Starfall Page 3

  The fact that the first one hadn't feared the blaster con­vinced Ryan that they'd had little encounter with them. He chose to rectify that.

  Ryan lifted the SIG-Sauer and squeezed the trigger. He put two bullets into the head of the ghoulie who'd attacked him, then turned the blaster on the second mutie, the hollowpoints coring through the creature's chest. The third ghoulie turned to run, screaming in incoherent panic. With­out pause, Ryan shot him in the back.

  Grimly Ryan rose to his feet and sheathed the panga. He put the SIG-Sauer away, as well, and hefted the Steyr. He strode toward the crest of the hill with the rifle cradled in his arms.

  "Jak," he called.

  "Here."

  Turning his head slightly, Ryan saw the albino teen move into view on the right.

  Jak had blood on his face, deep crimson against the pale flesh, but none of it looked like his. His left fist was spiked with a half dozen of the leaf-bladed throwing knives.

  "Company?" Ryan asked.

  "Some. No more."

  Ryan nodded and scanned the broken buildings along their back trail. Now that they knew ghoulies lived among them, the hiding places he'd spotted along the way for a strategic retreat no longer seemed so safe.

  "They know," Jak said, nodding toward the basin.

  "Hard to miss," Ryan answered.

  "Yeah."

  "Keep an eye on our backs."

  "Sure."

  Ryan peered into the basin. The Slaggers had to have bolted at the sound of the first shot. The only ones Ryan saw were taking up positions behind the crumbled struc­tures and the stacks of junked wags. The captives, the re­maining man, two women and the child, hid behind a lean­ing section of splintered fence. Two of the Slaggers closed on them, shouting at them to stay put.

  A bullet spanged off a section of brick and mortar to the one-eyed man's right. Ryan drew back, wondering whether to chance going back to face more ghoulies or to attempt to hold the position. J.B. and the others could get clear and retreat to the dry camp they'd made that morning and wait until Jak and Ryan could get free at nightfall.

  Then a harsh whistle cut through the air.

  Shifting his position atop the crest, Ryan gazed into the basin again, spotting Halleck, the Slagger leader, behind one of the overturned wags. The man put his fingers into his mouth and whistled again, changing pitch this time.

  A line of dogs formed along the breaks under the stacks of junked wags. Pink-and-black tongues lolled out of their white-flecked mouths. Their fur was matted and scar-torn, reflecting the harsh existence they were accustomed to.

  Another whistle and the dogs rushed out of their hiding places, racing up the incline of the basin toward Ryan and Jak's position.

  "Can't stay," Ryan said to the albino.

  Jak nodded in agreement.

  Ryan pushed up from the ground and stayed low. He ran hard, driving his feet against the earth, choosing a different path back to the building where he'd left Krysty. Getting trapped up on the structure so the ghoulies and the Slaggers could surround them wasn't the choice he would have made, but he was certain they wouldn't be able to outrun the dogs.

  Bloodcurdling baying overtook Ryan, summoning awful visions of what the beasts would do to him and Jak if they were caught. His breathing turned ragged, and each gasp was dry and burned the back of his throat.

  He stayed close to the buildings, trying to keep himself as small a target as he could in case any of the Slaggers had followed the dogs up the side of the basin. An arm reached unexpectedly from one of the broken windows, and the fist at the end of it knotted up in Ryan's shirt, yanking him off balance.

  Surprisingly strong, the arm's owner pulled Ryan up against the window as if he were a rag doll. No glass re­mained in the windowframe, but the big ghoulie on the other side filled it. Maybe weighing as much as 350 pounds, the ghoulie stood over six feet tall, and would have been even taller if he hadn't been a hunchback. The eyes weren't set properly; the one on the right was almost centered in his cheek and listed inward, looking gray and dead. He crowed in triumph, reaching out with his other hand toward Ryan's head.

  The one-eyed man didn't try to fight the ghoulie's in­credible strength. He raised the Steyr and rested the barrel against the ghoulie's throat. When he pulled the trigger, the creature's head exploded in a volcano of flesh, blood and gleaming shards of bone.

