by James Axler
Plan set, it was left only to count down to action. When they were primed, Ryan and Jak waited for a shot from the doorway, then counted to five together. Their eyes met, and they launched themselves from behind the barricade.
It took six or seven seconds to reach the door from the barricade. Enough time for another shot to be loosed from the doorway, catching the one-eyed warrior on the inside of the arm, and enough time for an anxious shout to be given from the startled shooter.
A sudden barrage of shots echoed loudly in the corridor, the space within the enclosed room suddenly alive with hot lead and steel as the slugs whined in the air. Ryan and Jak ignored them and attained the doorway. It was too narrow for both to jump through at once, and Jak was there with an edge of speed. He propelled himself through, firing from his Colt Python as he jackknifed in the air, unthinking of any danger. He saw one man’s startled face as the powerful blaster ripped a hole in his chest cavity, the bone splinters spreading through his internal organs, joining the waves of pressure caused by the slug pulping his insides. He was chilled long before he fell.
As Jak took the airspace, Ryan opted for the floor. Throwing himself across the concrete, ignoring the jarring pain in his shoulder as he hit, ignoring even more the friction that ripped his clothes and took off the top layer of skin as he slid sideways. He remained focused, the adrenaline pumping through him seeming to slow down time, allowing him to think clearly and concisely, picking his targets.
There were four men and one woman, all with rifles. They had been sent to snipe and contain, obviously. They weren’t close-quarters fighters. Two of them stood openmouthed, momentarily frozen in shock by the sudden appearance of the two companions. Two of them had already begun to turn tail and run. But the woman raised her rifle, pulling back the bolt on the ancient blaster, ready to drill another—perhaps more lethal—hole in Ryan.
She was first. Had to be. Ryan sighted her with the Sig Sauer, aiming high to get her chest or face. A gut shot wouldn’t stop her firing, whereas the chest or face would take her out immediately. But bumping across the corridor floor, there was no guarantee that the shot would be true. He had to rely on his instincts and just hope. He squeezed the trigger rapidly, feeling the recoil of the blaster drive his already aching shoulder into the concrete just a little harder.
His instinct was true as was his aim. As she raised the rifle to her right eye to sight in, a neat red hole was drilled in the center of her forehead, causing her to look surprised. She dropped the rifle before crumpling neatly to the floor.
Ryan saw this as he skidded into the far wall of the corridor, cursing as the impact on his already damaged shoulder temporarily numbed his fingers, causing the Sig Sauer to slip and leaving him temporarily defenseless.
He had no need to worry. Mildred and Krysty were already out into the corridor, Mildred snapping off shots from her Czech-made ZKR that took down the two runners, catching one in the lower back and the other in the right thigh. Meanwhile, Krysty let loose with her Smith & Wesson, picking off two startled marksmen who were slowly starting to react and raise their rifles. Too slowly. One was driven off his feet by a short-range shot that hit him in the chest, while the other found that the pain of having his groin and lower abdomen pierced by a .38 caliber shell was too distracting to allow him to sight and fire. He screamed in a high-pitched, wailing tone as the rifle clattered to the floor and he sank to his knees, his hands clutching uselessly, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
Neither woman gave much thought to guarding their backs. They knew they didn’t have to worry.
Jak had taken out one of the enemy, but that left others. And the manner in which the albino cannoned against the far wall meant that he was momentarily out of the game. He was, in theory, defenseless: but only in theory, for he knew that Doc would be on his tail, cleaning up after the initial assault.
Doc had been physically more frail than usual since the rockfall in the tunnels had caused him respiratory problems, and the subsequent search for J.B. had given him little time to recover. He was an old man in many ways and needed more time for recovery than the others. That was something circumstances had refused to allow him. But Doc had something else, an inner strength that was greater than many realized. The physical and psychological traumas he had experienced in his life could only have been borne by someone who had vast reserves of inner steel. It was something that he drew on now, when it was most needed.
