James Axler – Gemini Rising

“True, but”

“Besides,” he continued, “it takes a day for horses to ride from one ville to the next, and nobody has enough to mount troops. On foot, the villes are several days apart. Thirty miles is no small distance to cover. Fuel is more scarce every year, and we constantly cannibalize the broken wags to keep the remaining few operating.

“Plus, how can we communicate with one another? Even our most powerful radios won’t reach more than a mile because of the nuke trash in the air, and batteries grow weaker each year. Riders would take too long and are easily stopped.” Nathan ticked off the items on his fingers. “We can’t communicate with one another, and rescue troops would take too long to ever arrive in time to help. Unifying the baronies is a masterful idea, brilliant, but it will never work.”

The attending sec men coughed and shuffled their boots, waiting for an outcome to the discussion. This was baron talk, and not really their concern until one of the men drew a weapon and the expected bloodbath began. None of them could understand why their leaders had waited this long to chill the other man.

“Oh, I have a way,” Overton said softly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Good. How?”

Suddenly, the sound of blasterfire erupted outside and people began to shout.

“Are we being attacked?” Overton demanded, striding to the window. Privately, he raged over the incompetence of the fools. They weren’t supposed to attack the ville until they got his signal! The baron glanced down but could only see the courtyard below and a thin slice of the moat around the fortress.

“I don’t hear the alarm bell,” Nathan said, rising wearily from the chair to head to another window. The sec men there made way for him, and the baron leaned out as far as the iron bars would allow.

On the main road to the walled ville, a lone wag was drawing near. The predark vehicle was surrounded by people waving their arms and faintly shouting, but at that distance it was only noise. More and more people joined the mob around the wag, some of them firing their blasters into the air in celebration.

“What the hell is going on?” Overton demanded, unsnapping the flap of his covered holster, the butt of his Desert Eagle jutting backward from the holster.

It was a seemingly ridiculous thing to do with a blaster, but Nathan had seen the man cross draw with either hand equally fast and knew the truth of the matter. Overton was a gunner, and a bastard good one. Perhaps even as good as he thought he was.

“We have important guests,” Nathan said, trying to suppress a smile. The cries of the crowd were finally becoming discernible, and mixed in with the general hurrahs was a single worda name, actually.

Overton stiffened as he finally caught the name the crowd was shouting, and he slammed men aside as he rushed from the war room with blaster in hand.

THE FLATBED TRUCK STOPPED at the foot of the drawbridge, the cheering throng so thick that Ryan couldn’t drive any closer. Endlessly, the dancing people waved their hands in the air and chanted his name.

Killing the engine, Ryan stayed behind the wheel as the rest of the companions climbed from the rear of the truck. Everybody that was, except Mildred and Krysty, as they were still at the campsite. Krysty’s fever had finally broken, but the woman was much too weak to take into a potentially dangerous situation, so Mildred volunteered to stay and nurse her back to health. Besides, J.B. had added sagely, it never hurt to have a few folks in reserve when boldly walking into a viper’s nest like Front Royal. The plan made sense, and Ryan agreed reluctantly.

“They sure like you,” Clem drawled, standing at ease with the Enfield cradled in his arms.

“Appears so,” Ryan admitted, beeping the horn to try to clear a path to the drawbridge. The noise only made the crowd shout louder and fire more blasters skyward. It was a triple-stupe waste of ammo, and the chanting was starting to get on his nerves. This was why the one-eyed warrior hadn’t even attempted to sneak into the ville like their last visit. His scarred face was just too well-known here.