepped farther into the tunnel as if going to chase after the man on foot. There had to be something they could do. He couldn’t let the coldheart escape alive to strike at them again. This matter would never be over until one of them was buried in the dirt with his throat cut.
“Hey, Dad, weren’t there some motorcycles in that garage?” Dean asked, scratching his head in thought.
Chapter Nineteen
The sun was creeping toward the horizon when a roaring sound filled the ville courtyard. Ryan charged through the gatehouse tunnel, hunched low over the handlebars of a badly battered motorcycle. The windshield was gone, only jagged pieces of glass remaining to line the support bar like a wall of transparent daggers. The engine was discolored from the C-4 blast, the frame shook at every bump and blue smoke poured from the exhaust. But it did run, and this was the best of the three bikes from the garage.
How Krysty had survived the explosion he chalked up to sheer luck. By all accounts, she should have been blown to bits. Yet according to J.B., she had never been in any real danger from the poison gas, since it was lighter than air. Maybe Overton had brought the stuff along to toss into the front door of the keep and have it waft up the stairs, clearing out Nathan’s sec men if they had made a last stand there.
“South!” Doc shouted at the top of his lungs as the motorcycle sped by at forty miles per hour.
Slowing to try to control the shakes caused by the irregular cobblestones, Ryan shot the man a puzzled glance, then nodded in understanding. Overton had been spotted by somebody. Good. Twisting the throttle on the handlebars, he gunned the 200 cc engine to the max and roared off again, spewing oil and gas in his wake.
Along with the assorted damage, the bike possessed a holster that was a perfect fit for an AK-47, so Ryan had one of the blasters tucked in there, but he had his Steyr and another Kalashnikov strapped across his back. It would be hours if not more before Nathan could get another motorcycle fixed, or have people run to Ox Bow near the Sorrow River and drive back a wag. Ryan was alone on this chase, so he brought along every blaster he could carry. There was even a spare knife from Krysty tucked into his boot, a thirteen-inch parkerized blade, sharper than a lie from a friend.
Even with the extra armament, Ryan knew he was at a serious disadvantage. The bike made a lot of noise, and the horse was quiet. But the bike had ten times the speed, and hopefully that would make the difference.
Roaring through the forest road, Ryan waited for a clear section of road and killed the engine. The soil crunched beneath his tires, the wind sighed past his ears and the hot metal of the internal combustion engine ticked as it contracted. Ryan tried to hear beyond those noises, and distinctly heard a horse whinny in the distance. To his left?
It sounded again. Yes, to his left. Twisting the handlebar throttle, Ryan restarted the engine and eased in the clutch, jumping forward with renewed speed. An unseen rain gully almost toppled him from his ungainly mount, but he fought the wobble in the bent frame, staying erect and moving.