“I got them,” Mildred said calmly. She held the Czech target pistol balanced in both hands.
J.B. knew the wait wouldn’t be long; the drumming sound of the horses’ hooves grew louder. He was a patient stalker, but he knew the work would be bloody and quick.
Moosh Wandell and Thompson were farther back in the brush, set up to cover their retreat if any of the riders survived the ambush.
Listening to the hooves strike the ground, J.B. timed his move, stepping out when he knew they’d all be between the narrow defile leading through the brush. The rider didn’t have a chance to register J.B.’s appearance before the Armorer caressed the Uzi’s trigger and sent a 3-round burst into his face. The man’s head came apart instantly, and he vanished under the hooves of the horses behind him.
The animals reacted badly, trying to avoid contact with the corpse tumbling under their feet.
Mildred remained in the brush, firing between the branches.
The next four riders dropped from their frightened mounts in quick succession. The woman worked to get the sixth rider, managing a hard shot uphill as the man took off in that direction.
The lone surviving rider retreated behind a row of trees, heading back to the area around the pond. A line of 9 mm bullets from the Uzi tore bark from the trees that he took cover behind.
“Gather up the horses that you can,” J.B. told Mildred. He reached out with quick hands and grabbed the pommel of a horse passing by. “I’ll be back.”
“Be careful,” Mildred called after him.
Hauling himself into the saddle, the Armorer reached for the reins, then took control of the animal. He brought it around sharply, almost causing the beast’s legs to collapse under them. Then the horse recovered its footing, charging back down the trail when J.B. put his heels to it.
He stayed to the trail, his horse leaping over the corpses when it came to them. Through the brush he saw the last rider trying to wend his way among the trees and bushes to a clearing.
The sec man glanced at the Armorer through the forest, eyes going big with fear.
They came out into the clearing at the same time. J.B. lifted the Uzi one-handed, guiding the horse with the reins in the other.
To the rider’s credit, he wheeled his mount toward the Armorer and lifted his own blaster, firing immediately and screaming at the top of his voice.
J.B. cut his horse toward the man but held his finger poised over the Uzi’s trigger until he was certain of the kill. By his own estimate, he had between two and eight rounds left in the 30-round magazine.
Less than twenty yards remained between them when the Armorer cut loose. The 9 mm rounds smashed the sec man out of his saddle, the riderless horse streaking past.
He went after it, catching the animal’s reins in seconds and wrapping them around the pommel. Grinding engine noises drew his attention north. Through the trees and along the skyline in the distance, he saw the headlights of wags rolling through the pit toward the Mirage. Even the remnants of the streets that had once been Vegas were rough, causing the vehicles to jump and jar.
“Dark night,” he said out loud. Reining his mount to the side, he kicked its ribs and sent it galloping back along the trail.
When he reached the spot where he’d left Mildred and the two surviving members of the red team, he saw that Jak and Krysty had returned, as well. Between them they’d captured nine of the horses. Moosh Wandell and Thompson were pulling themselves into the saddles.
Mildred saw his face and immediately knew something was wrong. “What is it?” she asked.
“Wags are coming,” J.B. replied, “fast. And plenty of them!”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Where’s the rest of your team?” a harsh voice demanded.
“Don’t know,” a boy replied. “Probably dead. Like everybody else.”
“How many are dead?”
Ryan moved silently toward the voices, Dean at his heels. The boy showed more coordination and patience than Ryan could remember from past times. They walked along the corridors of the first floor trying to find a way out of the Mirage. The snipers along the perimeter walls of the pit had to have been put on the alert for any more window jumping. Ryan had nearly had his head taken off by a round while breaking out soot-covered glass along the second floor.