Mildred picked off two more pirates from another boat before being driven to cover by return fire.
The river pirates turned in concert, cutting white plumes through the water as they came around for another pass.
Ryan laid down heavy fire, squeezing through his rounds as he aimed at the lead craft. His bullets holed the metal hull of the canted prow, then smashed on into two of the men beyond. The misshapen bullets tore huge wounds in the flesh and blood. Ryan heard the screams of the men over the outboard as the boat broke off the attack and sped past them.
Dean managed to get one more of the water bikes with his Browning Hi-Power before they disappeared farther down the river. The youngster crowed in savage delight.
“Reload your weapons,” Ryan ordered. “Chances are we haven’t seen the last of them.”
The companions complied, taking up positions around Junie so they could keep watch in all directions. Now that they’d made themselves known to the river pirates, they’d taken on the role of prey, as well.
“Morse,” Ryan yelled.
“What?”
“Bring us alongside that other craft.”
Morse called out the adjustment to the sails to his sons and steered Junie closer to the foundering ship.
Ryan studied the bigger sailboat. She listed more deeply in the water now, making no headway at all even with the tug of her sails. Despite the slight breeze flowing all around him, Ryan’s face was covered with perspiration, and his clothing was soaked with it from the heat of the sun.
With Morse’s expert handling, Junie pulled alongside the other craft, staying out a good thirty feet. Stern heavy now, the bigger boat’s prow lifted well above the normal water-line. Her name was painted on the port side in green letters against the faded blue hull—Calypso.
“Ahoy, the boat,” Ryan called out. He lowered the Steyr, but kept it in both hands.
“What the hell do you want?” a rough voice shouted back. In the stillness left after the blasterfire and the sounds of the outboards had died away, the words sounded unnaturally loud.
“Looking for a man named Donovan,” Ryan said.
There was a pause. “And if you found him?”
Ryan turned over his shoulder, fixing Elmore with his gaze. “Let them know who you are.”
Hesitantly Elmore stepped up to the railing. “Donovan, it’s Elmore. You remember me?”
Nobody moved on Calypso, but the few blasters aboard shifted to take in the new target.
“We don’t mean any harm,” Ryan said, “unless it’s offered to us first.”
“River pirates done cleaned us out of everything worth having,” the man shouted back.
Ryan saw him now, a medium-built man with a shock of black hair dropping to his shoulders. A white streak of hair matted one temple in a jagged line. He was burned nut brown by the constant exposure to the sun and the elements, and went bare chested, wearing only shorts and lace-up boots. He held a Martin .22 rifle easily in one hand.
“Not here for anything except Donovan,” Ryan said.
“Why do you want him?”
“Information.”
“About what?”
“Want to talk to him about the Chosen,” Ryan called out.
“What about them?”
“Had some trouble with them. Still do. Figure mebbe Donovan can help.”
A debate seemed to ensue aboard Calypso, the black-haired man taking on other survivors aboard the boat.
“You people figure on jawing about your situation much longer?” Ryan shouted out harshly.
“Find ourselves in a bad way,” Donovan shouted back. “We aren’t too keen on making it any worse.”
“You’re aboard a boat that isn’t going to make it to shore,” Ryan said, “and those river pirates may return at any minute to finish the job they started just out of sport. Mebbe you can abandon ship and swim to shore, but you’re still going to be vulnerable when you do it. Your situation gets any worse, you’ll have to get chilled to do it. Where I’m sitting, that may not be that far way.”
“All right.” Donovan lowered the rifle and stepped to the railing, making a big target of himself if it went that way. “We’re about out of choices.”
“You’re Donovan?”