James Axler – Judas Strike

“A gangbang,” the colonel stated gruffly. The swamp stickies had been doing a lot of that lately. Attacking in larger and larger groups to ace passing norms. Blasters weren’t stopping them anymore.

“Mebbe they are aced, sir,” a corporal suggested, peeking in through a busted window frame. “And something dragged the bodies away. Lots of things will eat norm flesh that’s black with rot, but never touch a fresh mutie corpse.”

“That’s true,” the sergeant agreed, kicking at some debris on the cracked pavement.

Yes, it was possible, even likely, but Mitchum didn’t trust such an easy answer. He wouldn’t believe Ryan was dead until he saw the body and cut out its heart.

“What about their possessions?” Mitchum demanded, walking around the twisted shell of the broken wag. “Are their backpacks or the rapidfires still inside?”

“No, sir,” a private answered. “We looked, but those are gone.”

“They’re alive!” Mitchum growled, slamming a fist into the side of the bus, denting the weakened metal. Ryan and his people were alive and had escaped again. Animals might have dragged away the bodies, but not the blasters.

“What a heap of dreck,” a sergeant snorted in disgust. “Must of hit that log and gone flying. Shitfire, both axles are busted to pieces, and the engine block is cracked. Look at that oil spill! There’s no way I could fix this wag. It was in better shape when we dug it out of those ruins.”

“Might be able to find a few parts that work,” a private suggested, lifting a wheel-bearing assembly from one of the axles. It was slightly bent, but still should work. He tucked it into a pocket.

“Stop that,” Mitchum directed, going for his horse. “We’ll scav for anything usable on the return. But first we find those rad-sucking outlanders and send them to Davey in pieces.”

Mounting his horse, he walked it to the middle of the roadway, watching the trees for snipers. Nothing was stirring, but he didn’t relax. Something was terribly wrong here; he just didn’t know what it was.

“I want a recce of the whole area,” Mitchum directed. “If they walked away, there’ll be tracks. Sergeant, form three teams of five men. The outlanders are still alive, and we will find them!”

“Yes, sir!” the sergeant replied with a smart salute.

Then a voice shouted from inside the wag. “Hey, there’s a pile of flintlocks in here, and they ain’t even scratched!”

“Any ammo?” another asked, walking closer.

“Sure! Lots!”

Battle instincts flared, and Mitchum spun in the saddle.

“Don’t touch those!” he bellowed. “It’s a trap!”

But the warning was too late. A sec man cried out as something inside the bus burst into a sizzling chem spray. There followed a small explosion, then a roaring whoosh as flames filled the bus, stretching out the windows and doorways to completely engulf the vehicle in a rapidly expanding fireball.

“They boobied the fuel!” a man shrieked as a burning wave of shine blew him out the door, clothes and hair instantly bursting into flames.

Desperately covering his face, Mitchum dropped behind his horse for protection as the hellstorm washed over the group of startled sec men, igniting them like greasy torches.

The conflagration consumed the entire area, the growing flames reaching to the trees, and the screams of the dying men seemed to last forever.

PUSHING THEIR WAY through the dense greenery, Ryan stopped as Krysty whirled to look behind them.

“Trouble?” he asked, grabbing his blaster.

“They found the booby,” she said. “I pity them.”

“Fuck ’em,” Jak snarled, limping along. A tree branch had been cut into a crude crutch, and the teenager was stiffly hobbling along, his face a mask of barely contained fury.

Hoisting her med kit, Mildred didn’t blame him for being angry. A barrel of shine had fallen on his leg in the crash, giving the teenager a sprained ankle. She had wrapped it tight with wet strips of cloth that would tighten as they dried. Not much, but it was the best she could do. The sprain had to be very painful, but the teenager didn’t complain. Mildred had two aspirins she was holding in reserve until nightfall to help him get to sleep. But the more he walked, the worse it would feel.