James Axler – Way of the Wolf

Dean locked the Browning squarely on the man’s crotch.

The captive scrabbled at the ground, trying to find purchase to pull himself up.

“No,” Dean said. He squeezed the trigger and put a bullet through the man’s pants at the V of his legs.

“Oh, goddamn!” the man shrilled, sitting up to grab himself with both hands.

Jak gentled the horse again and hopped down. He tied the reins to a tree, then returned to look at the hostage.

The man brought his hands up with a look of perplexion on his face. The animal mewling sounds he made continued. There was no blood on his hands, but clearly the 9 mm round had cored a hole through the loose folds of his pants.

“Missed,” Dean said. “Can you believe it?”

“Mebbe small,” Jak suggested. He held his forefinger and thumb a half inch apart. “Splinter dick.” He crouched beside the man, a bloodthirsty grin spreading across his scarred face. He held one of the leaf-bladed throwing knives in his hand. “That right?”

“Fuck you,” the man snarled, his voice still shaking with fear.

“Already got it figured,” Dean said, “that you aren’t equipped for that. Could be you piss off my friend here, he’ll use that knife of his to do a conversion on you so you’re all set to receive instead of give. If you catch my drift.”

“Piece of meat,” Jak said. “Cutting change all that.”

“Don’t,” the man begged. “Don’t cut me.”

“Answer questions,” Jak suggested. “Lie, I cut off piece.”

The man nodded, both hands protectively around his crotch. “Sure, sure.”

“Tell us about the darts,” Dean said.

The man swallowed hard.

Without hesitation, Jak flicked out the knife and cut across the knuckles of one of the man’s hands. The man screamed out in pain, his eyes drawn to the wound across the back of his hand. But he didn’t let go of his crotch.

“What did you do that for?” he demanded.

“You hesitate,” Jak replied, “gives time think up lie. I want lie, I ask you question today, come back for answer tomorrow. Tell about darts.”

“They got the plague in them,” the man responded. “They got the plague in them, and that’s all I know.”

Chapter Ten

J.B. sipped coffee sub and regarded his host. “What plague are you talking about?”

Phillips massaged his hump unconsciously with one hand, grimacing a little like the action gave him some pain. “Kirkland got everything organized here in Hazard. Invited folks in. Then he kind of picked and chose who was staying and who was moving on. Took him about a year to get it all straightened away with who was what.”

J.B. sopped corn bread into the soup at the bottom of his plate and chewed as he listened. He ate in spite of the churning that started at the pit of his stomach. The Trader always said that a man who didn’t know for sure when or where his next meal was coming from shouldn’t be shy about bellying up to a table that was offered.

“Once he had mostly everybody here that he wanted, Kirkland announced that the plague had spread. Had a few poor bastards found out in the forest that died of it.”

“My husband died of the plague,” Anna said.

“Sorry to hear that,” J.B. stated. “How many folks died in the ville?”

“None,” Tinker answered.

“You find that interesting?” J.B. asked.

Phillips grinned coldly. “Bastard right, we did. Found it more than interesting. Found it downright fucking suspicious.”

“What about the bodies?” J.B. asked. “Were you allowed to claim your son’s body?”

“Allowed to see it,” Phillips replied. “Some of the sheriffs deputies found Eddie out in the forest.”

“What was he doing there?”

Phillips scowled and looked away. “Eddie got it in his fool head that he could mebbe outrun the plague. We’ve been watching Kirkland and his people all this time. He’s got a roving band of thugs under a man named Liberty that keeps most folks clear of the ville.”

“Not anymore,” J.B. said.

Phillips looked at him. “Not anymore?”

“They’ve all been consigned to crow meat this morning,” the Armorer said. “Should be little bitty crow piles squirted out all over the ground now.”