The explosion of the blaster within the wag was deafening, resounding with a ringing that continued for some seconds. The stink of cordite joined that of sweat and fear. The slug hit the roof and ricocheted wickedly, driving across the far side of the wag and almost taking off the top of Emerson’s head. The large workman ducked instinctively and overbalanced, falling onto Jak, who was still in the process of beating the now insensible Rysh.
The slug whined back, plucking at the shoulder of J.B.’s jacket as the Armorer’s instincts and experience made him calculate the angles and move out of the way, pushing down Mildred as he did so. The ricocheting shell finally came to rest in the leg of Bronson, hitting the sec man in the shin and shattering the bone. He yelled and went deathly white, the color draining from his face at the shock and pain. He dropped his Uzi and grasped at his leg, blood pouring over his fingers as he dropped off his seat beside Krysty.
The Titian-haired beauty would have attended to his wound, if not for the fact that the shot had galvanized everyone into action, and she had to first defend herself and her companions.
Ryan and Tilson were still struggling, the wiry worker trying hard to head butt the man, but not having the momentum to get any real force into it. Their hands were still locked together, though the nerveless fingers of his blaster hand had let the weapon fall behind him with a clatter against the side of the wag. In his attempts to reach across, Ryan had thrown himself against Hal, Mikey and Hay, pinning them to their seats. But only until the initial shock had passed. As soon as they had gathered their collective wits, Ryan found himself under attack and in no position to defend himself. He gritted his teeth and winced heavily as Hal brought his fist down in a rabbit punch to Ryan’s kidneys, the pain coursing through his body. He felt Hay try to bend his leg against the knee, and he sharply brought the knee up so that it hit the workman in the chest. But with no real swing, there was equally no real force behind the blow. Mikey was in the middle, and ideally in the position to disable Ryan instantly, as he aimed a blow at the one-eyed warrior’s unprotected groin.
He didn’t have a chance to make the blow.
As soon as he had avoided the ricochet and had pushed Mildred down with him, J.B. had risen to his feet and jumped across the small interior of the wag, avoiding the grappling bodies in the middle of the confined space. He had identified Mikey as the man most likely to disable Ryan in the group, and had no hesitation in aiming where his first blow was to be struck. His arm extended rigid as he drove his hand forward, palm flat to the ground, fingers bent at the first and second knuckle joint. The ridge of bone and tissue made by the finger between the first and second joint was rock hard, and drove into the space between the point of Mikey’s chin and his thorax, driving his Adam’s apple up into his mouth so that he felt his throat was exploding from within. The excruciating pain caused him to momentarily black out, and all thoughts of attacking Ryan were lost.
Without pause, and without even having to think about it, J.B. pulled back his arm and pivoted on his heel, turning toward the still pinioned Hay, who, having seen the Armorer disable the man next to him with ease, was now desperately trying to free himself. He looked up at J.B. with an almost pathetic expression in his eyes, which the Armorer ignored as he drove his arm forward again, this time with fingers extended and rigid. The blow smashed into Hay’s face, deflected from its intended path of between his eyes by Hay’s raised left arm. The blow took out one of his eyeballs, the ball popping from the socket and resting on his cheek. The iron-hard fingers of the Armorer broke the socket bone.