James Axler – Way of the Wolf

“He’s a bastard monster,” Jocelyn said, putting her hand on Aunt Maim’s shoulder. The one-eyed woman shoved Jocelyn’s hand away.

Krysty shot Ryan a look. He kept silent, knowing there was nothing either of them could say.

“I apologize for interrupting such a good meal with my tale of woe,” the woman announced after a short, uncomfortable silence. “And now I find myself feeling inadequate for any other conversation.” She waved at Jocelyn, who pulled her chair out from under the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll turn in for the evening.”

“Of course,” Krysty said.

Jocelyn turned the wheelchair and pushed Aunt Maim away.

“Do think about what I said, Mr. Cawdor,” the hosteler called back. “I hadn’t cheated Kirkland out of any of his proceeds before the night that he ruined me, but I’ve cheated him out of plenty since. I’ve got a lot of jack put back for a rainy day. A large chunk of that is yours—if you chill Kirkland.”

Ryan picked up a knife and cut a thick slab of cherry pie sitting in the middle of the table. The berries and the cooked sauce ran out, thick and dark as spilled blood across the small plate he put it on. “Like a piece?” he asked Krysty.

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite, lover.”

Ryan placed the pie in front of her. “If you’ve got the space, eat. We’re not staying in this ville one chron tick longer than we have to. Don’t know when we’ll have it so good again.”

Krysty picked up a fresh fork and started in. “So where do we go?”

Ryan cut another piece of pie and put it on a plate in front of him. “Back to the redoubt. Shortest distance to the safest point. Liberty and his gang weren’t the only guns Kirkland has access to.”

“There’s always the sheriff and his men.”

“Yeah.” Ryan sectioned off a bite of pie with his fork. “Once we get back to the redoubt and get inside, nobody will be able to follow us.”

“Hopefully we’ll end up somewhere better than this,” Krysty said.

“Can’t see how it would be much worse.”

J.B. OPERATED the reloader with skill. Lantern light filled the room, kept tight underground so no one outside would know what was going on. His chron showed it was almost eleven o’clock. He knew Mildred would be pushing past the irritated stage into the worrying stage, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it at the moment. His work had to be completed if the companions were to be properly outfitted.

Phillips, Anna and the weaponsmith’s sons and daughters-in-law helped with the making of the flechette rounds for the M-4000. Ammunition in 9 mm, .38 and .357 was plentiful. Most of the work Tinker Phillips did was in those calibers. The special loads for Doc’s Le Mat blaster had to be hand tooled, as well, but after the Armorer had explained and shown Phillips and his clan what had been needed, the shells were assembled quickly.

J.B. readied another line of shotgun shells for packing. Anna brought over a plastic box of flechettes, deadly little triangles cut from thin sheets of metal with a die press. Together, they worked the flechettes into the plastic shotgun casings. Phillips also kept a number of shotgun casings on hand, which made the job faster and easier. They were already primered and powdered, needing only the loads to be set into place. Usually the gunsmith filled them with double-aught buckshot.

“Are you really going to help us?” Anna asked as she helped J.B. pour the flechettes into the plastic casings.

“By helping ourselves,” the Armorer answered truthfully. “From what you tell me, Kirkland let us into Hazard for a purpose. I don’t see that he’s going to just let us walk back out of here. Over, under or around. That’s what Trader used to say. And that was only if you couldn’t go through something. If Kirkland tries to stop us, which he’s going to have to do, I’ve got a feeling Ryan will go out of this ville roughshod right through the bastard.”

“If people here see you ride out of the ville, they’ll follow,” Anna said. “It’ll be enough to break Kirkland’s hold over them. They’ll leave, too.”