  Covered in gore, Ryan shoved himself back. The baying dogs sounded closer, but he gave the windows a wider berth as he ran.

  J.B. SPOTTED JAK AND RYAN through his binoculars for only a moment before they barreled around the corner of a building and disappeared. He saw the dogs next, baying and leaping over rubble close to the ground.

  "Dark night!"

  "They have set loose the hounds," Doc said, "or these old ears deceive me."

  "Your hearing's fine, Doc." J.B. shifted, checking his weapons to make sure they were all in place. The moves were as natural as breathing.

  Doc peered over the side of the building, his face filled with worry. "We cannot leave them to be run down by those foul beasts, John Barrymore."

  "Won't do them any good by dying with them." J.B. reseated his fedora on his head and glanced back at Dean. If the boy showed any signs of disobeying his order, and Ryan's orders by proxy, the Armorer fully intended to cold-cock the youngster and pack him out on his back if he had to.

  But Dean held his position, his only expression a tight grimace. "Dad and Jak have been up against a lot longer odds than this."

  "That's right," J.B. answered, but he knew he'd have been hard pressed to figure out exactly when at the moment.

  "Ryan's going back for Krysty," Mildred said.

  J.B. considered that. "Top of the building, they might be able to hold on for a while. Mebbe get lucky and find a way down inside it."

  "Could be whatever's inside is every bit as bad as what's outside it," Mildred pointed out.

  "Let's not be so bastard hopeful," J.B. said.

  "I'm stating facts, John." Mildred turned her accusing gaze on him. "Those are your friends down there. Our friends. We can't just give them up."

  "We aren't," J.B. protested. "But we stick to Ryan's plan."

  Mildred turned away from him.

  J.B. felt himself grow cold inside. Not many had gotten past the hardened exterior he'd manufactured for himself. Traveling Deathlands as he had, he knew acquaintances came and went on a regular basis.

  But he cared about Mildred. Their relationship wasn't as open as Ryan and Krysty's because he was a very private person, but it was more open, more true, than anything the Armorer had ever had before. He also cared what Mildred thought about him.

  Still, he didn't defend himself. Talking about things wasn't in his nature. He held the Uzi in his hands, letting its familiar hard lines comfort him. He turned his attention to the riders Dean had spotted earlier. Pride touched him when he noticed Dean was still watching the riders instead of peering through the tumbledown buildings trying to spot his father. The boy had learned well that his attention had to be centered on things he could do something about.

  The riders had halted some fifty yards away, creating a ragged semicircle of horses and men. Dust kicked up around the animals' hooves, drifting toward the ville on the brewing storm winds.

  J.B. studied the riders, reading them as a baron's raiding force. They dressed well and carried armament enough to guarantee few would dare to cross them.

  "Anybody know who's a baron in these parts?" the Ar­morer asked.

  Dean shook his head, not looking in J.B.'s direction, ei­ther.

  Mildred didn't bother to answer.

  "The talkative fellow we chanced to have a discourse with yesterday," Doc replied in a quiet voice that barely carried above the baying of the hounds, "mentioned that there were no barons around Idaho Falls that he knew of. This territory was reputed to be free, except for the gangs of coldhearts and clutches of civilians who claimed parcels of it for themselves. But he did also state tha
t he'd seen men reputing themselves to be in the employ of Baron Sha­ker."

  "Shaker?" The name meant nothing to J.B. But then barons rose and fell virtually overnight in the rougher areas out west. The region wasn't anything like the East Coast baronies.

  "That is the name," Doc answered. "Unless I do disremember."

  "That man say anything about what Baron Shaker might want here?"

  "No, just that the baron's men possess the appearance of knowing exactly what it is that they're searching for. And that they don't intend to leave without it."

  A baron's business, J.B. knew from firsthand experience, was usually deadly. As he watched, the leader of the group evidently made the decision about what they were going to do.

