He couldn’t keep his thoughts from Dean. He’d missed much of his son’s younger years, but he didn’t begrudge that happenstance. The things he’d done, the places he’d gone, Dean would have been dead.
But he was determined not to lose the boy now, not to the pit creatures, muties or other chill squads. Not to the barons.
He fed the anger inside him, working it until the fatigue dropped away and his nerve and reflexes were as sharp as they ever were.
Out in the second-floor corridor, he turned, going farther into unexplored territory. The pull grew weaker. Realizing his mistake, he turned and went in the other direction, the SIG-Sauer in his fist.
The pull in his mind led him around the corner where the fire had been. It still burned, flames licking almost to the ceiling where acoustic tile smoldered.
A dark shape shoved at one of the doors on the other side of the fire. He squinted, peering through the heat wave given off by the flames, and recognized the shape as one of the wild pigs the companions had encountered before. There’d been plenty of them in the pit.
In the next second the wild pig thrust its way through the door.
Ryan took a few running steps and launched himself through the flames, covering his face with one arm. He felt the heat and smelled his hair singe. Then in the next moment he was through it, racing for the door as the pig disappeared into the room.
Reaching the entrance, Ryan threw himself to one side of it, the SIG-Sauer clutched firmly in both hands.
Shots rang out, changing the pitch of the wild pig’s squeals. Impacts against flesh sounded wet and meaty.
Ryan peered around the door and watched as the pig bore down on a boy in green body armor who stood against the wall. Another boy, obviously dead, was at the feet of the first. The wild pig remained on its feet, running at the boy with the blaster flaming in his hand. The muzzle jumped with every rapid shot, but the boy brought it immediately back on target.
The pig careened against the wall as the boy adroitly shuffled out of the way. But its shoulder brushed against him hard enough to knock him to the floor. Recovering immediately, pushing himself one-handed into a sitting position, the boy stuck the blaster’s muzzle into the pig’s ear and pulled the trigger twice as the insane beast turned its head toward him, fangs snapping within inches of the boy’s arm.
Then the pig shuddered, splaying out its legs, and died.
Ryan stepped part of the way around the doorway, knowing he was backlit by the flames in the corridor so that none of his face showed. The boy noticed him at once, lost in the darkness himself, and started to bring up his blaster.
“You make a move to pull that trigger,” Ryan said, “and I’m going to chill you where you sit. Name’s Ryan Cawdor. I’m looking for my son, Dean.” He took up slack on the SIG-Sauer, knowing the boy might be too fearful to even hear him.
As he registered the words the man spoke, Dean recognized his stance, the way he held his head, the way he held the blaster.
His throat felt all closed up, but he forced his voice to work. “Dad?” He worked to shove the dead pig from his leg where it had him trapped, keeping his grip on his blaster. “Dad!”
The deadweight slid away, and Dean pushed himself to his feet, running toward his father with open arms.
Recognizing his son, Ryan rushed forward, grabbing the boy in his arms, his feelings running rampant. He couldn’t remember a time when he and J.B. hadn’t been friends, trusting each other with their lives. Opening up to Krysty had been hard after the experiences he’d had with most women.
And Deanit had been a true puzzle to sort out exactly where to put his son in his life.
But in this instant, with death surrounding them and actively hunting them, Ryan was glad to hold the boy next to him, glad to see that none of the blood on him seemed to be coming from any serious wounds. Dean hugged him back, stronger than Ryan had remembered. For the moment this was the perfect place for Dean to be.