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Phillips slowly got up and started dealing with the bleeding laceration of the man Brigid had carved with the box cutter. Kane had packed the shoulder of his prisoner with a kerchief and tied it down with a belt, so he wouldn’t need immediate attention. Ruben was rubbing his throat, looking weak and sickly after being swung around as a human weapon.
An orderly looked at Phillips, then shook his head. “These guys attacked us. They hurt you.”
“And they’re not a threat anymore,” Phillips snarled. “Damn it, even Kane, a Magistrate, tended to his prisoner’s injury. Maybe you feel like you can pick and choose when to apply mercy, but that’s not the oath I took.”
Kane looked at the angered medic. “Besides, I don’t think the danger’s over yet.”
In the distance, the rumble of diesel engines sounded.
Lombard had gotten back to his war wags, and from the sounds of things, they were returning to deal with Kane and his allies.
Chapter 3
At the sight of the stranger in the forest, Domi slipped her satchel full of scrounged books from her shoulder, hiding it in a corner between the raised roots of an ancient tree. The small but cord-muscled albino woman didn’t want to lose her latest haul from the library in the event of a chase, or if the stranger had allies who would capture her. Armed with only her dagger and a pistol crossbow for catching game while in the wild, the youngest, most feral member of the Cerberus redoubt focused her ruby-red eyes intently on the newcomer, sizing him up.
The security of Cerberus had been breached many times in the scant years that Domi had called the redoubt her home. As commander of Cerberus Away Team Beta, however, she’d proved to be more than merely a wayward refugee in the ancient facility. She’d battled reptilian invaders with spacecraft and gods armed with technology that could have been mistaken for mythical weaponry, all in the name of protecting her lover, Lakesh, and the ever growing population of the predark bastion of technology, knowledge and security.
The man wending his way toward the Bitterroot Mountain stronghold had, no doubt, picked this arduous route to avoid Sky Dog and the Lakota Indians who were staunch allies of Cerberus. Domi had crossed this particular terrain with the nimbleness of a mountain goat, spring-steel leg muscles bounding her along the rocky, uneven path with preternatural ease. She noticed that the man was no stranger to hard journeying, but exhaustion weighed on his powerful limbs. Domi regretted leaving behind the Commtact implant at the redoubt as she observed the lone traveler. She had gotten into the habit of isolating herself on these solitary expeditions to achieve a measure of solace, as Lakesh described it. Such trips were meant to escape the confines of the base, abandoning both people and modern technology. The act of shedding the Commtact was the ultimate statement of that mental journey. The machine-woven fibers in her tank top and shorts and the polymer materials of her crossbow were the only evidence of her connection to the Cerberus redoubt and the technology it represented.
Domi’s thumb snicked off the safety on her crossbow. The bolt was now ready to be released with only the touch of her finger on the trigger. The broad-headed tip was an aggressive assembly of four vaned blades designed to inflict enormous trauma as it pierced the organs of animals as large and as fierce as bears. Domi avoided contact with the carnivores who hunted in this region, leaving them a wide berth. However, a shaft capable of killing a bear would be more than sufficient to take any human invader. She wondered at the stranger’s affiliation and his motives for approaching the redoubt. From his focus and his direction, there was no way that he could miss the base. Nothing else was nearby for hundreds of miles.
The man was armed with a large revolver stuffed into a leather scabbard that rode on his thigh. A coiled bullwhip hung from a hook on his opposite hip. His machete sheath was empty, for now, as he was using it to hack through thick briars that halted his path. Hardly the arsenal of an invader, even with the two-foot blade in his grasp. Cerberus guards would easily overpower him in the event of a hostile confrontation, but Domi’s curiosity had been piqued, and she strove to get in closer.
The man paused, wiping his brow with his brawny forearm. He laid his machete on a rock, then reached for his canteen. As soon as he was committed to pulling a swallow of water from the canister, Domi stepped out, crossbow leveled at his chest.
“Hold still,” she challenged.
