“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” the Armorer agreed, faking a smile, and the man ambled along the street until reaching the intersection.
“What’s wrong?” J.B. asked out of the side of his mouth, as they climbed onto the bikes.
“Droids. It’s a trap,” Ryan said urgently, thumbing the ignition button to start the big Twin-V engine. “We have to get out of here fast.”
Making as little fuss as possible, the companions rolled away on their bikes while nervously watching the pawnshop until they were a good block distant.
“Far enough,” Ryan ordered, halting the bike. “I want you all to see what we almost walked into.”
“Trip wire?” Jak asked, holding the Colt Python.
The Deathlands warrior shook his head. “Lot worse than that. Going for the door, I stepped on some congealed steel,” Ryan said. “Seemed odd, so I looked around. There’s a reason why the grating of the pawnshop was open. To chill us. Damn near succeeded, too.”
“Those crafty bastards,” Krysty said, squinting into the distance. “Look at that.”
Pulling out the telescope, J.B. located the store and scanned its front, searching for something subtle he had missed before. The man spotted it when he came to the lock on the open grating. “Dark night,” he muttered. The mechanism was gone; there was only a smooth hole in the grating where the lock should be located, the surrounding metal discolored from severe heat.
“That was done with a laser,” J.B. said, passing the Navy brass to the others. “A droid is in that store, waiting for us. Mebbe more.”
Accepting their word on the matter, Mildred waved off the telescope. But Doc took his turn with the long-eyes. “I wager the machines also placed the broken key in the lock of the sporting-goods store to divert us to their trap.”
“Tricky,” Jak agreed, cracking his knuckles. “Okay, what do?”
“Last time it took a hundred rounds of ammo to stop one of those things,” Krysty said, loosening the Webley in her belt. “Could be a dozen in there. Two dozen! We need better weapons.”
“More than that,” Ryan stated, flexing his hand above the SIG-Sauer in its holster. “We need to go someplace the droids haven’t thought of yet. Gun shops are obvious sources of ammo, police stations, too. Bet a live round the droids are waiting for us at both.”
“Navy base is a rad crater,” Dean offered, unbuttoning the flap that covered the breast pocket of his shirt. During their rest, the boy had sown the pocket into sections to hold the long cartridges for the Weatherby for easy access.
“Banks are useless,” he continued. “There isn’t anywhere else. Not for what we need.”
“Weapons were considered unnecessary at a vacation resort,” Mildred said, working the bolt on the Thompson and slinging the weapon around her neck. That way the rapidfire was instantly available, but out of the way enough for her hands to steer.
“I’m pretty sure we can find more ammo,” Ryan said, wheeling the bike around. “But first we need some distance to cover our tracks.”
As the motorcycles raced away, the tiny bell above the entrance to the gun shop gave a musical tinkle as the door swung open a crack, and a small video camera extended to track the progress of the departing humans. Then, just as smoothly, the lens retracted and the door closed, leaving the street to appear peaceful and empty for the next visitors.
TEN BLOCKS LATER, Ryan turned toward the west and slowed. Checking the street signs, he took a few turns until reaching a residential section, brightly painted pink apartment houses, interspaced fast-food restaurants and strip malls.
“What about a courier company? They’d have some weapons,” Dean suggested, bumping over a manhole cover.
Ryan glanced at the boy. “Never thought of that before,” he admitted. “Good idea, but they wouldn’t have anything we could use against the machines. Just some handcannons, mebbe a few shotguns, but no big ordnance.”
“What we need is a Finnish 20 mm ATR,” J.B. stated. “Plus a shit load of shells. That’d send those droids to the junkyard.”
“Gun collectors?” Jak suggested, arching around an open car door.
“They’d have the blasters, but no ammo,” Ryan said, checking the street. “There, that’ll do.”