  The riders split into two equal groups and spurred their mounts. The ones who had longblasters brandished them. They rode along the outer edges of the ville, but left no doubt that they were converging on the basin where Ryan and Jak had gone. They numbered nearer thirty than twenty, but J.B. hadn't been able to get an accurate count, either.

  Both halves of the group left swirling dust trails in their wake.

  "By all appearances," Doc stated, "those riders seem to be in a hurry. They lack even a veneer of quietude."

  The Armorer turned his attention back to the building Ryan had chosen as his advance point for the scouting mis­sion. "Yeah, but mebbe they're going to be enough of a diversion to allow us to get the others out of there."

  "Chem storm's not going to give us many alternatives," Mildred said. "We stay out here, that storm will strip us down to our bones in minutes. The forest won't give us any protection. Unless we find a place to hole up."

  "Only good places to hole up nearby," Dean told her, "are those buildings ahead of us."

  J.B. nodded. All things considered, there really was no choice. "Let's go." He was the first one through the broken window, letting the Uzi dangle from the shoulder strap as he climbed down the uneven brick wall using his boot toes and fingers.

  Before he reached the ground, a forked tongue of purple lightning slashed across the sky, followed immediately by a rolling cannonade of thunder.

  Chapter Four

  Ryan slid the Steyr's strap over his shoulder as he rounded the building where he'd left Krysty. A crumpled iron fire escape sprawled over the back of the building, forming a leaning cage of iron bars and steps that allowed him to run up the structure. It would put him near the top of the build­ing.

  In the past, the fire escape had hung on the building. Now it was loosely secured, vibrating as he slammed his boots against it.

  The dogs raced through buildings as they sought their prey, and they drove more ghoulies out of their hiding places. The ghoulies fought back, swinging their home­made weapons and screaming hysterically in their shrill, gibbering voices. The dogs attacked mercilessly, tearing great hunks of flesh from the ghoulies with their flashing white teeth. The Slaggers trailed behind, getting closer. They cut down any ghoulies who crossed their path, filling the air with the yammering noise of blasterfire.

  Jak stayed close behind Ryan, having an easier time scrambling through the lopsided fire escape because of his smaller size and incredible agility.

  A pair of curs scampered up slabs of concrete near the fire escape, then vaulted through the bars, landing only a few feet ahead of Ryan, scrambling to regain their balance on the uneven steps.

  Shifting with uncanny speed, the lead mutt threw itself at Ryan, its mouth spread open to reveal the glistening fangs.

  Ryan threw up an arm, managing to get it under the big animal's muzzle rather than shoving it into the dog's mouth. The fangs snapped together, missing the one-eyed man's face by inches. The dog's fetid breath swirled around Ryan, almost foul enough to make him nauseous.

  The sheer weight and strength possessed by the animal pressed Ryan back as it dug its back legs against the steps. Ryan strained, levering his arm under the animal's muzzle, deliberately putting all his pressure against the dog's throat to close down its breathing passage.

  The animal remained determined to reach him. The jaws continued to angrily snap at him, scattering hot spittle across his face. The second dog surged forward, as well, sidling in beside the first.

  Ryan slipped his panga free of its sheath, fisting it in his free hand so the blade pointed down instead of up. More of the dogs followed along beside the fire escape now. One of them leaped for the iron structure, but it rebounded from the other dogs and tumbled eight feet to the ground.

  Jak's .357 blaster roared to life behind Ryan. The big hollow booms echoed between the buildings. The roll of shots was punctuated by yelps of pain, and curses from men Ryan assumed were Slaggers.

  Twisting to put his back against the fire escape, the one-eyed man used it as a brace, then pushed against the lead dog harder. Grudgingly the animal bent, exposing its side. Ryan thrust at once, sinking the panga between the cur's ribs to pierce its heart and lungs.

  The dog jerked as if hit by an electric current from a wag battery, then fell back. The one-eyed man closed a fist in the loose flesh of the animal's neck and heaved it over the side through the bars of the fire escape.

  The dead dog dropped onto a small knot of curs leaping up at the fire escape, knocking several of them away.