Pushing his limbs even though they ached, even though his lungs felt they were about to explode and his blood pressure seemed set to pump his lifeblood so hard that it would burst through his skin, Doc was on the tail of Ryan and Jak like a terrier after a rabbit. He was totally focused on his task and nothing would deflect him from it.
As Jak sailed through the air, taking the enemy by surprise and taking out one of them, Doc was at his heels. The old man crossed the floor in seconds and stepped out into the corridor, wheeling round to face the sec door and bracing himself as he did so. There was a matter of yards between himself and the four people gathered by the barrier. One of them had been hit by Jak’s shot and was collapsing into a heap of blood and ruptured flesh on the floor. The other three were stunned. Then one of them—a woman dressed in rags—whirled to tap a code into the sec door. Who knew what lay on the other side—more marksmen or just a means of escape?
It didn’t matter. They could not be allowed to trigger the sec door or to recover enough to fire on Jak, who was now sliding down the far corridor wall, already rolling to come up in a combat stance.
Doc leveled the LeMat, shifting his aim so that it was on a line bisecting the two stunned marksmen and the moving woman.
The shot charge from the ancient percussion pistol was so loud within the confined space as to almost create a cone of silence as the sound spread out. Smoke filled the air, catching on the breath and searing the lungs.
The three marksmen had no chance. The shot spread out over a couple of yards, lethal pellets of hot metal propelled at enormous force, flaying at anything soft that may be in its path. Something soft such as human flesh.
The three enemy marksmen were cut down before they had a chance to react, the pellets puckering at their skin before tearing into flesh and shattering bone, gouging into eyes and causing the balls to pop, spilling mucous liquid down faces already smeared in gore.
It was over in a second. By the time Jak was in combat stance, ready to fire again, the three remaining enemy were neutralized with extreme prejudice.
Both Doc and Jak took this in within a fraction of a second and turned to face the retreating enemy on the other side.
The two runners cut down by Mildred were still alive. The man with the thigh wound was dragging himself toward the dogleg, while the man hit in the spine was mewing pitifully on the concrete floor, trying to pull himself forward. It would almost have been kinder to chill him with a second shot, but Mildred and Krysty were occupied by another problem.
Now that all the companions were out in the corridor, there was little cover for them—a few tunnel buttresses to cover behind, but that was all—and they were open to attack.
Around the bend of the corridor, enemy shooters were beginning to fire. Any thoughts they may have had about trying to take the companions alive were now dismissed as they saw their compatriots cut down. And they had more than ancient rifles with which to fight.
The snipers had been sent in purely to contain. These fighters had no such restraints. There was more than one, perhaps as many as half a dozen; it was impossible to tell. All that was known for sure was that they were armed with SMGs and were using them to strike back. The harsh, guttural chatter of a Heckler & Koch MP-5 was punctuated by the high-pitched chop of an Uzi. Bullets hit the walls and ceiling of the corridor. Chips of concrete and little clouds of dust were flung out by the impacts, ricocheting around the companions. The enemy blasters were firing blind, but there was a very good chance, with that volume of fire, that they would score some decisive hits
.
“Cover, don’t return unless you get a good sight,” Ryan yelled, diving for the scant cover of a tunnel buttress, ignoring the protest of his skinned and aching shoulder and the burning in his arm. He wiped the blood from his palm, slicking it down the leg of his pants. His hand was still slippery, so he holstered the Sig Sauer and unslung the Steyr from his good shoulder. He sighted on the bend, hoping to get a good look at the enemy.
If they were anything like the ones they had chilled, the enemy were an inbred-looking bunch, ugly bastards with an attitude to match, but not too quick on the uptake. Scant consolation when they had rapid-fire SMGs as blasters, unknown amounts of ammo and better cover. The companions had made some progress, but not enough. In fact, they may have done nothing more than dig themselves a deeper hole.
Two enemy gunners stepped out of cover, keeping low and firing indiscriminately at the area where the companions had been standing. It didn’t matter. All five of them were sheltering behind buttresses. Ryan was the farthest up, while on the other side Mildred and Krysty shared shelter. Jak was on the right of the tunnel, like Ryan, while Doc was one buttress removed from Mildred and Krysty. This left Ryan and Jak in better cover, but with a worse angle of fire.
