James Axler – Judas Strike

Going to the waterfall, he stuck a hand through and gestured for the others to join him. In short order the rest of the companions exited the tunnel and marveled at the beautiful hidden grotto and its pristine golden beach.

“That our boat?” Mildred asked, squeezing some of the excess water from her beaded locks.

“Hope so,” Ryan said, and, grabbing a fistful of canvas he yanked hard. The material easily slid off, exposing a wag underneath, not an oceangoing vessel of any kind.

It was a predark school bus, covered in splotches of green and brown, jungle camou. The glass windows along both sides had been replaced with thick sheet-metal tack welded into place, and the front windshield was protected by a heavy iron grid, the bar studded with knife blades gleaming with oil. The rear window in the exit door had the same. Triangular spikes with barbed tips jutted from the rims of the wheels, and double tires were bolted to each axle, giving the wag tremendous traction. Blasters were everywhere, but there were no attached weapons that they could spot. With all the weight of the armor, Ryan doubted the wag made much speed, but it looked ready to travel.

Jimmying open the door, J.B. climbed inside and saw that the back of the wag was stacked high with crates and barrels of supplies, poorly lettered wording showing what each contained: led, blakpoder, dri fesh, watr, chyen and such. Crates of longblasters filled the rear seats, and a crossbow hung from the ceiling along with quivers of bolts.

“Enough supplies to start a new ville,” Mildred said over his shoulder.

“I think that was the idea,” Doc noted wryly. “How fortunate for us.”

“Well, this clunker isn’t War Wag One or the Leviathan,” J.B. said, taking a seat by the front door. “But it’ll do for today.”

Jak went straight to the rear door and checked its status, while Dean took a spot in the middle. Closing the double doors, Ryan dropped his backpack and sat just behind the driver’s seat. Krysty slid behind the wheel and turned the ignition switch one click to check the gauges and controls. Ryan knew that she had the best night vision, so it made sense for her to drive the wag. Headlights would only have made them a moving target for the flintlocks of the ville sec men. Or worse, any cannon the ville might have mounted for wall defenses.

Dim lights brightened on the dashboard, and Krysty tapped the fuel gauge with a finger to make sure it was a true reading.

“Okay, we have plenty of battery power and full tanks of juice,” she reported, strapping herself into the seat.

“Head for the docks,” Ryan directed. “Glassman has PT boats there. If we strike fast, we might be able steal one and use its Firebirds to blow the others apart.”

“Sounds good. Buckle in. Here we go!” Krysty clicked the ignition switch all the way, and the engine turned over but didn’t start. Then she saw the choke on the dashboard, set that to the middle position, pumped the gas and tried again. This time the engines caught with a sputtering cough, rattling and backfiring before roaring into life, black smoke blowing out the tailpipes. Startled birds flew out of the trees screaming, as the bus backfired again, sounding louder than a shotgun.

“Unless they’re deaf, the sec men will know where we are now,” Ryan grumped. “Hit the gas, and let’s move!”

Shifting gears, Krysty hit the clutch and rocked the bus back and forth a few times to escape the sand, then rolled forward, building speed, and plowed through the camou netting to emerge on a rocky beach. The log wall of Ratak ville stood on a gentle swell to their right, the docks straight ahead. A four-masted schooner was moored in the deep water, six of the deadly PT boats tied at the wooden pier. An oil lantern draped with cloth hung from a post, giving off a peculiar green glow. A seasoned traveler on ships, Doc had no idea what that could possibly mean.

Keeping the headlights off, using only the muted moonlight, Krysty rumbled along the sandy beach, the ocean spray misting the windows on the left side. Quickly, the companions got ready to board and storm the first petey. But the bus got only halfway there, when brilliant electric lights crashed on to sweep the beach and captured them in a deadly wash of clear illumination.