“I’ll shoot anyone makes a bad move.” Trader covered the other five with the Annalite. “Get us some food, Abe, if you can find anything in this midden worth the eating or drinking.”
“You fuckin’ killed me. No call Hurts like a kinda spear in me.” His face was working with shock and pain. “Pay for this, you will. Both of you. Won’t just walk away”
“Watch us. Better put that steel on the floor, young fellow. Right now!” The crack of command rang out.
The fat young man dropped the straight razor from his right hand, so clumsily that he almost managed to cut himself. “You’ll be fine, Luke.”
“Not unless you got a good doctor in this place, son,” Trader said. “Hole that bullet made in his back means you’ll be burying him before sunset.”
The sword fell from the weakening fingers, point first, sticking in the splintered planks of the floor, where it quivered for a few seconds until it became still.
Abe hadn’t found much worth taking, but he’d snatched two green bottles of what he hoped were pulque as well as some jerky and a handful of biscuits. “Best get out, Trader,” he said.
The skinniest of the group facing them gave a short, barking laugh. “Trader! Who you joshin’, stranger? Trader died ten years back.”
“Then your friend here got himself chilled by a ghost,” Trader replied, backing toward the door, making sure that Abe was covered by the Armalite.
“Company out here,” Abe stated, peering through the dusty glass of the door into the street. “Old man, three women and one I ain’t sure of.”
“Carrying?”
“One’s got a sawed-down. The old man.” Abe felt a momentary pang of worry as he realized that the “old” man was probably younger than Trader. “The others don’t have any weapons, but it won’t take long.”
“You bastards are dead for that,” said one of the shocked group of men, watching their friend down and dying. “Hunt you like the dogs you are.”
“Heard that a damned lot of times.” Trader glanced over his shoulder at Abe. “Take out the guy carrying the scattergun, and we’ll be able to shake the friendly mud of this wholesome ville off our boots.”
Abe inched out of the door, aware of a hum of movement, like a wasp nest after someone’s poked a stick inside it. The old-timer with the sawed-down looked at him, seeing the gleaming blaster in his hand. He turned on his heel and scuttled away, realizing that he was on a loser.
“Gone,” Abe called.
“Fine.” Trader swiveled the Armalite across the men. “First one to stick his nose out the door gets it blown away. Not a threat. A promise.”
“You are the Trader, aren’t you?” one of them said wonderingly.
“So they say.” He fired a bullet into the ceiling, shaking down the mummified corpse of a large brown rat and several pounds of powdery rust.
Then he was outside, running fast, heading around the corner of the ruined church toward the trees, Abe close at his heels. Someone fired a single echoing shot from a black-powder musket, but the ball went nowhere near either of them.
A lean mongrel snarled and snapped at Trader, but he smashed its skull open with the butt of the rifle, not even breaking step.
“Was it worth it, Trader?” Abe panted, as they got among the friendly shelter of the pines. “Didn’t get away with much worth having.”
“Always worth it. You don’t try, then you don’t succeed, do you?”
Far behind them they could hear shouts and a single, piercing woman’s scream. Abe guessed it was either the dying man’s wife or sister or mother or daughter. In a ville like that it could have been any combination of the four.
And a man’s voice, like a bear, bellowed, “You can run, but you can’t hide from us, outlanders! We know the woods and the valleys, and we’ll catch you.”
“Fuck off!” Trader shouted, bending over, leaning against a tree, fighting for breath.
“Blood for blood” The howl followed them as they struck the steep, winding trail that would lead back safely to their hidden camp.