Starfall

by neetha Napew

  "Madam, I'll warrant that you put your best efforts to the task, and indeed I found myself sluggish recuperating, but I am still here."

  Only a few rifle bullets struck the rooftop, but the gun­ners were too harried by Baron Shaker's sec men and the other scavengers to be accurate.

  Doc stayed low anyway.

  Annie continued firing and reloading, working the 20 mm cannon with grim authority. Her accuracy punched holes in the attack.

  Concerned, Doc turned his attention to the barn, won­dering how the companions were faring. He had no doubts that Ryan would have them up and moving, but they were separated.

  "What's wrong?" Annie asked.

  "Dear lady, I am wondering about my companions' welfare. We have traveled down many hard and harsh roads together."

  "I saw them moving around a minute ago."

  "Did you see in which direction they headed?"

  "I was kind of busy," Annie replied.

  A fresh hail of rifle bullets scored on the rooftop. This time two of them punched through the opening and tore splinters on the walls around Doc and Annie.

  "Goddamn!" the woman roared, ducking instinctively. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

  Doc scanned the line of attackers, searching for any that might be in position to shoot more properly at them. "There," he said. "There is a sniper in the tree out beyond the perimeter you have blazed. To the left of the trail to the gates."

  "I see him, I see him." Annie worked the cannon's con­trols, elevating the muzzle as she racked another round into the chamber. She fired almost as soon as the cannon muzzle leveled.

  The 20 mm round slammed into the treetop, tearing branches and the sniper loose. The dead man dropped to the ground in a crumpled heap.

  "Excellent shooting, dear lady!" Doc stepped forward again and swept the inner courtyard for some sign of the companions. They couldn't have left him. Could they?

  Yet, at the same time, Doc knew he wouldn't have blamed them. It had been his choice not to stay with them while they'd been camped out in the trading post.

  "What's on your mind?" Annie asked.

  "My companions." Doc peered out at the river, knowing Ryan's first impulse would have been to get to the boat.

  "I thought you were staying here."

  "Dear lady, as much as that thought warms the very cockles of my heart," Doc told her as diplomatically as possible, "my future is surely bound in theirs as long as they have need of me." And he still hadn't completely given up hope of finding a way back to his own time, back to his family. Time trawling still existed in certain redoubts.

  "Sorry to hear you say that."

  "But if there was a place in Deathlands where I would stay were things different…" Doc started.

  "No need going on about it, Theophilus. You got your mind made up. I could tell yesterday when I was foolish enough to ask you to stay." Annie threw up a hand and pointed. "There're your friends."

  Doc peered across the inner courtyard and saw the com­panions running toward the main house.

  "Not exactly what I had in mind when I outfitted them," Annie said. "Figured at least they'd stand and fight with us."

  Anger surged through Doc, but he kept it in check. "Do not underestimate them, madam. Our boat lies in yonder direction. Ryan will not be leaving here without it."

  Annie glanced at him, not looking any too sure about his statement.

  "DOC UP THERE."

  Ryan twisted his head, following the line of Jak's point­ing finger. He saw Doc in the rooftop opening of the main house, then lost him for a moment as the cannon blasted again. "Doc!" he yelled up.

  "Yes, my dear Ryan!"

  "Coming?"

  "I shall endeavor to join you precipitously."

  Ryan shifted his gaze over to the woman. "Those people may decide to take the boat while they have the chance. I'm not going to see that happen. While Shaker and your people hold the front wall, we're going to come up beside those bastards and shoot the hell out of them until we see a way clear to the boat."

  "That's a dangerous piece of work," Annie called back. "Be triple stupe to go out there."

  "Got to be done," Ryan said, "if we're going to save that boat. Don't save that boat, we're going to be in more trouble than we know what to do with. When you know we're out there, ease up with that blaster unless you know for sure what you're shooting at."

  "Count on it."

  RYAN LED THE WAY over the north wall at the back of the trading post, swarming up the ladder and using the rope J.B. had brought from the barn to lower himself over the side.

  "Look out, Ryan!" Krysty yelled, opening up with her .38-caliber blaster.

