James Axler – Shadowfall

Ryan turned, counting heads, feeling a sharp twinge from the arrow wound. Everyone was there, all fully armed. J.B. had the Smith amp; Wesson scattergun over his back, the Uzi slung across his right shoulder.

Jak was limping heavily, his snow-white head bobbing up and down in the streaks of moonlight.

The Steyr across Ryan’s shoulder moved as he set his foot into the stirrup and dealt him a painful blow on top of the bandaged injury. If took a great effort not to yelp at the stabbing pain. He waited a few moments, aware of a fresh warm wetness seeping through the dressing over the wound. The mission wasn’t going to be easy.

Trader swung into the saddle, his shoulders braced, head held high. His voice rang around the cobbled yard. “Everyone ready to ride? Then let’s do it. I want the kid up ahead with me. Rainey, bring up the rear. Rest, find your own places.” He stared at the group of sec men. “Be careful with those crossbows. Get them armed when we stop and leave the horses.”

Ryan fell into place beside Krysty, with Doc and J.B. just behind him. He felt strange to be riding under the orders of Trader once again. It took him back to the long years with the war wags, ravening across Deathlands. The thought of Trader assuming command of the war party had raised a few doubts in his mind, but so far the old man seemed to have it all under control.

THEY PASSED THE CANYON where they’d spotted the wild pigs, but there was no sign of the mutie creatures. Ryan figured they were probably out in the woods, scavenging for themselves. Something to look out for.

The jolting of his horse was causing him a lot of pain in that first hour’s ride. He could tell from the tightness of the Armorer’s face that he, too, was suffering. Jak rode third in line behind Trader and the boy, but his wounded ankle didn’t seem to be giving him any trouble.

“How’s it going, lover?” Krysty’s voice was soft in his ear, her hand patting him on the arm.

“Gone better. Gone worse.”

“Think we can bring Dean out?”

Ryan nodded, his nostrils catching the scent of pinon among the other conifers. The rain had faded away to the south, leaving a mild dampness in the air. “Don’t see why not. Brushwooders don’t have the firepower we do. More numbers, but not a lot more.”

“They’ll be expecting trouble.”

“Sure. Trader plans to circle and all go in at once. That’s his idea.”

“How will he use the sec men?”

“Don’t know. If it was me, I’d have them come in close behind us. Pick up anyone breaking through.”

Krysty’s hair blazed in the moonlight like living fire. “They’re a real nice bunch of guys.”

“Sure. Nice guys”

“Finish last.” She laughed quietly. “I know that one, Ryan. Laughed my diapers off at it. Not sure if it’s true. But I don’t sense any steel in them.”

“Agreed, lover. That’s why close behind us is the safest place for them.”

“Trader explained his plan to you?”

Ryan felt a large drop of water drip from an overhanging branch onto his face, trickling down his cheek and dropping off his chin. “Not in detail.”

“Did he ever?”

“No. Never.”

“Worry you, lover?”

Ryan didn’t answer immediately. “No. Not really.”

NOBODY HAD RECKONED on the fog.

The night had grown cooler, with chill air moving in off the ocean, mixing with the humid, steamy air over the hot springs of the scabbies’ territory and swilling inland toward the brushwooders camp.

By the time it coiled in among the tall pines, it had reduced visibility to less than twenty paces.

Trader stood in the stirrups and lifted his hand to call Ryan and J.B. to join him.

“Boy reckons we’re less than a mile away,” he said. “Fog makes it a different sort of firefight.”

“Go in close?” the Armorer suggested. “They’ll likely have guards out,” Ryan said. “Could be watching, even this far from their camp.”

“Brushwood bastards wouldn’t come up with that,” Trader said. “Too busy fucking and sleeping.”

“Straub’s no stupe.” Ryan straightened himself, unable to restrain a sigh of pain.