Chapter Twenty-Nine

The four days passed hard for Ryan, and being forced to stay aboard the boat for the duration was intolerable. He was a man used to making his own way.

The wounded shoulder healed well, with only a slight case of infection. He'd lanced it himself with the heated blade of the panga. The other companions struggled with the claustrophobic feelings inspired by life on the boat. J.B. was the only one who handled the time without strain, but that was because the Armorer had room to spread out all the companions' weapons and give them a proper cleaning.

Morse and his sons had grown increasingly belligerent about manning Junie. Morse himself had a lump on his jaw and behind his ear where Jak had pistol-whipped him with the .357 Magnum when the man had tried to jump Dean. To Dean's own credit, he'd resisted killing the man outright.

The deeper they got into what had once been the state of Montana before the nukecaust, the more hopeful Elmore had become. Evidently the man believed the Heimdall Foundation was going to get him out of his present predicament one way or another.

Ryan knew that wasn't going to happen until after he'd gotten help for Krysty. His lover had remained asleep most of the trip, plagued by the sickness that wrenched her guts, and by the dead woman feeding her twisted dreams. She'd told Ryan some of them during the times she'd been awake, and even he'd been sickened. There'd been no loveplay, even though Ryan had tried to instigate it to bring her relief. The woman's threats to kill whatever seed quickened in Krysty's belly had frightened her too much.

On the evening of the fourth day, they found Michael Donovan, the Heimdall Foundation man they'd come deep into Montana to find.

Trouble was, others had found him first.

"THAT'S DONOVANS BOAT," Elmore said.

The river here was becalmed and placid. J.B. had found some old maps aboard the boat that listed the river in Montana as the Jefferson River. At least, that was the location the Armorer's minisextant indicated.

Donovan's boat was nearly twice the size of Junie, strung with rigging that looked as delicate as a spiderweb. She looked as though she'd cut through the water like a knife blade through butter once her sails were gathering the wind.

But not now.

Now the big boat was listing in the wind, the few sails she had up catching the breeze the wrong way. Around her were seven smaller craft that Ryan could see through his binocs. Four of them were small motor craft, and three of them looked like water bikes.

The sound of blasterfire echoed flat across the river.

"Who are they?" Ryan demanded.

"River pirates," Elmore stated. "Get them through here a lot. Especially during the rainy season. Come down to see what they can find washed up on shore. If they don't feel like doing the work themselves, they take stuff they want from other folks already took the time to salvage it."

"Why doesn't Donovan have a bigger crew if he knows these coldhearts are going to be out here?" J.B. asked.

"Probably does have a bigger crew back at the main campsite," Elmore said. "He likes to do his own exploring."

Ryan put his eye back to the binoculars, reeling the attack back into focus. "Man's got to be out of his mind to go anywhere alone if he's got an army to go with him."

"I think, my dear Ryan," Doc spoke up, "that the more appropriate nomenclature at this juncture would be navy. That Donovan has a navy at his back."

"If we don't step in," Ryan stated, "Donovan's going to have the life expectancy of a mosquito stuck to flypaper." And with the man might go any chances of helping Krysty.

He glanced over at Morse. "Get us in there."

THE BOAT'S SPINNAKER unfurled when Morse released it. The material belled out into the breeze, swelling to its full size in seconds. The boat surged forward, cutting deep into the flat planes of the river.

Ryan commanded the others into position, taking the prow himself. He pulled the Steyr to his shoulder, favoring his wounded arm.

"They see us now," J.B. called out from Ryan's right. "Going to try us."

Before the Armorer's words died away, three of the motor craft peeled away from the savaged sailboat and raced for Junie. Bullets from the approaching river pirates created dozens of impact areas in the water ahead of the boat. In a few more seconds, the bullets slapped into the boat around Ryan.

He aimed and fired smoothly, plucking the man working the tiller on the powerboat from his seat. The powerboats were small fishing boats with rear-mounted motors that whined like deep-throated bumblebees.

Donovan's vessel looked to be taking on water, listing roughly to its left, unable to break away now that the attention of the river pirates had been diverted.

The powerboat with the dead driver went out of control, pulling around in a hard circle. The men aboard the boat scrambled, working against one another as they tried to get control of the outboard. Ryan fired twice more, aiming at the engine, which exploded as the gas tank ruptured. The flames spread over the passengers, as well as the boat, and threw black smoke into the air.

Bullets from the other boats drilled into Junie and cut the air around Ryan. Before he had a chance to aim at another of the pirate boats, they were past him. He stepped from the prow to the starboard railing, bringing the rifle to his shoulder again.

J.B. accounted for one of the racing water bikes by shooting the gas tank with a flechette round from the M-4000. The tank erupted into a fireball that enveloped the driver. The passenger, protected by the driver's body, dived into the water. When he came back up, the Armorer blasted another round into his head. The decapitated body swirled briefly in the water as the final nervous spasms jerked through it, then sank.

Mildred picked off two more pirates from another boat before being driven to cover by return fire.

The river pirates turned in concert, cutting white plumes through the water as they came around for another pass.

Ryan laid down heavy fire, squeezing through his rounds as he aimed at the lead craft. His bullets holed the metal hull of the canted prow, then smashed on into two of the men beyond. The misshapen bullets tore huge wounds in the flesh and blood. Ryan heard the screams of the men over the outboard as the boat broke off the attack and sped past them.

Dean managed to get one more of the water bikes with his Browning Hi-Power before they disappeared farther down the river. The youngster crowed in savage delight.

"Reload your weapons," Ryan ordered. "Chances are we haven't seen the last of them."

The companions complied, taking up positions around Junie so they could keep watch in all directions. Now that they'd made themselves known to the river pirates, they'd taken on the role of prey, as well.

