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the bargaining gate was a dark shape moving his way. Cursing his lack of
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binocs, the sentry squinted to see. The object seemed too tall for a pack of
bikers, but could be a truck. Didn't see many of them these days, and good
luck for the driver. The heirs would confiscate the vehicle and give the sec
man a reward of any women on board, and a percentage of any booze or tobacco.
This could be his lucky night!
In a silent explosion of wood, the vehicle plowed through the gate and bounced
onto the road proper. Immediately, a dozen concealed crossbows released a
flurry of barbed arrows streaking across the asphalt at knee level, more than
enough to blow even the toughest predark military tires. The black shape
didn't even pause under the assault.
Watching in horror, the sentry stared as the shape rolled onto the bridge
stretching across a ravine. This trap had never failed. There were two
bridges, actually, a slim one just barely large enough for a motorcycle to
roll across, then a nice big spacious one built of canvas and hollow pipes.
Even the weight of a single man would make the bridge collapse, sending the
invaders tumbling into a pit full of iron spikes. It had taken the slaves
hours to lay enough planks over the ravine so the lady ward could roll that
huge outland machine across the trap.
Just then, the dark shaped dropped from sight.
The sentry laughed in victory, then stared as the angular craft rose again,
rolling back onto the road and proceeding toward the outer wall of the ville
in undiminished speed.
Snatching the coal oil lantern hanging from a nail in the wall, the sentry
blew out the flame and ducked low. From the floor, he reached up and snatched
the plastic toolbox on the shelf, hugging it to his chest in an irrational
moment of panic.
Then grim necessity seized him. Fingernails scratching the wax from the
joints, the sentry pried loose the lid on the plastic box and ripped it off.
Nestled inside was a Veri pistol and three flares.
Stuffing the first fat cartridge into the hollow tube, he shielded his face
with an arm, pointed the box into the sky and fired. The pistol thumped
loudly, and the flare was blown high into the starry sky. One flare meant
strangers, possibly danger.
It detonated into a brilliant white glare, slowly parachuting downward, riding
the wind like a kite. While it was airborne, he had the second flare loaded
and launched. Two meant an armed attack, send troops pronto.
The dark shape rumbled past the kiosk, shaking the walls and making the
thatched roof collapse in sections, sending stalks of tar-coated hay
everywhere. He stayed in the corner, praying for his life, and the thing moved
onward.
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The moment it was past, he shoved a hand out the window and sent off the third
flare. It was a signal he had never used before, and had spent his whole adult
life hoping not to. It as the signal for disaster, invasion and much much
worse.
Then a blinding flash of light slashed across the kiosk, slicing apart the
masonry. A
terrible pain seared in his stomach, and he tried for a scream when the
grenade in his pocket detonated, blowing his steaming guts across the rubble
in a grisly crimson spray.
AS THE TROOP of armed sec men marched around a corner, J.B. darted from behind
a pile of rotting garbage and across the dark street, taking a defensive
position.
He whistled low twice, and the rest of the companions followed him with Krysty
on rear guard.
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"These guys aren't too sharp," Mildred commented. "I've seen better guards in
hotel lobbies!"
A dull clanging noise rose from atop the Citadel. Then, softly, a siren
started to howl, growing in pitch and volume until its strident scream split
the night apart. Lights started coming on in every window of every home, doors
burst open and half-dressed men stumbled into the streets, weapons in hands.
The companions retreated farther into the safety of darkness.
"They finally know we're here," Krysty said, her pistol steady in a combat
grip.
"Took them long enough to notice," J.B. retorted, one of the homemade sugar
bombs held ready, its long fuse dangling like the swing hoist of a petard.
Cradled in Doc's arms, Shard shook his head.
"Not for us?" Jak asked.
The patient winced as Mildred reached over to tighten a bloody bandage.
"Invaders," Shard wheezed. "Yule's under attack."
With both of his longblasters extended like the horns of a bull, Ryan smiled.
"Better coverage for us."
"Chaos is the friend of thieves," Krysty agreed, her hair moving to its own
secret rhythm.
"No," Mildred countered, the expression on her face lost in the shadows.
"Remember, the
Beast is dead, the Sons destroyed. Who else is tere who would dare attack this
fort?"
"Don't know," Shard replied.
"Mayhap some new enemy," Doc espoused, slightly shifting the position of the
man he carried. "Raiders, mercies. The list of palliards who hate and/or lust
after this locale must be nigh infinite."
Bastard hope so," Ryan muttered, doubtfully eyeing the mounting chaos in the
streets. A
trio of sec men struggled to roll a black powder cannon into position before
the very door they had left only moments ago. Ryan checked the status of his
weapons.
"Forget silent, we're going hard," he announced.
"Kill on sight. I'm on point. J.B., cover our rear with the bombs. Mildred and
Dean, cover
Doc and Shard. Something big is happening, something more important than us
escaping or a slave rebellion, and I want no part of it."
THE RANGER ROLLED unstoppable along the road that led to the primitive city.
Land mines constantly exploded under its rebuilt treads, causing more smoke
and noise than damage. Twice a barrage of glass bottles filled with coal oil
smashed onto its bull, covering the patched-together tank with flames. This
was unfortunate as it greatly increased the vehicle's visibility, but it did
little else. The drones had done their job properly, and while not up to its
original standards, the General Electric Ranger Mark LV was functional.
The Ranger had patrolled the ruins of the city and the desert sands of Ohio,
wandering aimlessly, Unable to locate any hint of the unknown invaders who had
destroyed it. Then a radio signal began to weakly broadcast from the area
ahead. The Ranger's main computer recognized this was a nonmilitary fortress
full of civilians. However, if they were assisting the enemy, they were to be
considered traitors and dealt with accordingly.
Bypassing another disguised pit, on the forward vid scanners the Ranger
detected a crude wall of tree trunks embedded into the dirt atop a low hill:
the outer perimeter of the civilian fortress. Activity bustled along the oak
palisade, high probability security personnel preparing weapons. Radar
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