The two enemy gunners cut loose, while another two—with their blasters slung over their shoulders—ran out, crouching low, to try to take their compatriots back into cover. For the man headed for the runner with the punctured thigh, it was an easy task. He grabbed his man and hauled him back while the hail of SMG fire kept the companions pinned back behind their scant cover. But for the runner headed for the spine hit, it was much more difficult. His objective was closer to the companions and less able to move.
The runner looked terrified, but he kept moving, stooping even lower to grab his target and try to haul him to safety. He cursed loudly and incomprehensibly as he took the outstretched hand of the stricken marksman, who was beginning to fade from this world.
His target’s lack of energy and his own panic were to cost both of them dear. Ryan sighted the stricken man. To take him out would be a mercy, as a cripple couldn’t survive long in the Deathlands. One shot from the Steyr drilled a hole in his back, puncturing his lungs and drowning him in his own blood. It was a marginally better fate than chilling slowly from his spine wound.
The impact made his attempted rescuer curse louder and step back in shock, straightening. This brought him into the line of fire of the blasters that had previously been covering him, firing over his head. The hail of fire caught him in the head and shoulders, fine sprays of blood, bone and brain matter raining out of his disintegrating skull as his torso was jerked like a spastic puppet by the multiple impacts. The momentum kept him upright long after he had bought the farm and he only slumped to the concrete when the firing ceased.
Above the deafening noise of the SMGs, Ryan could hear an incoherent voice yelling. The blasterfire died quickly and the corpse slumped to the floor.
There was a pause that seemed to lengthen out into an eternity as both sides held their fire. For the companions, there was nothing for them to target, the enemy forces were concealed around the end of the dogleg bend. But the enemy didn’t appear to be too keen on firing at the companions either. The silence settled into a blanket that seemed to settle uncomfortably over the scene.
Ryan looked across to Jak. The albino gave a brief nod and then, as Ryan kept him covered, he dropped to the ground and quickly slithered across the floor to come up again next to his leader. It took a matter of seconds and if there were any enemies watching, they weren’t quick enough to snap off any fire.
“What think?” Jak whispered.
“Too damn quiet for my liking,” Ryan replied. “What the fuck are they doing around there? No sign of an attack, for all we know they could have pulled back.”
Jak shook his head. “Would have heard. Sitting waiting.”
“Yeah, but for what?” Ryan wondered. “If we stay here, they can just sit us out like before. But without any grens to hit the bend, we’re risking running into a hail of fire.”
“Could open sec door,” Jak murmured, looking back over his shoulder to the closed door that provided them with a dead end.
“They could have men waiting for us on the other side. We’d be exposed.”
“Mebbe, but why not use it to hit us now?”
Ryan considered what Jak suggested. If the enemy had men stationed behind the sec door, then the right time to hit them would have been while they were being assaulted from the front.
Although they spoke quietly, Doc was close enough to catch what was being said. He drifted out from cover, moving quickly from buttress to buttress, until he was opposite Ryan and Jak. There was no way that the buttresses could cover three people, but standing directly opposite allowed him to speak without too great a chance of the enemy—some three hundred yards away, around a bend—overhearing.
“A word, my dear Ryan,” Doc stated. “It occurs to me that our enemy has a great knowledge of the redoubt. Perhaps one handed down for many years.”
“Great, Doc, could work that out myself,” Ryan answered, a little puzzled.
“I fear that you may, perhaps, be missing my point,” Doc mused.
“Then mebbe you should get to it, and quick,” Ryan informed him.
“A fair point,” Doc agreed. “I shall, without any further ado. My point is simply this—if these people have had what they consider a unique access to the redoubt, then they would not have countenanced the notion that someone else may also have such knowledge. To wit, they may not consider that anyone else may have a knowledge of the codes used to operate the sec doors. And thus, they may have reasoned that simply to close the corridor off would be enough to both deter and stay us. Therefore, they may not have stationed anyone on the other side of the door for the simple reason that they would not have need. To contain us here and then pick us off would be all the strategy they needed.”
