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"But sir, I've got orders from the baron to haul these blasters outside," the
old man whimpered, cowering slightly. "We're losing the battle, and I must get
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these blasters to our snipers."
"Snipers would have their own blasters," the ensign said with scorn. "Nobody
leaves."
The old man rubbed his face. "I have a bag of gold," he stated.
The guard snorted a laugh. "Only we use gold," he snapped. "Kinnison uses
black powder for jack. Now get going before I have you keelhauled for
disobeying a direct order!"
"But "
"I wouldn't open the gate for anyone other than the baron himself," Raynor
said, then fired a round that went wide of the canvas mound. "Now move!"
"As you say," the old man said in a sad tone. "Well, I tried. Goodbye, young
man."
Puzzled, Raynor scowled at the expression and a sharp cough sounded from under
the tarpaulin. Searing pain took his chest, to be replaced with a numbing cold
and
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then absolute blackness that reached forever.
"Krysty, get the gate," Ryan said, throwing off the canvas sheet with his
blaster.
The redhead clambered from the cart and rushed over to the imposing portal.
Grabbing the heavy bar, she tried to shove it aside, then had to use rocks to
hammer the rusted metal bolts out of their positions. Even then, the gate
itself proved to be rusted shut. This exit hadn't been used in years.
"No more games," J.B. said, the Uzi held by his side as he watched the ville
streets. "That was a damn waste of time."
Wrapping the reins around a hitch on the buckboard, Doc snorted in reply.
"Attempting to not take a life is never a waste of time," he rumbled, buckling
on his gun belt and stepping down to the ground.
"For once we agree," Mildred said. "Just wish the path to righteousness wasn't
so well paved with land mines."
"Again, madam, we agree."
Trying not to grunt aloud, Jak took the old man's place at the reins, resting
his hurt ankle on his folded camou jacket.
"Hey, lend a hand," Krysty grunted, throwing her weight against the door to no
results.
J.B. stayed on guard while the rest of the companions joined the woman at her
task. The gate required the combined strength of everybody to be slowly forced
aside, and after Jak drove the cart through, they forced it shut again to
confuse the trail. The bolts were still undone on the other side, the sentry
aced, but hopefully nobody would notice for a while. Whichever side won the
battle, the survivors would certainly come after them for payback.
Past the gate was an open field separating the wall from the jungle, stubbly
grass and flowering weeds dotting the land showing it had been cleared by
hand. But
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not for farming. There were no furrows or even irrigation ditches. Just flat
open soil.
"A clear field of fire," Ryan stated, laying the Steyr across his lap as the
cart rolled forward. "They expected to get attacked from this direction."
"Attacked by whom?" Mildred said, then added softly. "Or should I ask,
attacked by what?"
"Neutral pronoun, dear lady," Doc stated, his hands busy reloading the LeMat.
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He had a lot more charges for the ancient revolver than he did bullets for the
British-
made Webley.
Nearly lost in the weeds was an old path of rain-washed ruts, the wheel
gullies pitted with loose stones and potholes.
"Pirates don't use this much," Dean observed, studying the primitive road.
"Which raises an interesting question," Krysty said thoughtfully. "If they
rule this island, why seal off the door that leads to the ruins? It's an easy
climb."
"Nothin' there?" Jak suggested, shaking the reins.
"Mebbe," Ryan answered pensively, his fingers tripping the checkered grip of
the powerful Webley. The front gate of the ville had been armed like a predark
tank, but the back gate was merely locked with a lone sentry standing guard.
More like they were trying to keep folks in the ville, rather than keeping an
enemy outside.
Strange.
"Watch for muties," he warned, feeling the hair on the back of his neck
stiffen and raise. He'd felt the same thing a hundred times in the Deathlands
and was hardly ever wrong.
In silent agreement, the others checked their weapons and turned their backs
toward one another so they could watch the jungle better. Rambling along the
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