The man’s eyes went wide with surprise. He managed a swallow, then tilted the canteen so he wouldn’t waste his water by drenching himself. “Can I recap my canteen?”
“No sudden movements,” Domi said. “Who are you?”
“My name is Austin Fargo. I am on my way to the Cerberus redoubt to meet with Lakesh and Kane, the men who rule there, to ask for their assistance.”
“Anything you can say to them, you can say to me,” Domi told him. “What do you need?”
“As I said, I am Austin Fargo,” he began. “I am an explorer and scientist.” He nodded to Domi in deference. “Can I move now?”
Domi flicked the crossbow’s safety back on. “Any sudden movements and the crows will feast on your eyes.”
Fargo chuckled nervously. “I don’t doubt that. You must be Domi. Your name is almost as well-known as that of your companions.”
“Flattery,” Domi said, wrinkling her nose. “In my experience, that usually leads a lie.”
“I’m just attempting diplomacy,” Fargo returned.
“Yeah? Well, you’re being diplomatic with the guard dog,” Domi replied. “Follow me, and I’ll confirm with the owner of my house that I was right for not chewing your face off.”
“Don’t denigrate yourself, Domi. You’re far more than a mere guard animal,” Fargo said as he followed the albino woman. They backtracked the two hundred yards necessary for Domi to retrieve her satchel of scrounged books. He paid special notice to the fact that her small but sinewy hand never strayed more than an inch from the handle of her fighting knife. From the stories that the Millennial Consortium had cataloged about her, the wiry little albino had the speed and skill to pull that blade and separate a man’s head from his torso in the space of a heartbeat. It was an unspoken threat, a warning that Fargo had to keep on his best behavior.
“You’re on the right path to meet up with my people,” Domi said.
“Not the easiest, but for me, the safest,” Fargo admitted. “Then again, my trek has been one of great effort.”
“You can hold the sympathy dirge for someone who actually gives a shit. I caught you sneaking in my back door as a trespasser. Until you get approved by those who I actually do trust, keep your mouth closed,” Domi growled.
Fargo took a deep breath. She could see that he was restraining an insult. Domi didn’t mind; she didn’t care if strangers saw her as a snarling bitch just one flinch away from gnawing out someone’s entrails. When it came to defending the redoubt and her loved ones, that image was exactly what she wanted to project. A harmless, cuddly defender rarely caused an intruder to shy away from hostile activity.
“I understand,” Fargo spoke up. “You’re only protecting your family.”
“Damned straight,” Domi replied curtly. Her tone was meant to shut the stranger up so they could concentrate on scaling the back trail.
Cloaked in stern silence, they made their way to the redoubt.
THE SNARL OF DISTANT DIESEL engines reached Kane’s ears as Grant scrounged the dead raiders’ fallen rifles. The powerful Cerberus exile smiled as he picked up a gun that actually looked normal sized in his massive hands.
“What in the hell is that thing?” Kane asked.
Grant partially opened the lever action, finding a round seated under the hammer. “A Marlin .45-70. Just the thing for when you absolutely, positively have to kill a wag in three shots or less.”
Kane sighed. “Should have figured these coldhearts would have wheels.”
A gun in the distance thundered, corrugated tin roofs rattling as the walls beneath them shuddered under powerful impacts. The Tartarus residents screamed in terror as the distant heavy machine gun raked their shacks.
Kane grit his teeth. “They’ve got a Fifty…” He scooped up the walkie-talkie, transmitting his bellow. “Lombard! Cease fire!”
“Cease fire?” the bandit leader asked. “You kill my men in cold blood, and when I look for payback, suddenly it’s off-limits? Fuck you, Kane.”
“Damn it, Lombard! These people aren’t involved in our fight!” Kane growled. “Stop shooting. You want me or the meds, we can make a deal.”
“Deal?” Lombard broke out, his laughter rattling as if captured in a tin can. “Where’s the cold bastard who executed ten simple businessmen?”
“There’s no profit in killing these refugees. How much is that ammunition costing you?” Kane asked. “You want business? Fine. Even killing three people per bullet, there’s no way your temper tantrum is worth the trigger pull!”
