“John!” Mildred called.
“Find Ryan,” J.B. shouted back. “I’m going to cover you.”
Mildred stood there uncertainly for a moment.
“Go, dammit,” the Armorer snarled. “We’re shit out of places to run to.” He pulled at the reins again, manhandling the horse and turning it in a tight circle.
Mildred broke into a sprint, heading toward the building where Ryan had been earlier. Doc stayed close behind her, but Dean balanced on a jumble of loose brick and mortar, poised like a young and hungry wolf.
“Go on, boy,” J.B. commanded, knowing the term would sting Dean.
Dean ignored the order until hoofbeats neared the area, then he vanished inside the rubble.
J.B. kicked his mount in the sides. The horse bolted again, glad to have its head. He pulled the horse into an intercept course with the hoofbeats. The battle couldn’t last much longer, he knew. The storm would see to that.
Two riders came through the gap between the buildings. They both carried rifles, but one of them J.B. identified as a .22-caliber rimfire single shot. It was a dangerous weapon in its own right, but the man carrying the assault rifle next to him was the greater threat.
J.B. leaned forward, keeping himself low, and pushed the Uzi between the horse’s peaked ears. He squeezed the trigger, starting the burst at the man’s crotch and riding the recoil up.
The rider jerked with the impacts of the bullets. Without a word, he slid from the saddle. The other man got the .22 rifle up quickly enough to loose a shot.
J.B. felt the small-caliber bullet lightly graze his leg, trailing fire after it. He tried to wheel around in the saddle, but the other rider was past him before he could. Pulling on the reins fiercely, he managed to bring the animal’s head around.
The man with the .22 rifle levered it open and was thumbing a shell into the barrel. Before he finished, Dean stepped from hiding and fired the Browning Hi-Power at almost point-blank range. The boy had run along the ridge-line, remaining hidden from his prey until the last moment.
Before the dead man had time to fall from the saddle, Dean vaulted aboard the horse. The animal skittered in fear, almost causing itself to fall. Dean seized the reins and control of the horse. He wheeled it around to face J.B. “Figured two of us might create a better diversion than one,” the boy said.
“There’s no room for a hero out here,” the Armorer said. But inside he had to admire the kid’s guts.
Dean didn’t respond to the sarcastic remark. He shoved the corpse from the saddle and slid into place. “Got a plan?”
“Stay alive,” J.B. replied, “and chill anybody who goes after the others. Pretty simple.”
“Going to need shelter,” Dean said, pulling his horse onto the same path J.B.’s was following. “That acid rain will come down and strip our bones clean.”
The Armorer had no argument for that.
“Staying out here in one of these buildings,” Dean went on, “we’re just going to trap ourselves.”
“Yeah.”
“So that leaves only one place we can go and mebbe put some distance from here.” Dean nodded at the junkyard ahead of them. “Those stacks of wags will give us some cover to get out of the rain and keep moving at the same time. It’s big enough and long enough that we can get lost enough to get away from these people.”
J.B. couldn’t fault the boy’s logic. Dean was growing up, and he’d always been a survivor. “Those coldhearts are nestled up in there like blind rattlers. And they’ll know the terrain.”
“Figured mebbe we’d bust up their nest.” The boy reached inside his shirt. “I know you don’t go anywhere without grens if you can help it.”
The Armorer kept the thin grin from his face with effort. “As a matter of fact, I have a couple I’ve been holding back.” He reached inside his coat and took out the explosives. Leaning forward, he dropped one into Dean’s outstretched hand. “Get in close as you can, then toss it in. And try not to get your ass shot off.”