Swinging back and forth to the rhythm of the hind legs, J.B. got the timing down and jabbed out with his elbow to stab the horse directly in the testes. The stallion screamed and kicked backward. Caught by surprise, the rider tumbled over the animal and hit the ground hard, rolling wildly with his arms and legs failing like a broken puppet.
Guttural laughter sounded from the riders of other horses, and the mount he was on abruptly slowed to a canter, the beast turned to snap at the man dangling under its vulnerable stomach, bringing the munitions bag close enough for J.B. to snatch the wire stock and haul the Uzi free. Timing pencils and coils of fuse came with the blaster and tumbled away, but the Armorer paid them no attention.
Several horses came to a stop, and men began to dismount when a woman screamed, and the startled riders turned their attention to her for a moment.
But that split second was all that J.B. needed. Flipping the weapon over, he worked the bolt with his jaw and clumsily placed the barrel of the blaster to the knotted ropes and fired a short burst. The horse bucked wildly at the blaster fire from underneath, making him drop the weapon, but the rope was torn to pieces and he fell to the ground.
Heavy hooves stomped all around J.B., sinking inches into the soil, and he frantically rolled clear. Then he threw himself back under the beast to reclaim his blaster. Angry voices sounded from the advancing gray men, and several drew big flintlock pistols. Another uncoiled a lasso from his belt.
“Fuck you!” J.B. shouted through his mouthful of rag and started firing on full-auto, spraying the coldhearts with half a clip, turning quickly in a full circle. Those closest to him fell over riddled with copper-jacketed lead. Startled by the noise, the horses bucked, and the riders cried out, clutching the reins with both hands, unable to attack for the moment. Then the Uzi jammed, and J.B. feverishly worked the bolt to clear the malfunctioning cartridge. Not now.
Horses circled him, kicking up clouds of dust. A blaster fired in a thunderous boom, the black powder blowing an acrid cloud of smoke over the area, and his fedora was yanked off his head by the near miss. Shitfire, too close! Cold adrenaline filled his body and, slamming his fist onto the breech, J.B. got the round loose and started to fire 9 mm rounds at the masked riders. He jerked the barrel of the Uzi away from a horse with a woman bound across its back exactly as he had been. Then he recognized, the ragged clothing. It was Ann!
Just then a lasso snaked out of nowhere to land around the man’s shoulders. As J.B. jerked away, the rope drew tight and he was yanked off his feet, but he kept hold of the Uzi. This was how the bastards got him in the ville. It wasn’t going to work twice.
Another landed on his boots, and he managed to slip out of the closing loop. Running toward the rider holding the rope loosened the lasso, and J.B. shrugged his way out. A third flew toward him, and the Armorer blew it out of the air with a hip shot. Going to single rounds, he fired again and again, constantly moving to avoid any more of the those freakishly accurate lassos.
A riderless horse slammed into his side, knocking J.B. to the ground. Hooves pounded everywhere, one coming so close it grazed his cheek. Hugging the Uzi, he rolled away to avoid the smashing hooves. He fired twice more and the blaster clicked empty.
Throwing the weapon at a gray man, J.B. took off at a run, pelting down the riverbed with all of his strength. The banks were too high to climb easily. He had to find another section where he could get into the jungle. The horses and lassos would be useless there. He’d have a fighting chance to live.
Flintlocks fired from behind, and the ground puffed as the miniballs plowed into the hard soil. That only spurred him on to greater speed. Then he heard galloping hooves, and he knew they were after him again. No way could he outrun a horse, even with the load of dead bodies each was carrying.