Ryan added two shots of his own, blasting the man’s face apart. Then he watched as J.B. turned and fell to his knees. He dropped the Uzi before Ryan covered the distance.
Once he was close enough, Ryan saw the fletched darts buried deeply into the side of J.B.’s neck and cheek. “Fireblast!” he swore. Managing Mildred while unconscious would have been difficult enough even if they’d been able to commandeer a wag. With the Armorer out of the picture, the remotely possible had become decidedly impossible.
“Go!” J.B. whispered hoarsely, struggling to remain on his knees and failing by degrees. “They don’t want us dead right now. Mebbe we got some time. As long as you and the others are free.”
Ryan looked at his oldest friend. “If there’s a way, J.B., I’ll be there for you.”
“Know you will.” J.B was almost prone on the ground, his hand reaching for Mildred’s. He almost made it before the drug in his system shut him down.
A bullet cut the air only inches from Ryan’s eye, galvanizing him into action. He snapped off shots, emptying the SIG-Sauer’s magazine. As he changed clips, he headed on a tangent that would take him across the fire burning the tarp from the back of the wag he’d left crippled. He knew that for a moment he’d be as clear a target as he could imagine, but after that, whoever had been watching him would lose their night vision.
It was a good plan, the best he could hope for under the circumstances. But he hadn’t planned on the small wag that rocketed at him before his own vision could completely clear.
He glimpsed it for only a second, trying to pinpoint the sound. Then the wag was on him, skidding in the sand and the loose rock as the driver tried to avoid a head-on collision. Ryan’s own footing was treacherous as he suddenly changed directions. His ankle turned under him painfully, costing him inches.
Unable to totally clear the vehicle, he twisted and put his hands out before him, cushioning the impact. When contact was made, it felt as if his arms were going to tear out of their sockets. The SIG-Sauer left his hand, lost from sight before it hit the ground.
He arced his body onto the wag’s hood so he wouldn’t go down under the four-wheel-drive, all-terrain tires. Out of control, he smashed up against the windshield, fracturing the glass with his bodyweight. He recognized Hayden LeMarck’s face on the other side of the spider webbed windshield, mouth moving as he shouted orders to the driver.
Breath knocked out of him from the impact, Ryan pushed himself from the hood as the wag came to a halt. His legs almost wouldn’t hold him as he forced himself to stand. He managed only trembling steps. Angrily he ripped the panga free of its sheath as LeMarck climbed out of the halted wag.
Ryan went at the man full tilt, knowing if he could buy himself only a few more seconds, he might be able to function better. His ribs ached and his ankle throbbed, but nothing seemed broken.
LeMarck was taken by surprise, but the sec boss’s reflexes were quick enough to dodge the deadly panga.
Ryan drew back to try again, then felt the sharp bite of trank darts pinning him from his knees to his neck. Stubbornly he stayed awake to make one more slash at LeMarck, missing the sec boss by more than an inch. He didn’t remain conscious long enough to feel the impact he made against the ground.
WHEN RYAN WENT DOWN less than sixty yards from her position, Krysty started for the top of the ridge, snapping the cylinder of her .38 closed after reloading. Her attention remained focused on her lover, and the man standing above him.
The mutie ranks had been broken, existing now only in retreating clumps. Some of them fought on from behind cover, directing their vengeance on the sec team. Snipers deployed at the sec commander’s instruction and began to mop up the muties who chose to fight rather than flee.
Before Krysty reached the top of the ridge and was seen, Jak wrapped his strong arms around her. He clapped a hand over her mouth and put his face close to her ear so he could whisper without his voice carrying far.