“Krysty, help Jak,” Ryan directed, handing the woman one of his blasters. Her .38 would do nothing against these jungle behemoths.
The redhead accepted the Webley and a handful of ammo, then assisted Jak down from the cart. She grabbed him about the waist and they started moving, their blasters cocked and ready.
“Take our packs?” Dean asked, jumping to the grass.
A hooded cobra rose to hiss at him, and Doc blew it away with the shotgun charge of the LeMat.
“Just take the MRE packs and ammo,” his father directed. “We need speed.”
He nodded. “Yes, Dad.”
Dumping his backpack, J.B. pulled the pin on a gren and snugly tucked it over the pile of packs. The first person, or thing, that lifted the packs would have its face removed by eight ounces of high-grade military plastique. That ought to slow down even these four-armed monsters.
Roars came from the jungle around them. Mildred put a few bursts from the Thompson into the forest, the leaves shaking under the chattering fury. A gorilla darted into sight, and she concentrated the rapidfire on the mutie until the clip was spent. Swaying, the ape dropped to the ground.
“Bullshit!” Ryan growled, and pumped a few rounds from the Webley into the creature.
Growling and slavering, the gorilla stood and rushed the norms, fresh blood on its massive chest.
“Knavery, eh?” Doc growled, discharging the LeMat and the Webley together. The double roar thundered in the trees, the reports bouncing off the stone wall to sound like a hundred blasters.
Rocking slightly, the hunting ape patted at the gaping wound in its belly, pale blood welling with every breath. Finally, the brutish head lolled and it lay down as if going to sleep.
Snapping the reloaded Webley shut, Ryan triggered the blaster and blew off a chunk of its hairy skull, pinkish-gray brains pouring out like warm grease.
“Head shots only,” he ordered. “These bastards know how to play possum.”
“Incoming!” Dean shouted, firing.
Snarling wildly, a dozen of the great apes charged out of the forest. Slamming their knuckles onto the ground, the muties swung their torsos forward, then grabbed the soil with stubby toes to swing their arms again. Even as he pumped hot lead into their faces, Ryan couldn’t understand how they got any speed that way, but the beasts moved with amazing velocity across the open roadway.
J.B. emptied the Uzi once more, and the rest of the companions fired head shots into the wounded muties. They had a system now that worked, but used a lot of irreplaceable ammo.
Sprinting down the dirt road, more gorillas came from the jungle and were aced. But the next wave didn’t charge at the humans, but stayed just out of range, and only charged when the companions turned their backs to leave.
“Fireblast!” Ryan cursed, stopping in the road and turning. “I’ll hold them until you reach the cliff! Then cover me!”
“Done!” J.B. answered, and took off at a run.
As the others departed, the gorillas paused in confusion, then charged in a group. Shooting as fast as he could pull the trigger, Ryan emptied the Webley. Four of the gorillas fell with blood spraying from their faces, but the fifth took a round smack in the chest and didn’t even pause.
Cursing the miss, Ryan threw a gren, and the ape caught the sphere to sniff at it suspiciously. The blast reduced it to a smoking stain, and Ryan took off after the others, fumbling to open the top of the revolver and thumb in fresh rounds.
Reaching the rock wall, J.B. turned and waited until Ryan was in sight, then emptied a clip in one stuttering volley into the forest behind the man. The 9 mm rounds ripped apart the leaves, and six gorillas fell wounded or dying. But they started after the companions again, crawling along the ground with their four arms, heading straight for the Armorer, their tiny red eyes staring hatefully at him. The sight chilled his blood, and J.B. had to force himself to stay and reload the Uzi, instead of starting up the cliff face.
“Get going!” Ryan ordered, dropping the Webley and drawing the SIG-Sauer. He hadn’t wanted to use the silenced blaster because it had less of a punch than the booming revolver, but he was out of ammo for the big-bore top-loader. Krysty had the last of the .44 rounds, and she was completely out of reach.