  A moment later, Ryan booted the second animal from the fire escape as well, then charged up the steps again. Slaggers scattered around the ground below them, firing up into the iron structure.

  Ryan sheathed the panga and drew the 9 mm blaster. He tracked his targets automatically, squeezing the trigger quickly.

  The bullets took out a trio of Slaggers, punching them to the ground.

  "Too many," Jak stated.

  "I know." Ryan kept firing, no longer hitting the Slag­gers easily because they'd gone to ground as soon as they realized how well he could shoot. Sparks leaped from the rust-red iron bars of the fire escape, raked by the Slagger gunfire.

  Jak dumped the empty shells from the .357, scattering brass across the steps. He reloaded quickly, his nimble fin­gers searching for bullets in the secret pockets in his cloth­ing.

  Reaching the top of the fire escape, Ryan saw that it ended nearly ten feet from the side of the building. From the ground, he hadn't been able to discern that. At the top now, the fire escape also swayed sickeningly from his and Jak's combined weight.

  Ryan paused only a moment at the top. The end of the structure was nearly four feet taller than the roof of the building. He scanned the rooftop, wondering where Krysty was and why she wasn't providing covering fire.

  Then he saw her prostrate body lying facedown on the roof. Her limbs lay twisted in awkward positions.

  Ryan's heart turned cold in his chest, and he stopped breathing as he looked at the woman.

  "Ryan," Jak said behind him, "got move. Otherwise, chilled here and now."

  Getting the sway of the fire escape locked into his re­flexes, Ryan leaped toward the building. He almost made it, but fell short of getting most of his body weight on the rooftop. Gravity pulled at him, dragging him down. He fell, then caught himself with his free hand.

  By the time he pulled himself back up to the rooftop, Jak landed in an economical roll and came up on his feet. The albino raised the .357 in both hands, swinging the bar­rel to cover the rooftop.

  Ryan raced to Krysty's side, knowing some of the Slaggers and the dogs were making their way up the fire escape, as well. He knelt beside the redhead and placed a hand on her shoulder, looking her over to see where she'd been wounded.

  There didn't appear to be a mark on her.

  Before Ryan had a chance to guess at what had happened to her, three growling dogs erupted from the top of the fire escape, jockeying for position. One of them gathered enough courage to fling itself across the distance.

  Surprisingly the animal landed almost entirely on the rooftop. It held on with its front legs and whined loudly as its back legs pedaled frantically against the side of the wall below.

  Ryan lif
ted the SIG-Sauer and lowered the sights over the animal's head. He squeezed the trigger, and a hollow-point bullet pulped the dog's head in a bloody spray that whipped over the other animals behind it.

  The dog died without a sound and toppled from the roof­top.

  Ryan continued to fire, raking the fire escape with the pistol until it cycled dry. Through the haze of blue gun smoke the cheap reload cartridges made, he watched an­other dog drop in its tracks while others retreated.

  Jak ran a quick circuit of the rooftop and came back. "All around us."

  Ryan put a fresh magazine into the SIG-Sauer and pock­eted the empty. One of the things he'd hoped to find in Idaho Falls was a new supply of magazines for the weapon and military-issue 9 mm rounds left over from before the skydark. He was down to three magazines for the blaster, and in a sustained firelight he didn't have time to keep feeding fresh cartridges into magazines.

  He glanced at the rooftop-access door in the center of the building. The air-conditioning units and other HVAC equipment had long since been stripped from the rooftop, harvested for the compressors and other salvageable parts, as well as for the metal itself. A lead-filled pipe was easy to make, and could be a hell of a weapon in close quarters.

  "Get the door open," he told Jak.

  The albino nodded and hurried away.

  During the search earlier, Ryan had noticed that it was stuck. The lock had been ripped from the door, but the collapse of the building had caused the door to jam. He'd left it alone then, figuring it served to contain whatever lurked below. But now it offered a possible escape route.

  With the loaded blaster in one fist, Ryan grabbed Krysty by the shoulder and rolled her over.

  She twisted bonelessly, and the loose way she moved made him certain she was dead.