James Axler – Starfall

On the evening of the fourth day, they found Michael Donovan, the Heimdall Foundation man they’d come deep into Montana to find.

Trouble was, others had found him first.

“THAT’S DONOVANS BOAT,” Elmore said.

The river here was becalmed and placid. J.B. had found some old maps aboard the boat that listed the river in Mon­tana as the Jefferson River. At least, that was the location the Armorer’s minisextant indicated.

Donovan’s boat was nearly twice the size of Junie, strung with rigging that looked as delicate as a spiderweb. She looked as though she’d cut through the water like a knife blade through butter once her sails were gathering the wind.

But not now.

Now the big boat was listing in the wind, the few sails she had up catching the breeze the wrong way. Around her were seven smaller craft that Ryan could see through his binocs. Four of them were small motor craft, and three of them looked like water bikes.

The sound of blasterfire echoed flat across the river.

“Who are they?” Ryan demanded.

“River pirates,” Elmore stated. “Get them through here a lot. Especially during the rainy season. Come down to see what they can find washed up on shore. If they don’t feel like doing the work themselves, they take stuff they want from other folks already took the time to salvage it.”

“Why doesn’t Donovan have a bigger crew if he knows these coldhearts are going to be out here?” J.B. asked.

“Probably does have a bigger crew back at the main campsite,” Elmore said. “He likes to do his own explor­ing.”

Ryan put his eye back to the binoculars, reeling the at­tack back into focus. “Man’s got to be out of his mind to go anywhere alone if he’s got an army to go with him.”

“I think, my dear Ryan,” Doc spoke up, “that the more appropriate nomenclature at this juncture would be navy. That Donovan has a navy at his back.”

“If we don’t step in,” Ryan stated, “Donovan’s going to have the life expectancy of a mosquito stuck to flypa­per.” And with the man might go any chances of helping Krysty.

He glanced over at Morse. “Get us in there.”

THE BOAT’S SPINNAKER unfurled when Morse released it. The material belled out into the breeze, swelling to its full size in seconds. The boat surged forward, cutting deep into the flat planes of the river.

Ryan commanded the others into position, taking the prow himself. He pulled the Steyr to his shoulder, favoring his wounded arm.

“They see us now,” J.B. called out from Ryan’s right. “Going to try us.”

Before the Armorer’s words died away, three of the mo­tor craft peeled away from the savaged sailboat and raced for Junie. Bullets from the approaching river pirates created dozens of impact areas in the water ahead of the boat. In a few more seconds, the bullets slapped into the boat around Ryan.

He aimed and fired smoothly, plucking the man working the tiller on the powerboat from his seat. The powerboats were small fishing boats with rear-mounted motors that whined like deep-throated bumblebees.

Donovan’s vessel looked to be taking on water, listing roughly to its left, unable to break away now that the at­tention of the river pirates had been diverted.

The powerboat with the dead driver went out of control, pulling around in a hard circle. The men aboard the boat scrambled, working against one another as they tried to get control of the outboard. Ryan fired twice more, aiming at the engine, which exploded as the gas tank ruptured. The flames spread over the passengers, as well as the boat, and threw black smoke into the air.

Bullets from the other boats drilled into Junie and cut the air around Ryan. Before he had a chance to aim at another of the pirate boats, they were past him. He stepped from the prow to the starboard railing, bringing the rifle to his shoulder again.

J.B. accounted for one of the racing water bikes by shooting the gas tank with a flechette round from the M-4000. The tank erupted into a fireball that enveloped the driver. The passenger, protected by the driver’s body, dived into the water. When he came back up, the Armorer blasted another round into his head. The decapitated body swirled briefly in the water as the final nervous spasms jerked through it, then sank.