  Releasing the rope halfway up, Ryan dropped just as bullets cut the air over his head. Before the hollow sounds of the rounds smacking into the posts died away, Ryan was rolling across the ground, searching for the men who'd come up behind the trading post. He heard J.B.'s Uzi stutter to life, joining Krysty's blaster.

  Ryan guessed there had to have been a half-dozen men positioned in the forest's edge beyond the cleared area next to the trading post. He unleathered the P-226 and fired at the nearest man, punching three full-metal-jacket rounds through the man's chest, blowing his lungs to shreds and tearing big holes through his back.

  Before the corpse toppled from its position beside a gnarled oak tree, Ryan had his second target in his sights. The first two rounds cut the leafy branches above the woman's head, spooking her and driving her out into the open. A quick burst from J.B.'s Uzi turned her into a twisting, jerking marionette. She didn't die at once, and her screams echoed through the forest.

  Jak came down the rope with the agility of a monkey. Before he touched the ground, he leaped off and threw himself into a diving roll. Bullets broke the ground where he'd been.

  Ryan shifted his blaster, picking up one of the coldhearts shooting at Jak. One of the three rounds he fired in the man's direction cored through the coldheart's skull, emp­tying his brain in a heartbeat.

  By then, Jak had disappeared into the foliage. Ryan charged, running flat out while the other companions pro­vided covering fire. He put away the SIG-Sauer and raised the Steyr as he took up a defensive position beside a thick-boled tree, spotting two coldhearts in brief flashes through the brush. They were moving, as well, falling back from their positions. He ignored the telescopic sights at such close range, and used the open rings beneath.

  One man held a position behind a boulder. Ryan tried to aim at him, but the eruption of gunfire drove him to cover. Dodging to the other side of the tree he was using for cover, he squeezed the trigger twice quickly.

  The bullets cored through the man's head, yanking him out of cover. He windmilled his arms, trying in vain to get his balance, but he was dead before his body came to a stop.

  The second man sprinted through the forest, pulling back and sweeping toward the west side of the trading post. Ryan led him slightly, anticipated the break in the tree line then squeezed off a trio of shots. At least two of them caught him in the chest, throwing him sideways.

  The wounded woman finally stopped screaming as the rest of the companions climbed over the wall and followed Ryan into the forest. As he led the way, he found two more men with Jak's familiar leaf-bladed knives embedded in them. Ryan retrieved the knives and tucked them into his pockets. He knew Jak ranged somewhere ahead of them, scouting out the way.

  Mildred and J.B. brought up the rear, guarding Elmore, Morse and the two boys. Dean and Doc stayed with Krysty.

  Once everyone was in the forest, moving through the brush with the ease and skill they were accustomed to, Ryan picked up the pace. He caught occasional glimpses of Jak as the albino teen allowed him. Ryan was good in the brush, but Jak was every bit as much the ghost as he looked in the trees.

  They swept around the front of the trading post, angling steadily toward the river and the pier where the boat was. Ryan reloaded his weapons automatically as he moved, fir­ing when he had certain targets. As they
came into the terrain in front of the trading post, still deep within the tree line, Ryan kept the companions close to ground to avoid the blasterfire of the baron's sec men.

  Jak left a swath of death behind him.

  Ryan collected more of the leaf-bladed throwing knives, stashing them in his pockets. Coming up on the albino's freshest kill, he heard a man say, "Whitey. Whitey, where the fuck are you?"

  Pulling up behind a shelf of rock, Ryan froze into place. Behind him, Doc, Dean and Krysty stopped, then waved the other companions into hiding. Unable to see the ap­proaching man, Ryan listened instead, focusing on the man's breathing and movements, separating them from the crash of blasterfire all around.

  The man stayed low, but he chose to go over the rock shelf. Pebbles dropped onto Ryan's back amid a shower of dirt, letting him know the man was above him. Keeping the SIG-Sauer in one fist, he reached up with the other and grabbed the man by the hair. He put all his weight into the yank that brought the man down with him.

  The coldheart screamed in pain and fear, and fought against Ryan. Before the man could get himself set, Ryan slapped the side of his head with the muzzle of the 9 mm blaster. The skin broke, and blood sprayed over Ryan's hand.

