James Axler – Starfall

Max nodded, staying out of reach, his hand never far from his blaster. “Annie wanted you people to have the best.”

J.B. reached over for one of the bullets, rolling it appre­ciatively between his forefinger and thumb. “These bullets had a rep for one shot, one kill.”

“I’ve used them,” Max stated. “They live up to their name. I noticed you people packed 9 mm rounds, and you looked like you’ve been traveling hard for a while.”

J.B. examined the round. “Factory made,” he told Ryan.

“Got pellets suspended inside in liquid Teflon. You shoot something, they disburse inside it like a shotgun round. Tear the hell out of anything they hit. Pellets hit bone, ricochet around and follow the natural line of the bone till they rip out somewhere new.” A smile curved his lips.

Ryan knew about the round. He’d come across them from time to time. It put him on edge that Max and Annie were so willing to part with ammo obviously worth so much.

Max had also brought rounds for J.B.’s shotgun. There was a mixture of flechette, as well as double-aught. Again, like the 9 mm rounds, they were factory perfect.

“Noticed in some of the bandoliers on the sec men,” the Armorer said, “they were carrying homegrown loads.”

“Yeah.” Max moved easily, transferring more boxes of ammo from the grease-stained mail pouch to the table. He returned Ryan’s and J.B.’s gazes without flinching, but Ryan knew the man had realized he’d given away the fact that part of the group had been sec men.

“Who’re they here with?” Ryan asked.

“Annie’ll provide the introductions tonight.” Max put the last box of ammo on the table and tossed the empty mail pouch onto the table, as well.

Ryan ran his eye over the factory boxes. There was ammo there for all the companions’ weapons, including, oddly, Doc’s Le Mat blaster. Max had memorized them all in the few minutes he’d been with them.

“Who’s he running from?” Ryan asked.

“Nobody said anything about him running from noth­ing,” Max answered.

“Didn’t have to,” Ryan replied. “You brought us back here and start passing out ammo like it’s Christmas or something. Offer us the barn and a meal tonight. That in­dicates to me that you people want us here.”

“Storm’s coming,” Max said flatly.

“I’ve been wondering about that, too.” Ryan returned the man’s level glare. At his side, he noted that J.B. already had his hand on his shotgun’s grip, ready to swing it up. “I was thinking mebbe we should just finish up our trading, get the fuck out of here and take our chances with the storm.”

“If the storm gets too rough tonight on that flooded river, you’re going to get that boat swamped and lose it.”

“Mebbe. But I’m wondering what we can expect to face if we stay around here.”

“A dry bed and a good meal,” Max said. “That much is certain.”

“Yeah. But it’s the entertainment you got waiting in the wings that leaves me wondering.”

Max waved at the boxes of ammo. “Deal’s on the table, mister, and staying the night’s part of it.”

“And if I choose not to stay?”

“Then you walk out of here the same way you walked in, and you get nothing from here.”

J.B. took off his fedora and worked at the worn creases, taking time to get them as straight as possible. He worked one-handed, the hat in his lap and covering the fact that he’d raised the shotgun to waist level under the table.

“Fireblast,” Ryan swore. “If we stay, it only makes sense that we know what we’re up against.”

“Nothing you ain’t seen before probably dozens of times.” Max paused. “Tell your friend to either use that shotgun or put it down before I push this to the edge. And don’t get any fancy ideas about slipping out of here in that boat. You try it, you won’t clear the river in it. Me and Annie, we ain’t made it here all these years by rolling over. I figure you know where to draw the lines, too.”

“I know where to draw them,” Ryan said. “I hate having them drawn for me.” He waved J.B. off. “We can take the ammo now?”