The coldheart screamed in pain and fear, and fought against Ryan. Before the man could get himself set, Ryan slapped the side of his head with the muzzle of the 9 mm blaster. The skin broke, and blood sprayed over Ryan’s hand.
“Fireblast,” Ryan snarled, rubbing as much of the blood on his pants as he could. He didn’t want it running inside his grip and loosening his hold on his blaster.
The man tried to bring up his rifle.
Ryan slapped it away with his forearm, then kicked the man in the crotch with his steel-toed boot.
All the fight in the man drained away, and he spilled to the ground in a limp heap.
Ryan seized the rifle and threw it into the brush. If he’d been able, he’d have taken it and used it to barter someplace else. But now it would only serve to slow him. A dead man couldn’t trade.
“Who are you?” Ryan asked the man.
The coldheart’s eyes flared in pain. The one on the left was already turning red from the broken blood vessels spewing into it. “Jenkins.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“Come after Baron Shaker,” Jenkins answered. “Hired on with a man named Callton a few months back. We been hunting Shaker ever since.”
“Why?”
The man shook his head, holding one hand to his temple. “Mister, I don’t know. Callton, he collects things. Found out Shaker does, too. A couple times, we weren’t hunting Shaker—he was hunting us. Same reason.”
“What kind of things are they collecting?”
“Predark stuff. Comp progs. High-tech stuff that doesn’t even work no more. Doesn’t make sense if you ask me, but Callton keeps the jack coming on time.”
“If I let you go,” Ryan offered, “you get the fuck out of here.”
“Sure thing, mister.” Hope dawned in the coldheart’s eyes. He scrambled to his feet when Ryan let him go, then moved uncertainly toward the trading post.
For a moment, Ryan thought the guy was going to leave. But in the end, pride or stupidity laid the final ace on the line and he dived for his rifle.
Ryan put a bullet in his brain for his trouble, tearing out the side of the coldheart’s head that he’d already brutalized. Ryan was already moving again when the corpse fell.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ryan came across Jak less than fifty yards on. The albino lay low in the tall grass, choking the life from a mutie snake nearly six feet long that wrapped around the youth’s arm.
“Bite you?” Ryan asked.
Jak snorted derisively. “Never had chance. Got him before got me.” He nodded ahead of them. “Run out of cover.”
Ryan scanned the free line as Jak threw the dead snake away. They were at the outer perimeter. Beyond it was the open space leading to the drop-off where the rope bridges to the boat were.
“Got no choice,” Ryan said as the rest of the companions came up around them. “Without the boat, we’re too far away from anywhere we want to be.”
“You planning on going out there?” Elmore asked incredulously.
“Yeah.”
“Going to get us all chilled.”
“No. Going to get us out of here.” Ryan gave instructions, spreading the companions out and building a skirmish line. Callton’s sec forces had dug themselves into the forest on the other side of the clearing, and in the area more toward the trading post in the area where Ryan and the companions were.
Three coldhearts bolted from the forest on their side. J.B. opened up with the Uzi as they started firing and yelling to the others, attracting attention. The Armorer’s vicious figure eight lifted the three men from their feet and sent them spinning away.
“Cat’s out of the bag now,” Mildred said, picking off two more coldhearts who’d turned their attention on the companions. “We move, or we die right here.” She moved her ZKR 551 and fired again, taking out a third man.
“Jak,” Ryan growled, “you got the lead. Chances are some of the coldhearts are aboard the boat, holding it in case they have to retreat.”
The albino grinned thinly. “Not hold it long.”
“Doc, you’re next. We can use that big blaster of yours to clear the way. Mildred, J.B., you’re bringing up drag. Dean, Krysty, keep the others moving along.”