"Morse," Ryan yelled.

"What?"

"Bring us alongside that other craft."

Morse called out the adjustment to the sails to his sons and steered Junie closer to the foundering ship.

Ryan studied the bigger sailboat. She listed more deeply in the water now, making no headway at all even with the tug of her sails. Despite the slight breeze flowing all around him, Ryan's face was covered with perspiration, and his clothing was soaked with it from the heat of the sun.

With Morse's expert handling, Junie pulled alongside the other craft, staying out a good thirty feet. Stern heavy now, the bigger boat's prow lifted well above the normal water-line. Her name was painted on the port side in green letters against the faded blue hull—Calypso.

"Ahoy, the boat," Ryan called out. He lowered the Steyr, but kept it in both hands.

"What the hell do you want?" a rough voice shouted back. In the stillness left after the blasterfire and the sounds of the outboards had died away, the words sounded unnaturally loud.

"Looking for a man named Donovan," Ryan said.

There was a pause. "And if you found him?"

Ryan turned over his shoulder, fixing Elmore with his gaze. "Let them know who you are."

Hesitantly Elmore stepped up to the railing. "Donovan, it's Elmore. You remember me?"

Nobody moved on Calypso, but the few blasters aboard shifted to take in the new target.

"We don't mean any harm," Ryan said, "unless it's offered to us first."

"River pirates done cleaned us out of everything worth having," the man shouted back.

Ryan saw him now, a medium-built man with a shock of black hair dropping to his shoulders. A white streak of hair matted one temple in a jagged line. He was burned nut brown by the constant exposure to the sun and the elements, and went bare chested, wearing only shorts and lace-up boots. He held a Martin .22 rifle easily in one hand.

"Not here for anything except Donovan," Ryan said.

"Why do you want him?"

"Information."

"About what?"

"Want to talk to him about the Chosen," Ryan called out.

"What about them?"

"Had some trouble with them. Still do. Figure mebbe Donovan can help."

A debate seemed to ensue aboard Calypso, the black-haired man taking on other survivors aboard the boat.

"You people figure on jawing about your situation much longer?" Ryan shouted out harshly.

"Find ourselves in a bad way," Donovan shouted back. "We aren't too keen on making it any worse."

"You're aboard a boat that isn't going to make it to shore," Ryan said, "and those river pirates may return at any minute to finish the job they started just out of sport. Mebbe you can abandon ship and swim to shore, but you're still going to be vulnerable when you do it. Your situation gets any worse, you'll have to get chilled to do it. Where I'm sitting, that may not be that far way."

"All right." Donovan lowered the rifle and stepped to the railing, making a big target of himself if it went that way. "We're about out of choices."

"You're Donovan?"

"I am." Despite his situation, the man seemed to take pride in acknowledging his identity.

Ryan gave him a half smile, recognizing the fact that the man faced them without fear and that he'd be a dangerous enemy. "Get your people off that boat and we'll take you aboard."

"Boat's salvageable," Donovan said.

"Not by me," Ryan replied.

"Save me, save my boat. Like you pointed out, I've got the option of swimming to shore."

"There's some deadly mutie fish in this river," Elmore called out loud enough for Ryan to hear. "He goes in, there's a chance he won't be coming back out."

"You got any bilge pumps aboard that boat?" Ryan asked.

"Two. Both of them gasoline powered. Neither one of them working right now. Pirates saw to that when they scuttled the boat after taking our cargo. They'd have opened bigger holes in her if we'd let them. But after we saw they meant to chill us anyway, we fought back. If we'd tried to fight back any earlier, we couldn't have done it."

"Why?"

"Mister," Donovan said, "there were a lot of bastard pirates here. And they aren't going to take too kindly to you people chilling the ones you did, or destroying their transport. Salvaging one of those predark watercraft is hard, even up here where water activities seemed to be pretty big."

Ryan glanced farther downriver, "If there were so many pirates, mebbe it'd make better sense if you got off that goddamn boat and came aboard."

"No way," Donovan said. "This boat's my life. Spent more time aboard her these past ten years than anywhere else in my life. Leaving her is not an option."

Ryan tried staring him down across the expanse of dirty water as a corpse floated between them. He didn't think it was one of the bodies of the river pirates they'd killed, so it was mute testimony to the fate the Heimdall Foundation people had ahead of them if they stayed with Calypso.

Donovan showed no signs of giving in.

"Fireblast," Ryan swore. Then he turned to Morse. "Get us alongside so we can tie on."

Morse clearly wasn't happy about the prospect. "That boat will drag us under with it. She's near twice as big as mine."

Ryan glared at him. "I didn't say you had a choice. Get it done. Now."

ONCE RYAN'S COMMITMENT to help the stricken ship became definite, the crew aboard Calypso galvanized into action. Ropes from both boats were used to tie the bigger ship behind the smaller one. Jak and Dean helped the Morse boys bring up the hand-crank bilge pump from belowdecks and transferred it to the Heimdall Foundation craft.

Within twenty minutes, they were ready to attempt to move the boat. The borrowed bilge pump didn't equal the amount of water flooding Calypso belowdecks, but at least it managed to slow the water it was taking on.

Morse looked at the lines lashing them to the other boat with disgust and vehement hatred. "Junie's going to handle like a fucking fat-assed mud turtle trying to haul that bastard boat."

"Get it done," Ryan ordered.

"I am, I am." Morse surveyed the ropes himself, then called out new orders to Calypso's crew to trim their sails the way he wanted. "But you better hope those pirates don't come rushing back with reinforcements. Even without that boat tied to us, we couldn't outrun them."

Ryan knew that, and he hoped it as strongly as he dared.