Lori was the only one who spoke, staring through her ob-slit at the stranger.
“He got a face like a sheep-killing dog,” she said.
J.B. watched through the back of the wag, calling to Ryan. “The crazy isn’t moving. Just stands there, look-ing at our dust.”
They kept moving and reached the river near evening as the sun was sinking behind the rolling hills that stretched as far west as the eye could see. After the chance encoun-ter with the mysterious young man, Ryan had ordered them to keep the ob-slits half-shut and made sure the roof vent remained bolted.
There had been discontented muttering about the heat, mainly from Doc Tanner, but Ryan had been concerned that the low bushes seemed to be getting closer to the edge of the highway, making a sneak attack that much easier to mount.
The wag rolled over the top of a low rise, and Jak jammed on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a shudder-ing halt.
“What’s…? Ah, I see it. Best get ready, friends. Looks like we might have us some trouble here.”
There was a battered pair of old Zeiss binoculars hang-ing from a hook at the side of the front passenger seat, and Ryan took them down. The focusing screw was stiff,
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the lenses not properly balanced, but he got enough vi-sual information through one eyepiece to make out that the bridge across the Delaware was well guarded. At least a half-dozen figures were standing near it, looking up at the wag, which was poised on the crest of the hill. They were all carrying blasters, which looked to be long-barreled, single-action pieces.
“They seen us,” Ryan said calmly. “Shouldn’t worry us more’n a mosq-bite. We’ll play it this way.”
josiah shubert held up his hand, the thumb and seven fingers spread in a warning to the lumbering sec wag to slow down. The blaster ports were all closed, and the driver was hidden by the setting sun glaring off the rein-forced glass.
“Whoa down, Renz!” he shouted.
Jak went carefully through the gears, foot holding the brake. His other foot hovered over the gas pedal, waiting for the order from Ryan Cawdor to move out.
Ryan had his visor down on the passenger side. J.B. was covering the rear. Krysty and Lori were on the right of the wag, Doc on the left. All waited, crouched, behind the ob-slits.
“Back early, Renz. Forget something, did ya?”
The wag was inching forward, Jak struggling to keep the powerful engine from stalling on him. As well as the leader of the group, there were six men, mostly on the driver’s side. One was by Ryan’s side window, picking his nose and carefully examining what he’d excavated. The last of the men lounged against a painted pole that rested on a pair of old barrels on either side of the rickety bridge.
“Roll it down and hand the jack,” Shubert ordered, his voice suddenly holding an edge of suspicion, an edge Ryan instantly recognized.
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“Go.”
Jak stomped down, and the wag jerked forward, slowly starting to gather momentum. The albino had his Mag-num resting in his lap, and he snatched it up. Shubert jumped for the running board and hauled himself up. He had a taped .32 in his hand, and jammed it in the narrow slit of the sec window.
“You ain’t Renz, ya mutie bastard! We’ll chill ya right-”
“Shut it,” Jak yelled, shooting the man through his open mouth. The bullet smashed a great chunk of bone out of the back of his head and kicked him into the dirt on the side of the road.
It was the only shot that anyone aboard the wag needed to fire. Ryan had been right in his summing-up of the blaster threat from the men. With their leader rolling, screaming and dying, none of them wanted to be dead heroes.
The armored radiator of the wag tore through the pole barrier, splitting it in two, one half wheeling high in the air and eventually splashing down near the edge of the mud-died waters of the Delaware.
Ryan heard the thin sound of a ragged volley from the muskets, but as far as he could tell none of them struck the retreating wag.