There was silence on the other end, and thankfully, the Fifty mounted on one of Lombard’s war wags remained silent, as well. The only sound left was a chorus of frightened sobs. Thankfully, there were no cries of agony anywhere, but the Cerberus champions realized that the gunfight only moments earlier had sent the Tartarus inhabitants to cover. Kane glanced at Grant, then nodded. The two men knew that Kane was going to have to put himself in the line of fire to prevent an all-out slaughter. Of course, that meant Kane would have to rely on his partner’s marksmanship. Grant took his borrowed monster rifle and a belt stuffed with spare ammunition, then disappeared into the maze of houses.
Phillips rose from where he put the finishing touches on securing a bandit prisoner’s bandage, wrapping his slashed-open face. “We have to check for dead or wounded from that blast.”
“No,” Brigid said, placing a calming hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “From the general tone, there are no cries of mourning indicating a death, nor calls for help. However, if you stray from this area, the next time Lombard’s men do fire that cannon, there’s a chance that some of you could be harmed.”
Phillips grimaced, protest already flashing in his eyes. “But—”
“You and your people are too valuable,” Kane added. “If Cobaltville is to have any hope of maintaining and improving on what little shred of civilization remains, then it needs smart healers. Stay put until I clear everything.”
Phillips looked between Kane and Brigid. Given the penchant for bickering that they displayed, to see them in such solid agreement pounded the message through to the healer. “Be careful…”
Kane handed Grant’s Copperhead to Brigid. “If things go rotten…”
“I’ll escort the medical staff to safety,” she replied, accepting the rifle. “Watch yourself, okay?”
Kane nodded, then jogged to the road. Over the Commtact implant, he heard Grant give a solemn whisper. “They’re in my sights.”
“What have they got?” Kane asked.
“Thankfully, just old military-style transport trucks. Nothing like the armored Sandcats,” Grant said. “I wouldn’t be able to punch a hole in one of those. These aren’t quite as hard skinned.”
“But they can still mount a heavy machine gun,” Kane said.
“Only one,” Grant replied. “The other truck has to make do with riflemen in the back.”
“How many?” Kane asked.
“Five split between the two vehicles,” Grant told him. “And there’s literally someone riding shotgun with each driver.”
Kane figured the odds. From the drone of the diesel engines of both trucks, he was getting close enough to eyeball the bandits and their transportation. “We’re going to have to make these bandits very afraid.”
“The old ‘one Magistrate, one riot’ strategy?” Grant asked. “I feed you intel and back you up with sniper shots, making you look like the baddest ass on the planet.”
“That’s the one,” Kane answered. “Where’s Lombard now?”
“Standing next to his machine gunner. He’s got an automatic rifle of some form,” Grant said. “He just reached for his radio.”
“Kane! Come out and play!” Lombard shouted over the airwaves.
“I have been,” Kane answered. “You’re the one hiding behind the trucks. Now I’m thinking that it’s time for me to quit being so kind and gentle.”
“Kind and gentle?” Lombard asked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about it’s time to stop playing with you and just put you down like the rotten little turd you are,” Kane replied. “You’re just some goon with some fancy guns. You don’t even rank in the ten biggest gangs of bandits I’ve ever fought.”
“He’s telling his man to shoot,” Grant warned.
Kane dived into a shoulder roll, zooming into the open just as a roar of autofire shredded the tin-and-wood hut he’d been hiding behind. Kane and Grant fired their weapons, both drowned out by the roar of the mighty Browning Fifty. Anyone watching, though, wouldn’t have seen Grant’s hidden muzzle-flash, while the Sin Eater’s barrel blazed angrily.
The machine gunner jerked violently, his right forearm disintegrating under the impact of the monster hunting rifle in Grant’s hands. The Fifty stopped its bellow, the gunner’s screams piercing the air as blood sprayed in Lombard’s face.