“If that was simple, I hope to hell that you never have to go into detail,” Ryan muttered. “But you’re right. That would explain why they haven’t used the sec door to hit us from behind.”
“Ryan, if cover, then I hit code. We need to put up heavy fire when opens, they be on us,” Jak said quickly.
Ryan agreed. To get past the sec door would give them a get out from this closed situation. But the enemy would hear the door opening and would hit them hard. They’d have no choice. The companions would have to move quickly and make every shot count. Without J.B.’s Uzi and the spare ammo he carried, they could only fight for so long against such heavy SMG use.
“Jak, tell Mildred and Krysty on your way back, then hit the code when I give you the signal. We all have to be ready to move.” His mind racing, he could think of only one way to buy the necessary space. He looked across to Doc. “Wait until they start to come into view—they’ll have to when the door opens—and hit them right in the middle with everything you’ve got,” he said, indicating the LeMat.
Doc cradled the ancient pistol to him, his hand resting on the barrel that delivered the shot charge. In this relatively enclosed space, the hot metal dispersing in the air would be the best weapon they could call to hand.
“I shall endeavor to do my best,” Doc solemnly intoned.
Ryan tapped Jak on the back. “Go.”
Keeping low and moving in an irregular zigzagging pattern, Jak moved back, taking as much cover as possible, toward the sec door, pausing only to deliver instructions to Mildred and Krysty, who had remained just out of earshot. He reached the next support buttress to the sec-door arch. There was a ten-foot gap and to cross it and tap in the code would leave him with his back exposed for a vital second or two.
Ryan saw Jak take up his position. He checked the Steyr and the Sig Sauer. For ease of movement he would swap the rifle for the handblaster as they retreated, but he wanted to make sure that he had both primed and ready for a firefight. Next, Ryan looked back at his people. Jak, impassive as ever, was poised and r
eady, seemingly at ease and ready to move with the speed and accuracy of a snake. Mildred and Krysty were behind their cover. Both had their blasters ready and their balance poised to make a break for the sec door as it opened. Finally, he looked across at Doc. The old man would be the slowest out of the blocks, but the firepower of the LeMat dictated that he should stay at the front with Ryan. The old man stood rigid and firm, jaw set grimly, a light in his eyes that showed him to be somewhere else in his mind, about to fight yet another old battle. He met Ryan’s eye and indicated his readiness with an inclination of the head.
Ryan looked back at Jak and nodded. Now.
Jak darted to the sec-door panel and punched in the code. The door began to move, the whirring of the predark machinery seeming somehow louder than usual in the encompassing silence. Mildred and Krysty raised their blasters and began to track backward, leaving cover and moving toward the door. Ryan and Doc faced the dogleg bend, waiting for the first signs of advance.
There was an incoherent cry from beyond the corner of the tunnel. The enemy had been content to sit back and wait rather than incur losses and hadn’t even bothered to mount a watch on what the companions were doing.
Yelling and cursing, a group of enemy came around the bend, firing indiscriminately, peppering the corridor with blasterfire. Doc and Ryan stood firm, despite the ricochets and lumps of concrete that flew around them. They didn’t dare look back to see how their companions were doing. Ryan was too busy trying to pick off runners with the Sig Sauer, while Doc waited, patient and yet anxious, trying to pick the optimum moment to fire.
Mildred, Krysty and Jak ignored the mayhem around them. If they were hit, there was nothing they could do about it. Right then, they had to trust luck to get through the sec door and into cover on the other side. If they were really lucky, Doc and Ryan could pull back and they could keep the enemy at bay while they closed the door. That would buy them a few seconds in their flight, and seconds were the most precious thing they could wish for. Meantime, as they stood in the open, they snapped off shots at the oncoming gunners, hoping to at least make the least brave of the enemy dive for cover, even if they didn’t chill or injure a few.