Nobody spoke as they passed the killing field. It wasn’t the first seen, nor would it be the last.
“There’s the armory,” Ryan said, pointing.
Set in a pool of light between the brick palace and execution ground was a squat brick building, lit by lanterns and guarded by more sec men. These seemed wide awake and studied the people coming toward them intently.
Heading directly for the armory, the companions passed through the execution ground, when a faint cry caught their attention.
“One is still alive,” Krysty said softly.
Fumbling in her pocket for the flashlight, Mildred pumped the charging handle several times, then hit the button. Sweeping the area, she saw movement in the cages, and now could see the birds stabbing the man inside a cage with their sharp beaks.
“Chill me…” a hoarse voice pleaded from within the iron bars.
Ryan started for his blaster, then remembered how little ammo he had and pulled his panga instead. Mildred held the light steady as Ryan went to the cage and chased the birds away.
The seagulls cawed their annoyance and took wing while Ryan tried to reach the throat of the man inside, but the spaces between the bars were too small for his big hands. Checking the hinged door, Ryan saw it was closed with a heavy padlock. The prisoner whimpered again plaintively, as Ryan reluctantly drew the SIG-Sauer and took aim, but then paused.
“You,” he growled in recognition.
“Please…” the sec man whined, his face a scabby ruin from the hungry birds, a blood-encrusted knife jutting from his belly, wads of cloth and ropes holding it in place.
Without a word, Ryan holstered his piece, turned and walked back to the others while the prisoner pleaded for death.
“Let him rot,” he growled, giving back the flashlight. “Move on.”
J.B. tilted back his fedora. “That the guy who aced Jones?”
“Yeah.”
The group only got a yard before a thundering roar lit up the execution grounds, and there was a terrible cry from the man inside the cage. As the blast faded into the night, there were no more sounds from the prisoner, except for the drip of blood falling onto the ground.
“Misfire,” Dean said, holstering the blaster.
Ryan gave his son a hard stare. “No more,” he ordered. “We’re low enough on ammo as it is.”
“My ammo,” Dean answered defiantly, then relented. “But you’re right. It was a waste.”
Waiting a minute, Ryan decided the boy meant it and started walking again. Dean was becoming a man and didn’t blindly follow orders anymore. That was good and bad. But they would need a serious talk about this real bastard soon.
A group of sec men charged around the palace, their weapons at the ready. Ryan recognized them as the guards from the palace. He had thought they were being followed, but in all the chaos on the streets, he hadn’t been sure.
“We heard a shot,” one panted. “What’s the problem?”
“You okay, Baron?” another asked, wheezing for breath.
Easing J.B.’s Uzi off her shoulder, Mildred glanced over the sec men in disapproval. Too much good living. They were in terrible shape. If invaders got past the wall cannon, it would be a slaughter.
“We’re executing a prisoner,” Ryan said shortly. “Why aren’t you at your posts?”
“We are,” a man explained awkwardly. “We’re her bodyguards.”
“Said you didn’t want any in the palace,” another added. “But we’re outside now.”
“Got us,” Jak said.
“Any problem with that?” J.B. asked, jacking the slide on his pump-action S&W M-4000.
Mildred did the same with the Uzi. Without his glasses, J.B. was more of a threat to the companions with the rapidfire than others.
“Course not,” the sergeant said, through gritted teeth. “Baron can choose whoever the fuck he…she wants for bodyguards. She won the fight. Wroth is the baron. She wants you, that’s all I needs to know.”
“Just ain’t heard her say it,” another added. The others muttered agreement and didn’t relax their stance.
“How dare you speak in that manner?” Krysty said, walking closer and slapping the sergeant. She didn’t want to, but there was no other way to make the point. “This is my ville, and you will do as you’re told!”