James Axler – The Mars Arena

The horse reared up in fear, its eyes rolling white.

Unprepared, the rider fell into the muddy water.

Krysty didn’t hesitate about shooting the man twice in the back of the head before he could get to his feet. His body collapsed face forward into the murky water.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to calm the horse without letting it get out of the water, Krysty kept hold of the bridle and ran along at the animal’s side, waiting for an opportunity to get into the saddle. The horse also served as a temporary shield, blocking sight of her from most of the other riders.

Up on the bank, her feet under her more solidly, she reached up for the pommel while never breaking stride. With a lithe leap, she pulled herself up into the saddle. Another moment spent taking up the slack in the reins, and she was in control of the fear-maddened horse.

She cut it in a tight half circle, searching the shadows for Jak.

He came up off the ground with no warning. One of the two horses that had belonged to the men he’d killed was tied to a tree, stamping its feet and fighting the bit in its mouth. Apparently one of the riders had gotten down to check out a suspicious area.

Racing across the ground, Jak approached the tethered horse from behind. Before it knew he was there, the albino placed his hands against the horse’s rump and vaulted into the saddle. Bullets cut through branches and leaves above his head as he reached forward, staying low against the horse’s neck, and untied the reins. He brought the animal around and kicked it lightly. The horse exploded into a gallop.

The other horse streaked for the trees, heading in a westerly direction that would take it toward the Mirage. Another horse was also free, galloping in the same direction.

“Get horses!” Jak called.

Krysty nodded, pulling her mount’s head around and kicking it into motion. Bullets whizzed around her as gunfire split the night. Glancing ahead and to the right, she could see flames coming from the first and second floors of the Mirage.

Behind them the surviving sec-team members were already putting a posse together.

Cutting around a tree, Krysty halted her mount for a moment and looked back. Jak rode low in the saddle and fired his .357 Magnum blaster at the men less than forty yards behind him.

Krysty raised the .38 and thumbed back the hammer. The distance from herself to the first rider was less than seventy yards. She centered the muzzle over the man’s chest, then squeezed away the slight pull. The .38 banged in her fist.

The lead rider slapped a hand to a spot where his throat joined his chest, then fell from the saddle.

Thumbing the hammer back again, Krysty lined up her second shot and emptied another saddle. Jak was almost on top of her when she fired her remaining round. The bullet went inches wide of its target. Krysty kicked her horse back into motion, barely taking a lead over her companion.

Seven men still remained in pursuit.

She swung the cylinder open and dumped the brass. Fishing shells from her shirt pocket, she tried to refill the cylinder and keep an eye on the frightened horse, as well. It took eight bullets to finally reload the blaster because she dropped three of them.

Jak was having the same problem.

Abruptly a shadow moved ahead of Krysty. Her horse noticed it before she did, sidestepping fast enough to almost throw her from the saddle. She pointed her pistol at the shadow, then saw that it wore J.B.’s beloved fedora and steel-rimmed glasses.

“Keep riding,” the Armorer said. “Mildred and I will take care of the posse.”

Krysty nodded, then kicked her horse in the sides again, closing on the animal in front of her. Jak drew abreast of her, pointing to the other one, then himself.

“I’LL TAKE THE ODD ONES,” J.B. said, lifting his Uzi as the posse closed on their position. “Leaves you the even ones.” He stood in the shelter of a blue spruce, the stiff needles, scratching at his face.