Turning in midstep, J.B. dashed for the nearest embankment and started to scramble up the side of the riverbed. The soil broke loose under his hands, and he kept sliding back down. But he was still making headway. Less than a yard to go, then he slid back two feet. Throwing himself for the edge so tantalizingly close, J.B. grabbed hold of the grassy top when a flurry of blasterfire rang out, and he braced for the arrival of the hot pain.
Then the blasters roared again, and he realized those weren’t flintlocks shooting. Glancing over a shoulder, J.B. saw the rest of the companions charging up the riverbed in the old bulldozer, Ryan in the shovel and steadily triggering the Steyr. Another gray rider fell, and the last one turned to flee when Doc unleashed the LeMat. The handcannon boomed like doomsday in the confines of the riverbed, and the rider flew out of the saddle to land on the ground in a crumpled heap with most of his skull blown away.
“Get those horses!” J.B. shouted, then released his grip and slid down the embankment on the seat of his pants.
As Ryan turned off the dozer, several of the companions started to walk toward the horses, talking softly and making clucking noises with their tongues. The beasts were skittish, but obviously well-trained as they didn’t bolt. Soon the five horses were gathered by the reins and brought back to the dozer.
“Whoa, there. Easy does it,” Krysty said in a soothing voice, tethering the reins to one of the hydraulic lifters of the dozer. The animals sniffed curiously at the huge machine, but didn’t shy away. Then she noticed the heavy scarring on their flanks, not from spurs, but whips. The horses had been beaten into submission like any human slave, the will to rebel crushed completely. They wouldn’t have dared to run away. Fear ruled their hearts.
“We’re going to need those animals to get Ann,” J.B. said, limping over to the dozer. His clothes were torn and bloody in spots, his hands turning purple from the tight ropes cutting off the circulation.
“We know,” Jak said, producing a blade. Carefully, he cut away the remnants of rope from the man’s wrists.
“Thanks,” J.B. said, rubbing his sore wrists. There were chafe marks on top of his old scars. It wasn’t the first time he’d been bound by rope.
“They came in through the windows. Almost got me and Mildred, too,” Dean stated. “I think they knew it was the baron’s home.”
“Want a drink?” Krysty offered.
“Dark night, yes!”
The canteen was passed over and the Armorer drank greedily, the excess running down his cheeks. Then he poured some into his palms and washed the dirt off his face.
“Better,” he said, returning the canteen. Then he hawked and spit, and bloody saliva hit the ground. Damn, busted a tooth. “Got my hat?”
“In the dozer. What happened?” Mildred asked, checking his face and ribs. There didn’t seem to be any serious damage, just a lot of fresh bruises forming. The wiry little man was as tough as old boot leather.
Briefly, J.B. explained while reclaiming his dropped blaster. The Uzi was dusty and dirty, but undamaged. Ryan passed over a box of 9 mm rounds, and the man reloaded the 30-round clip. All of the Armorer’s spare clips and ammo were now with the gray men. Plus his munitions bag.
A few yards away, Doc went to one of the corpses and pulled off a gray mask. The face underneath seemed perfectly normal, no obvious mutations or differences. How odd. One at a time, he went through their clothing and found several flintlocks, plus several pounds of black powder and lead shot. He filled his ammo pouch and left the rest. As far as the old man was concerned, the abundance of black powder for his Civil War blaster was the only good thing about these wretched islands.
“Five horses, seven people,” Ryan said, checking the cinches on the saddles. “Going to be slow traveling. But we’ve got no choice. Ann helped me escape. We have to at least try to get her free.”
“Agreed.”