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in the air. He aimed for the center of the men, and for the gas tank. He
believed he hit both, but the sudden eruption of the gas tank let him know
he'd gotten the fuel tank for certain.
The motorcycle turned into fireball that careened in a short arc, then smashed
into the ground front wheel first. The coldheart who'd been driving screamed
in hoarse fear and flapped at the flames licking at his crotch.
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Dean ignored the man and turned his attention to his second adversary. The man
landed in a heap, but he came up with his revolver in his hand, spitting lead.
Coolly the younger Cawdor stroked the Browning's trigger and put a round into
the man's face, sealing his fate.
Dean fired two more rounds into the burning man to put him down. Pushing
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himself up, he raced back toward the entrance to the junkyard. Another sonic
boom of thunder cascaded over the area, trapped between the stacks of dead
wags filling the junkyard.
Movement ahead and to Dean's left drew his attention. He barely kept his
finger from squeezing the Browning's trigger as the dirty face of a
blond-haired little girl looked up at him.
"Holy shit!" Dean's hand shook as he took the gun sight off her. "What do you
think you're ?"
The man leaped at him, a lock-back knife bared in his fist and a look of
desperate fear on his face.
"WHATS WRONG WITH HER ?" J.B. asked, nodding at Krysty. Her tied hands and
feet drew the Armorer's eyes as he sat astride the lathered horse.
"Later," Ryan said, swinging Krysty up to his friend.
J.B. grabbed the woman's belt and heaved her over the saddle in front of him.
The horse shied at the extra weight, stamping its feet.
"In the meantime," Ryan said, "don't listen to her what-ever she says. Keep
her tied." It bothered him to say that, but the instructions might keep Krysty
and the
Armorer alive. He glanced out at the open space in front of the junkyard. The
baron's men and the Slaggers had declared all-out war on each other, and it
was difficult to tell who was getting the better end of it. Horses and men lay
scat-tered across the torn, bloody earth. "Where's Dean?"
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"Saw him get across the fence," J.B. said. "Chilled two coldhearts and a
motorcycle."
"Junkyard's the only chance we've got to remain mobile and get out of the
rain."
J.B. nodded. "That's what Dean and I figured." He re-vealed the gren tucked
inside his shirt. "We were going to soften them up, get them used to the idea,
but they came at us before we were ready."
"We'll do it now," Ryan said. He put away the SIG-Sauer and slid the Steyr off
his shoulder. Gazing across to the entrance of the junkyard, he knew it was
still a lot of ground to cover. "Get Krysty across first. We'll follow."
The Armorer nodded, but his eyes cut to Mildred.
"It's okay, John," the woman said. "I'll be along."
"She'll make it," Ryan said.
"I'll be holding down the fort."
"Do that. But keep an eye peeled for those bastard dogs. I don't think we've
killed them all out yet."
J.B. pulled on the reins and turned the horse. The ani-mal's footing was no
longer certain, but it had heart. He put his heels to its sides and charged
across the open space.
"Let's go," Ryan ordered. "Jak, you've got point. Mil-dred, you're after him,
then
Doc. I'm walking slack, but if you slow down out there, I'm going to kick your
skinny ass all the way to that junkyard."
"Friend Ryan, these legs may well be old, but I wager you shall be eating my
dust," Doc retorted. "Fear lends this old heart a certain alacrity in nearly
every happen-stance."
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IT PROVED IMPOSSIBLE to run in a straight line. Ryan cursed the luck as they
had to dodge dead men and horses, then the combatants.
They were halfway to the junkyard when the Slagger leader, Halleck, pointed to
the small group of companions and shouted orders to his men. The baron's
horsemen had retreated into the rubble and started picking off some of the
Slaggers on foot. The withering fire from the horsemen cut into the numbers of
the coldhearts and drove them back to cover.
The Jeep roared off in pursuit, streaking for the compan-ions. Gunners in the
back fired at will, but luckily the weapons were semiautomatics and no real
time was taken to properly aim.
Ryan knew the companions would never make it before the Jeep caught up to
them. He stood and brought the Steyr up to his shoulder, felt the buttstock
caress the side of his face. He put the crosshairs over the driver's side of
the windshield and squeezed the trigger.
But the uneven ground and the worn springs of the Jeep made the target more
elusive. Three shots missed killing the driver, though he felt certain at
least one of them had hit the female passenger. Then the Jeep was bearing down
on him, taking away all margin for error.
"Fireblast." Ryan turned and ran, watching bullets pock-mark the ground around
him. The sour stink of the coming rain burned his nose with renewed vigor as
he drew it deep into his lungs.
The Jeep bore down on him, and a pair of bullets ripped through his coat.
Ryan threw himself aside at the last moment. The wag's bumper slammed into him
with bruising force, clipping him and driving him to the ground. He managed to
hang on to the Steyr during his fall, but even as he reached his knees, his
body protesting because the wind had been knocked out of him, he saw the wag
bearing down on him again.
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This time it wouldn't miss.
"STOP, YOU STUPE BASTARD, or I'll blast your triple-ugly face off!" Dean
ducked under the man's knife arm and kicked his leg hard enough to topple him.
Before the man could get back up, Dean screwed the barrel of the Hi-Power into
the side of his neck.
"Don't kill my pa!" the little girl screamed. Tears fell from her blue eyes.
"Don't kill my pa!"
If it hadn't been for the little girl's pleas, Dean thought he might have
pulled the trigger. True, the man who'd jumped him didn't look like one of the
coldhearts or the baron's horsemen, but the man had tried to chill him all the
same.
He hesitated, then cursed at himself because he didn't think his father would
have hesitated at all. Survival was self first, not the other guy.
Breathing hard, Dean looked square in the man's fright-ened eyes. "Your
choice, mister. I chill you, I don't chill you, it's all the same to me. But
you're going to leave her out here alone."
"You're not one of the Slaggers?" the man asked. He started to get up.
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