James Axler – The Mars Arena

Bringing up the rifle, Ryan fired four quick rounds, spacing them in an uneven line only inches above the blaster-wielder’s head. The man ducked instinctively and brought around his weapon.

Ryan threw himself forward and chopped down with the Steyr’s barrel, cracking the man viciously across the wrists as the blaster went off. The bullet sped by only inches from Ryan’s head.

The man screamed in pain and dropped the heavy weapon. Before he could make an attempt to recover it, Ryan kicked it away, then booted the man in the side.

The man raised his hands in defense and buried his face in his arms. “Don’t! Please don’t hurt me any more!”

“Go ahead and kill us,” the man Jak held said, “or leave him alone. He’s not been out in this mean world overmuch. Not used to rough handling.”

The man’s words made Ryan curious about what had brought them to the Western Islands area, but not overly so. He picked up the revolver and stuck it inside his belt. Two backpacks with aluminum frames leaned against the stone wall, out of sight beyond the ledge.

“Stay away from those packs,” Ryan growled.

Keeping his head buried, the man nodded.

Ryan looked at Jak.

“Hoyle,” the teenager said, releasing his hold on the man’s hair. “That one’s Bernsen.” He leaned down and picked up the Sharps.

Ryan stepped to the ledge overlooking the mountainside. Moving so he could be seen, he waved to Krysty, Doc and Mildred. Immediately the three began to move up.

The brushwooders weren’t far behind, almost within rifle range, as a few of them proved by firing rounds that fell less than thirty yards behind Krysty’s position. The companions had lost whatever edge mobility had given them in the long minutes they’d spent being pinned down by sniper fire.

“You got them?” Ryan asked Jak.

“Do now.” Jak had his .357 Magnum blaster in hand as he waved Hoyle into place beside Bernsen.

Reluctantly, acting as though he was just waiting for an opportunity, the bearded man sat.

Ryan fixed both men with a harsh look. “Up to you now if you live or die.” He reloaded the Steyr and slung it.

“Me, I don’t much care. Easier to chill you than watch you.” He glanced at Jak. “If they try anything, chill them both, then push them over the edge and let the vultures have them.”

“Okay.” Jak squatted, his pistol resting easily on one thigh.

“I’m going to take a look around and be back in a couple minutes.” Ryan started up the grade at the back of the chimney rock. Simply outrunning the brushwooders was no longer an option. It remained to be seen what was left.

Chapter Nineteen

“Get down!” J.B. yelled.

Ryan stepped into the cave mouth he’d found at the back of the rock chimney an instant before the explosion shook the ground. He gazed down the long dark throat of the tunnel spearing out in front of him as debris slammed into the ground around him. He couldn’t see the other end and had no inkling of what might lie in wait.

“Fireblast,” he swore as small-arms fire opened up above. He turned and shoved his way back up the steep path that had led him to the cave.

The companions were spread across the crest of the chimney rock when he doubled back, seeking cover where they could find it. The Armorer had taken up the Sharps buffalo rifle.

Black smoke wafted up from somewhere below the edge of the rock, and a wave of heat washed over Ryan as he threw himself down beside J.B. and brought the Steyr forward.

“They’ve set up a mortar,” the Armorer said, pulling the butt of the Sharps into his shoulder. The original peep sight had been replaced with a telescopic lens. J.B. fitted himself into the eyepiece. “Got close.”

“We can’t hold this position,” Ryan said. “I found a cave back there.”

J.B. coolly took up slack on the trigger. “Any idea where it goes?”

“I was figuring on asking our company.”

The Sharps banged, slamming against the Armorer’s shoulder. Immediately the wiry man levered the action and reached for a bullet in the bandolier they’d removed from the prisoners.