She sat at a campfire, picking at a piece of meat she warmed at the end of a stick. Two women and three men slept at her feet, coiled tightly in their blankets. Vomit strings hung from one man’s mouth as he snored.
Ryan closed on the woman and slipped the panga between her third and fourth ribs, not stopping until he pierced her heart. She gave a few spasmodic jerks and died in his arms.
For good measure, Ryan slit the throats of the five pirates around the campfire, holding them down while he was unseen.
Then a shot rang out, a single blast mat echoed within the enclosed space of the campsite.
“Fireblast!” Ryan swore, glancing out into the makeshift harbor. The Foundation men had managed to put down a few of the pirates’ boats, but there were still many left. He sheathed the panga and slipped the Steyr off his shoulder. For close work, the rifle also made a good blunt instrument.
The pirates came awake sluggishly, showing the effects of a night spent with the home brew.
Breaking into a run, Ryan spotted Jak and J.B. sprinting for the pirate flagship. Blasterfire started slowly at first, then gained in intensity.
Ryan fired the rifle dry, picking his targets more or less as they were presented. Almost to the water when the assault rifle fired dry, he slung it over his shoulder and drew the SIG-Sauer.
“Got you now, you stupe bastard!” a pirate yelled, stepping out from behind a tree in front of Ryan. He brought up a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun.
Pivoting, Ryan threw himself to the right in a long dive, aiming himself at an A-shaped tent. The shotgun exploded behind him, and a couple pellets struck him in the leg, knocking him off balance.
The tent collapsed when he hit, coming loose from the thin support poles that gave way instantly. Ryan went down in the canvas, flailing for balance, the wound in his shoulder tearing open again. The whine of outboard motors and diesels sounded out in the harbor. The escape plan was to get the hell out of the area as soon as possible. No one figured on waiting.
Ryan rolled, lost for a moment in the canvas. Someone inside the tent surged up against him, trying to get out from under. Still in motion, unable to get free of the canvas, Ryan turned his attention to the shotgun-toting pirate. The SIG-Sauer came up in line with his eye, and he squeezed off three rounds into his adversary’s chest.
The pirate managed to pull off his second round, but the spread dug into the ground, throwing up a blinding cloud of mud. The 9 mm hollowpoints drilled through the pirate’s chest, tearing huge chunks of flesh out his back. He stumbled back, squatting with a surprised look on his face.
The man trapped inside the tent brought up his weapon, cursing. “Fuck you!” he screamed. “Get off me!”
Still struggling himself, Ryan spotted the shape of the man’s head through the canvas. He pressed the blaster’s muzzle against the head shape and pulled the trigger twice. Blood blew through the holes the bullets made in the tent, throwing a sheet of crimson and gray across the canvas.
Ryan pushed himself into a run as the dead man kicked out his life, already shrouded in the tent.
Ahead J.B. ran through the water toward the pirate flagship, keeping his knees and the M-4000 scattergun clear. Dean pulled himself over the bow, attracting the attention of the gunner on the flying deck. The pirate turned, bringing his rifle into target acquisition. Dean fired without hesitation, a double-tap burst the way his father and J.B. had taught him.
The pirate slid sideways as the rounds hammered the center part of his body.
Dean slid up the side of the bow and onto the flagship’s deck as the corpse toppled into the water. By then Jak was up the side, rolling over in a wet rush of flying water.
Ryan lost them then, turning his attention to his own problems. The ground became spongy underfoot, slowing him. Unable to reload the Steyr, he had to depend on the SIG-Sauer. When the blaster ran dry, he used it like a club and drew the panga.