James Axler – Starfall

He batted her hand away with his palm, blocking the thrust and automatically raised the SIG-Sauer. He stopped short of bashing her in the face through sheer willpower.

She drew the knife back, her features writhing with mixed emotions. Before she could swing again, she col­lapsed to the ground and lost consciousness.

Jak stood behind her, his .357 still raised where he’d slammed the barrel against the back of her head. “Apologize later,” he offered. “If live.”

Ryan nodded, his free hand snaking out a short length of leather piggin strings from his coat. A slipknot held a coiled noose ready. He fit the noose around Krysty’s wrists and pulled them tight while Jak fired rounds at the fire escape, picking off dogs and sending men ducking for cover.

The Slaggers had abandoned the direct approach up the fire escape, but Ryan noticed one of them had climbed on top of a building adjacent to the one they were on. The coldheart had a rifle and had just settled into a position as Ryan finished securing Krysty’s hands.

“Let’s go,” the one-eyed man said, scooping the woman from the rooftop and slinging her over one shoulder. He staggered for a moment under her weight, still slightly dazed from the backhanded blow his lover had dealt him.

“Door open,” Jak called. He picked up Krysty’s knife and blaster and tucked them away. “Cover back.” He broke open the .357’s cylinder and shook out the empties.

Ryan jogged toward the open rooftop-access door. Krysty’s deadweight slammed against his back as he stepped inside and started down the staircase.

“JOHN!” MILDRED CALLED out in warning.

J.B. spun quickly and brought up the Uzi. He caressed the trigger and sent a 3-round burst into the chest of the horse closing in on him at breakneck speed.

The horse’s rider stayed too low in the saddle to provide a good target, and J.B. knew from experience that shooting a horse in the chest didn’t always stop it. The bullets didn’t stop the animal now, or even seem to slow it. It charged at the Armorer without pause, bringing its rider close enough to swing at the Armorer with the homemade machete he carried.

J.B. blocked the swing with his Uzi, holding the machine pistol in both hands. He didn’t like using the weapon like that because there was too much chance of damage. The impact’s vibration ran up his arms, then the horse thundered past.

“Meyers! Dawson!” the rider called out. “Got some outlanders here! Mebbe some of them that Baron Sha—” His head snapped back suddenly, and a fountain of blood gushed from his temple. He toppled from the dying horse, the animal starting down itself now.

J.B. glanced over at Mildred, saw her in the classic Olympic shootist’s stance. The Armorer dipped his head and touched the brim of his hat.

Doc ambushed another rider by stepping from the shelter of the broken corner of a nearby building. He lowered the Le Mat blaster and let go with the shotgun barrel. The tight cluster of pellets caught the man full in the chest and blew him out of the saddle.

Moving quickly, J.B. stepped out and grabbed the loose reins of the fear-maddened horse. Lightning strobed across the sky again. The thunderous boom that cracked the air a few seconds later drowned out even the gunshots scattered around the area.

J.B. held on to the reins in one tight fist, watching for other riders. He clucked to the frightened animal out of habit, not really believing it could hear him over the thun­der or through the haze of fear that filled it. He let it have its head a moment and ran along beside it. When he had its pace and rhythm, he reached for saddle horn with his hand holding the reins and shoved a foot into the stirrup. He pulled himself up gracefully. Before he’d ridden with the Trader and War Wag One, he’d been accustomed to horses back in Cripple Creek.

He gained control over the animal, feeling the material of his pants sticking to the blood covering the saddle. Pull­ing the horse around, he reached up and snugged his hat on more tightly.