Ryan woke with the first harsh rattle of gunfire, grabbing for the Steyr. He pulled out of Krysty’s tight grip and reached for his pants with his free hand. Crouched at the edge of the hayloft opening, he gazed out toward the southern wall, toward the river where the sounds of battle seemed to be coming from.
The trading post’s inner courtyard jumped with activity. Sec men ran to man the defensive areas atop the catwalk along the palisade walls. Most of them clustered along the south wall, firing as soon as they fell into position. The rain during the night had left the ground muddy, and large pools of water shimmered in the light breeze.
Krysty struggled to wake. During the night, she hadn’t slept well, if at all. Her blaster filled her hand as she pulled clothes on.
“J.B.,” Ryan called.
“Up,” the Armorer responded.
Ryan buttoned his pants, then pulled on his shirt. “Get everybody else up. We’re going to have to move.”
“See anything?”
“Attack’s coming from outside.” Ryan left his shirt open, then jammed his feet into his boots, leaving them unlaced for the moment. He shouldered the leather pouch that held extra rounds for the Steyr and the extra magazines he had for the SIG-Sauer.
“That’s where we left the boat,” J.B. called back.
“I’m going to check it. Be back quick or not at all.”
“We’ll be ready.”
“Careful, lover,” Krysty said, taking his free hand and squeezing it gently.
“Can’t afford to lose that boat,” Ryan told her. “We try going overland on foot, it’d take us weeks to get where we’re going. Mebbe too late by then.” He slung the Steyr and leaped up from the hayloft opening, grabbing the roofs edge. He hauled himself up and leaped from there to the catwalk.
Max swarmed up a nearby ladder, bristling with weapons. He glanced at Ryan.
“What’s going on?” Ryan asked.
“Rival party that’s been hunting Shaker and his group,” Max replied. “Don’t have a name. Doesn’t matter. Annie gave her protection, that’s how it’s going to stand.” He grinned evilly as he pulled himself onto the catwalk. “Now you’re going to earn all that ammo and clothing you were given.”
Ryan didn’t say anything and continued running toward the south wall, unslinging the Steyr.
Bullets ripped through the tops of the palisade wall posts, throwing splinters into the air. Before he reached the site, two of Shaker’s sec men were hit and thrown from the catwalk. Only one of them lived long enough to scream on the way down.
Reaching the wall, Ryan stayed well clear of the knot of sec men and peered over the top. He scanned the hundred yards of trail and rough terrain that led to the precipice over the pier area. Nearly three dozen men were scattered throughout the zone, barely showing in the graying predawn light breaking over the eastern horizon.
“Make way for the baron!” someone roared.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder as Shaker climbed onto the catwalk. The baron started shouting orders at once, positioning and urging his men on at the same time. The firing by the sec men became more systematic, dropping their adversaries in the broken land before the trading post.
Shouldering the Steyr, Ryan briefly aided the sec men in putting down a rush by the enemy forces. As soon as he lowered the rifle’s telescopic sights over one target and squeezed the trigger, he moved on to the next.
A bold roar rose up from the sec men as they scattered their attackers before their withering fire.
Ryan felt the celebration was premature. He reloaded the Steyr’s magazine, then ran back along the catwalk to the barn.
All of the companions except Doc stood outside, their gear already packed.
“The boat?” Mildred called up.
“Still there as far as I know,” Ryan answered from above. “But at this point, I don’t know much. Can’t see the boat from up here.”
“If those people get their asses handed to them,” J.B. said, “they’ll be looking for a quick way out. Storm the way it was last night, there’s probably not much chance they came by a boat of their own with the river running like it had to have been. Might not be any too safe right now.”