  "Fireblast," Ryan snarled, rubbing as much of the blood on his pants as he could. He didn't want it running inside his grip and loosening his hold on his blaster.

  The man tried to bring up his rifle.

  Ryan slapped it away with his forearm, then kicked the man in the crotch with his steel-toed boot.

  All the fight in the man drained away, and he spilled to the ground in a limp heap.

  Ryan seized the rifle and threw it into the brush. If he'd been able, he'd have taken it and used it to barter some­place else. But now it would only serve to slow him. A dead man couldn't trade.

  "Who are you?" Ryan asked the man.

  The coldheart's eyes flared in pain. The one on the left was already turning red from the broken blood vessels spewing into it. "Jenkins."

  "What're you doing here?"

  "Come after Baron Shaker," Jenkins answered. "Hired on with a man named Callton a few months back. We been hunting Shaker ever since."

  "Why?"

  The man shook his head, holding one hand to his temple. "Mister, I don't know. Callton, he collects things. Found out Shaker does, too. A couple times, we weren't hunting Shaker—he was hunting us. Same reason."

  "What kind of things are they collecting?"

  "Predark stuff. Comp progs. High-tech stuff that doesn't even work no more. Doesn't make sense if you ask me, but Callton keeps the jack coming on time."

  "If I let you go," Ryan offered, "you get the fuck out of here."

  "Sure thing, mister." Hope dawned in the coldheart's eyes. He scrambled to his feet when Ryan let him go, then moved uncertainly toward the trading post.

  For a moment, Ryan thought the guy was going to leave. But in the end, pride or stupidity laid the final ace on the line and he dived for his rifle.

  Ryan put a bullet in his brain for his trouble, tearing out the side of the coldheart's head that he'd already brutalized. Ryan was already moving again when the corpse fell.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ryan came across Jak less than fifty yards on. The albino lay low in the tall grass, choking the life from a mutie snake nearly six feet long that wrapped around the youth's arm.

  "Bite you?" Ryan asked.

  Jak snorted derisively. "Never had chance. Got him be­fore got me." He nodded ahead of them. "Run out of cover."

  Ryan scanned the free line as Jak threw the dead snake away. They were at the outer perimeter. Beyond it was the open space leading to the drop-off where the rope bridges to the boat were.

  "Got no choice," Ryan said as the rest of the compan­ions came up around them. "Without the boat, we're too far away from anywhere we want to be."

  "You planning on going out there?" Elmore asked in­credulously.

  "Yeah."

  "Going to get us all chilled."

  "No. Going to get us out of here." Ryan gave instruc­tions, spreading the companions out and building a skir­mish line. Callton's sec forces had dug themselves into the forest on the other side of the clearing, and in the area more toward the trading post in the area where Ryan and the companions were.

  Three coldhearts bolted from the forest on their side. J.B. opened up with the Uzi as they started firing and yelling to the others, attracting attention. The Armorer's vicious figure eight lifted the three men from their feet and sent them spinning away.

  "Cat's out of the bag now," Mildred said, picking off two more coldhearts who'd turned their attention on the companions. "We move, or we die right here." She moved her ZKR 551 and fired again, taking out a third man.

  "Jak," Ryan growled, "you got the lead. Chances are some of the coldhearts are aboard the boat, holding it in case they have to retreat."

  The albino grinned thinly. "Not hold it long."

  "Doc, you're next. We can use that big blaster of yours to clear the way. Mildred, J.B., you're bringing up drag. Dean, Krysty, keep the others moving along."

  Elmore pulled a sullen face. "You can't make me go out into that."

  More bullets from Callton's men were starting to rip bark from the branches and tree trunks nearby. Other men crept through the forest, closing in on their position.

  Ryan looked at his son. "If that triple-stupe bastard doesn't move when you tell him, you put a round through his head, make sure he's chilled."

  "I'll do it, Dad."

  "Now get them up and let's move." Ryan pushed him­self up, bringing the Steyr to his shoulder. He fired into the approaching line of coldhearts, putting two men down im­mediately and causing the others to go to ground.