The men mounted in the trucks looked at the man who’d been at the controls of their crowd-killing device, then at the lone ex-Magistrate getting to his feet, out in the open. A tendril of smoke curled from the muzzle of the Sin Eater. Lombard scrubbed at his eyes, grimacing as the injured bandit wound a cord tightly around his arm to tourniquet the injury.
“You gentlemen think that because Lombard’s with you, you know how to deal with a real Magistrate,” Kane said, walking toward the trucks.
From the grumbles of discomfort among the marauders, he knew that his ploy had worked.
“That’s bullshit!” Lombard shouted. “He’s got to have a partner somewhere!”
Kane ignored Lombard, addressing the rest of the bandits. “Your partners are all dead. I killed them, because Lombard was just too stubborn to realize that he’s second class. Now I’m going to appeal to you, because I hate wasting good ammunition.”
“He didn’t kill the others by himself,” Lombard snarled.
“No, he didn’t,” a woman’s voice called out. Brigid Baptiste strode into the open, Copperhead SMG held against her curvaceous hip. “He had the help of women and doctors. People with no combat training.”
Kane repressed the urge to smile, remembering the steep learning curve of Brigid’s early years at Cerberus, when the young woman had grown from an archivist to an adventurer who was a deadly shot and a tough fighter.
The bandits looked at Lombard.
“So you have a choice,” Kane offered. “Ditch your boss and find somewhere else to hunt, or you can all die where you stand.”
“How do you want him?” one of the bandits asked. “Dead or alive?”
“You fuckers!” Lombard spit. He lunged at the Browning, but Kane and Grant fired at the renegade Mag.
Kane’s bullet plucked at Lombard’s bicep, while Grant’s cannon round smashed the belt of ammunition feeding into the machine gun. The mounted weapon and Lombard spun almost in unison under their respective impacts.
Marauders lunged at Lombard, seizing him tightly.
“Whatever is easier for you,” Kane said, pushing his Sin Eater back into its holster on his forearm.
“God damn you!” Lombard shrieked as his men hurled him over the cab of the truck. He crashed into the dirt road, then clawed swiftly to his feet. Angry eyes glared at Kane, and he tensed. “This piece of shit isn’t so hot!”
“Then prove it!” another bandit shouted. “You got a Sin Eater. Show us you’re worth following.”
Lombard looked around, confused. He eventually rested his eyes on Kane, who stood, arms folded, shaking his head.
“Not a good idea, man,” Kane warned.
Lombard glanced toward Brigid.
“Don’t look at her. She’d just as soon shoot you, but she’s not paying for the bullets,” Kane snapped.
Lombard’s eyes flicked to the Sin Eater on his forearm. One flex, and the autoweapon would rocket into his hand. Kane knew, though, that a fast draw with the hydraulic holster was a perishable skill. The movement would be fast, but getting the first shot on target required regular practice. Lombard was a thief who attacked unarmed doctors, not a master gunslinger who constantly honed his skills.
In the meantime, Kane had just proved his lethality against younger, hardier men. Lombard reached slowly for the straps on his Sin Eater, unfastening them. The machine pistol landed in the dirt at his feet, and Lombard dropped to his knees, lacing his fingers behind his head.
Kane turned to glare at the truckloads of remaining bandits. “Go.”
The new leader of the robber gang looked at the rest of his men. The diesels roared as the wags ground into Reverse, backing away from the edge of the town.
“They’re not slowing down,” Grant confirmed. “They’ve taken the hint.”
Kane walked toward Lombard, pausing only to scoop up the renegade’s fallen weapon. “What to do with you…”
“Grant…” Lombard snarled. “That big ape—”
Kane took a swift step forward and kicked him in the face. The impact split a seam of skin from eyebrow to the corner of Lombard’s mouth. Blood flowed from the fresh gash.
“Talking about my partner like that is always a bad idea,” Kane said.
“You’re crazy!” Lombard snapped. His hands covered his battered, bloody face. “What are you going to do with me?”
“We’ll see if Dr. Phillips needs someone to do grunt work,” Grant said, rejoining his partners. “Though nothing too complicated.”
