James Axler – Judas Strike

As the weapon swung toward Jak, the teenager drew his own piece and jerked his wrist the second it cleared the holster to shoot from the hip. The booming Magnum round hit the sec man square in the face, eyes and teeth blowing into the wind as the primed flintlock discharged, the miniball buzzing past Jak so close he felt the passage of its wind on his cheek.

The sec man toppled from the saddle to hit the ground in a crumpled ball. Red blood puddled around the corpse, wisps of steam rising off the warm pool of life fluid.

“Nuke me.” Mitchum exhaled a held breath, creating a small fog. “Never seen speed like that. You’re good, boy, damn good.”

Jak shrugged in response, then slid his Colt Python back into its holster and zipped his jacket over the blaster to help keep it warm. There was nothing special about chilling a stupe. World was full of them, always making noise and getting in the way. They were just a minor annoyance, like skeeters or flies.

“Sir, I could use his boots,” another sec man said eagerly. Then others called out for his blasters and poncho.

“Ain’t mine to give,” Mitchum said, tilting his head toward the albino teenager. “Talk to the owner.”

“Help self. Not want any,” Jak said, climbing back on his horse.

The troopers grinned in delight and proceeded to strip the faceless corpse. Ryan was pleased. Letting them have his stuff was another point in favor of the companions. Besides, it was painfully obvious that nobody had liked the dead man very much, or seemed to mourn his passing.

“It has occurred to me,” Doc said in his deep voice, “that such a creation as this should naturally be antithetic to heat. If we traveled with some torches, the flames should hold off any more of its kind.”

“Most animals hate fire,” Dean agreed.

“Except stickies,” J.B. added, leaning forward. “But it’s a damn good idea. I still got some juice left.”

“What’ll we burn?” Mitchum asked, hugging his blanket tighter. There was nothing in sight but a few bare trees, icy rocks and snow in every direction.

Crunching through the ankle-deep snow, Ryan went to Ann and started cutting away her clothing. Dean rode off to get some branches from a tree with Krysty and Jak on his flanks for protection. Until they had the torches, nobody was going anywhere alone.

Unexpectedly, there was a sharp crack and a riderless horse dropped lifeless to the frozen earth.

“Dinner is served,” Mildred announced, holstering her smoking ZKR and drawing a sharp knife.

WITH RAW HORSE filling their bellies, the mood of the group improved noticeably and tempers cooled. Riding through the day and into night, the travelers kept the torches burning with strips of diesel-soaked clothing and took turns sleeping in the saddles. Along the way, the nervous sec men fired a dozen times into the snow, chilling a couple of rabbits and wounding something that bled green, but it ran off so fast nobody was able to get a second shot. Might have been a snow cat, or it might not. It was impossible to say.

By dawn, the group was past the frost line and descending into the warmth once more. As the sun crested the horizon, the torches were tossed away and everybody relaxed. Now that they were past the snow, the snow cats wouldn’t dare to attack. Here in the green grass and trees, their weird color would only make them incredibly visible. Easy targets for anybody.

“Better.” Jak sighed and unzipped his jacket.

“This is my fav time of day,” Mitchum said, smiling, luxuriating in the golden dawn. “It’s what Ratak means in some old speak, sunrise.”

“Any more meat?” Dean asked, riding over to Krysty.

“Sure,” she answered, passing over a strip. The dead animal had been skinned, and its hide made into a sack stuffed with snow and the best cuts of meat. Now that they were warming up, the snow wouldn’t last long, but with any luck it was only a few hours to the ville.

“You know, I once read that the ancient Mongols used to place raw meat under the saddles first thing in the morning, and when they stopped at night would eat the meat cooked by the heat of their horses.”