  Jak broke cover and stayed low, followed immediately by Doc. Callton's men shot at them at once, but Ryan, J.B. and Mildred blasted into them, their bullets finding targets with unerring precision. At the same time, the gunners man­ning the trading post caught their attackers in a cross fire. In the next instant, Annie laid down a fierce barrage with the 20 mm cannon. The big rounds chewed holes in the ground and toppled trees, breaking some of them and leav­ing trunks four or five feet tall.

  Ryan held his position until J.B. and Mildred got clear. Jak plunged over the edge in the distance, racing down the rope ladder. The sounds of blasterfire slammed up from below, letting Ryan know he'd been correct in assuming there'd be men positioned there.

  He reloaded the Steyr, then raced after the companions. Instead of heading for the bridge area, he stayed along the tree line, driving his feet hard against the ground.

  Two coldhearts pursued him. They whipped through the underbrush, closing on him like hounds scenting the kill. Ryan raced on, ignoring them for a moment. Running like they were, they weren't able to effectively use their weap­ons.

  Reaching the edge of the precipice overlooking the pier, Ryan threw himself down in a diving roll. He came up on one knee, pulling the Steyr to his shoulder. When the open sights underneath the telescopic lens centered on the lead man's chest, Ryan squeezed the trigger and rode out the recoil.

  The bullet smashed through the man's heart, tearing out a section of his spine as it punched through.

  Ryan moved to the second target, tracking the man's efforts to take cover. The coldheart dived into the brush headfirst. Unable to get a clear shot at the gunner's head, Ryan settled for shooting him twice in the groin. Even if the man lived, he'd be too busy holding himself together to do much more fighting.

  Rolling on toward the precipice, Ryan peered down. The boat was still tied up at the pier, a promising sign in its own right. But coldhearts were aboard it, shooting at the companions as they made their way down the rope ladders.

  Ryan had expected the attempted ambush, and he'd known the companions were going to be vulnerable. But there'd been no choice.

  He pulled the Steyr to his shoulder and aimed at a gunner aboard Junie as a 20 mm cannon round exploded close enough to shower
him with dirt. He ignored it, concentrat­ing on picking up the targets aboard the boat.

  Bullets ripped through the rope ladders, splintering some of the planks and making others jump like live things.

  Ryan's first round took the man in the throat, nearly de­capitating him before he fell overboard. Two more rounds were necessary to take out the gunner riding the unruly prow as the boat bucked in the raging torrent of the river. Whitecaps danced on the water, twisting and turning before going under and reappearing.

  J.B. accounted for a third as Ryan made the shift. The Armorer's rounds tracked across the deck, throwing up splinters and leaving pockmarks behind, then smashed into the gunner.

  The fourth man hid back by the wheel as Ryan chased him into cover. Jak was on the final set of steps leading to the pier when the thick black smoke curled up from the boat.

  "Fifeblast!" Ryan snarled. He didn't have a chance to see how bad the fire was before bullets drove him to cover himself. He cursed some more, feeding shells into the Steyr. Glancing back at the trading post, he discovered the attack by Callton's coldhearts had all but broken off. Dead men draped the broken terrain.

  Judging by the sudden interest the coldhearts had in him, Ryan decided he'd been selected as a consolation prize.

  Down the precipice, Jak had reached the boat. The albino dashed belowdecks and came back up with a water bucket. He ran across the two corpses left on deck and dipped up a bucket of water. By the time he sluiced it across the deck, trying to combat the flame, the coldhearts had closed in on Ryan. There was nowhere to go.

  KRYSTY'S VISION BLURRED from the pain throbbing inside her head. She heard Phlorin's voice whispering in the back of her mind, but she didn't understand a thing the dead woman said.

  She knew at once that Ryan was in danger, though. She felt it with every fiber of her being. Pausing on the last set of rough timber steps, she peered back up at the drop-off.

  "Dear lady," Doc said from in front of her, "is some­thing wrong?"

  "Ryan," she replied in a dulled voice, struggling in vain to pull her vision into focus. "He's in trouble."

  As if to bear out her words, a riptide of shots opened up above. In the next moment, Ryan's body came tumbling over the edge, arms and legs flailing.