Even from here, the ensign could see pieces of the predark ruins on top of the mesa, and he licked his lips thinking about the loot that waited up there for the first man to reach the city. But the few who tried were never seen again. However, the Hunters would sometimes toss the gnawed bones over the wall, almost as if trying to give the pirates a warning. The mesa was forbidden territory, although the oldsters of the ville whispered that none of the monsters had ever been seen climbing the cliff, almost as if there was something up there that frightened them. Raynor shuddered at the thought, unable to imagine what in nuking hell could frighten a Hunter.
The strident detonations of the Firebirds seemed to become louder, and many structures were burning out of control. But the ensign refused to leave his post until relieved from duty by the sergeant of the guard, or the enemy came and chilled him. He’d given the baron his oath, and a man meant less than a slave if he didn’t keep his word.
Just then, a rattling horse cart rolled out of an alleyway, a large canvas mound covering whatever was in the rear. Holding the reins was an oldster with silver hair, wrapped in a horse blanket as if bitterly cold. Instantly, the ensign suspected looters and worked the bolt on his M-1 longblaster.
“Keep moving,” Raynor said, aiming the weapon. “Can’t use this gate.”
“But sir, I’ve got orders from the baron to haul these blasters outside,” the old man whimpered, cowering slightly. “We’re losing the battle, and I must get these blasters to our snipers.”
“Snipers would have their own blasters,” the ensign said with scorn. “Nobody leaves.”
The old man rubbed his face. “I have a bag of gold,” he stated.
The guard snorted a laugh. “Only we use gold,” he snapped. “Kinnison uses black powder for jack. Now get going before I have you keelhauled for disobeying a direct order!”
“But”
“I wouldn’t open the gate for anyone other than the baron himself,” Raynor said, then fired a round that went wide of the canvas mound. “Now move!”
“As you say,” the old man said in a sad tone. “Well, I tried. Goodbye, young man.”
Puzzled, Raynor scowled at the expression and a sharp cough sounded from under the tarpaulin. Searing pain took his chest, to be replaced with a numbing cold and then absolute blackness that reached forever.
“Krysty, get the gate,” Ryan said, throwing off the canvas sheet with his blaster.
The redhead clambered from the cart and rushed over to the imposing portal. Grabbing the heavy bar, she tried to shove it aside, then had to use rocks to hammer the rusted metal bolts out of their positions. Even then, the gate itself proved to be rusted shut. This exit hadn’t been used in years.
“No more games,” J.B. said, the Uzi held by his side as he watched the ville streets. “That was a damn waste of time.”
Wrapping the reins around a hitch on the buckboard, Doc snorted in reply. “Attempting to not take a life is never a waste of time,” he rumbled, buckling on his gun belt and stepping down to the ground.
“For once we agree,” Mildred said. “Just wish the path to righteousness wasn’t so well paved with land mines.”
“Again, madam, we agree.”
Trying not to grunt aloud, Jak took the old man’s place at the reins, resting his hurt ankle on his folded camou jacket.
“Hey, lend a hand,” Krysty grunted, throwing her weight against the door to no results.
J.B. stayed on guard while the rest of the companions joined the woman at her task. The gate required the combined strength of everybody to be slowly forced aside, and after Jak drove the cart through, they forced it shut again to confuse the trail. The bolts were still undone on the other side, the sentry aced, but hopefully nobody would notice for a while. Whichever side won the battle, the survivors would certainly come after them for payback.
Past the gate was an open field separating the wall from the jungle, stubbly grass and flowering weeds dotting the land showing it had been cleared by hand. But not for farming. There were no furrows or even irrigation ditches. Just flat open soil.