Trapped on the open beach, the companions dived to the ground, and J.B. cut loose with a full stuttering stream at the group of sec men. Mildred fired the shotgun while Ryan shot the baron twice in the chest, then aimed for the guards at the gate, the 9 mm blaster chugging hot lead death into their midst. Ryan had no idea how the talk had gone sour so fast.
Meanwhile, Jak raked the beach with his Colt Python, taking out the nearby guards, Dean hit a sniper on top of the wall and Doc slammed the pommel of his knife into the temple of the other sec man they had been holding as a prisoner. As the groaning man fell, the scholar grabbed his flintlock. The discharge was louder than his LeMat, but the .75 miniball slammed into the man with the crossbow, spinning him, and the arrow hit the wooden gate, going in a good foot. The rest of the sec men retreated along the tunnel firing at every step, the billowing smoke soon hiding them from sight.
“Head for the trawler!” Ryan shouted, rising and shooting as he sprinted. That would give them cover from snipers until reaching the jungle.
Firing at more sec men appearing on top of the wall, Krysty raced after the man but tripped in the sand and came down hard. Trying to move, she found a gnarled hand clamped on her ankle, then her wrist, and Baron Langford stood, pulling her close. Point-blank, she fired the S&W at the man, but he only grunted as the .38 bullets slapped into his chest. Then the baron wrapped tree-trunk-size arms around Krysty, pinning both arms at her sides. The pressure was incredible, and her blaster soon dropped from numb hands.
Drawing his revolver, Langford started backing toward the gate, holding the trapped woman as a human shield. Ryan and Mildred both took aim, but held off firing, afraid to hit their friend. Barely able to breathe, Krysty clawed for her belt knife but was unable to find it with her clumsy hands. His arms were so tight that all of the sensation was fading from her body. In desperation, she drove a knee into his crotch. Firing his weapon, Langford only squeezed harder, making her ribs creak.
Risking a shot, Ryan got the baron in the shoulder, and he fired back with the booming revolver. Langford’s arm jerked as blood spurted from his shoulder and the heavy combat round plowed into the sand between Ryan’s boots.
Fireblast! The son of a bitch had to have a dozen slugs in him, and was still moving. He had to be some sort of mutie, norm on the outside, but who knew what lay under the human-looking skin?
Now the baron and his captive were directly between the companions and the sec men, neither side able to fire for fear of hitting one of their own. Only Langford was free to shoot, and he emptied the revolver at the companions, then tossed the blaster away and drew the black-powder Colt .44 to start firing again. But the companions were back in the water, the angle of the beach making it hard to get a bead on them.
Reaching the mouth of the tunnel, Langford paused and grinned in triumph. “Drop your blasters, or the bitch dies!” he bellowed, brandishing the Old West hand cannon, trails of smoke snaking from its pitted muzzle.
A wild rage boiling inside, Ryan started to charge, then forcibly held himself back, knowing that if they attacked or surrendered, they would get chilled. Desperately he tried to conceive of a third option, but every plan ended with Krysty dead. They were going to have to leave her behind. It was a choice between her or all of them. The Deathlands warrior felt madness tug on his sanity as he realized there was no way around the awful decision. Shooting at the wall around the gate, he tried to keep the baron off balance and buy some time.
“Gotta go,” Jak said urgently, wading closer. “Come back later.”
“Not yet,” Ryan growled, splashing through the surf.
J.B. started to charge, and Mildred held him back. “Don’t want to lose you, too,” the physician stated bluntly.