Chapter Thirty-Three

Ryan led the way into the brush, Jak and J.B. at his heels. Leaving the SIG-Sauer leathered, he drew the panga, the steel glistening in his hand. He stopped, chest flat to the forest floor less than three feet from a man sitting guard on a toppled tree covered in orange fungus.

The guard was dressed in worn clothing like most of Barbarossa's group. He carried a single-shot 12-gauge that sat across his knees as he sucked on a sugar stick.

Ryan came out of the brush as soundless as a big cat stalking game. Reaching around the man, he drew the panga across his victim's throat. Warm blood doused his hand, and the man thrashed in his grip, kicking out his life in seconds. Ryan kicked sand over the spilled blood and left the corpse propped up in a sitting position with the shotgun.

Pulling back into the brush, Ryan located his next target. A woman stepped into the tree line carrying a lever-action .30-30. She was thin and slatternly, black hair cut short around her face.

Ryan almost lost her in the thick trees for a moment, but she wasn't moving quietly. The sound of her footsteps gave her away. He didn't know how many of the pirates were women, but a good number of them were. Donovan had mentioned Barbarossa hadn't been too selective in choosing the people who followed him.

But they were all dangerous.

And all it took at the moment to be deadly was a single scream.

Trailing the woman, Ryan watched her select a tree, then kick the brush. Satisfied that nothing crawled, slithered or crept through the nearby brush, the woman lowered her trousers and squatted.

Pale flesh gleamed against the dusty black leathers she wore. She rested her head on her crossed arms atop her knees, gazing up at the treetops as she pissed.

Ryan closed on her. He struck while she was still squatted, clapping his hands on her head and twisting it viciously. Her skull separated from her spinal cord with a single, definite pop.

He kept her in a squatted position so her dying reflexes wouldn't kick the brush and make noise. When she was still, he shoved her forward. She fell facedown in a heap.

Ryan glanced over his shoulder and saw the Armorer tucking a corpse into the brush less than a dozen feet away. They moved back toward the camp.

Sunlight started to streak the tops of the trees around them, showing signs of invading the campsite.

Another guard walked a perimeter, obviously restless and not too pleased with his assignment. Heavy lidded and young, he looked as if he'd rather have been asleep. Ryan reached out from the tree line, grabbed him by his long hair, twisting him as he pulled him into the brush.

His free hand wrapped around the hilt of the panga, Ryan slashed the heavy blade at the man's throat. The sharp edge cleaved through cleanly, for a moment exposing the white bone of the spine at the back of the man's throat. Then blood wept into the cut Ryan dragged the body farther into the trees, almost finishing decapitating the dead man in the process. He felt tense as he returned to the camp, automatically locking on to the female guard closest to his position.

She sat at a campfire, picking at a piece of meat she warmed at the end of a stick. Two women and three men slept at her feet, coiled tightly in their blankets. Vomit strings hung from one man's mouth as he snored.

Ryan closed on the woman and slipped the panga between her third and fourth ribs, not stopping until he pierced her heart. She gave a few spasmodic jerks and died in his arms.

For good measure, Ryan slit the throats of the five pirates around the campfire, holding them down while he was unseen.

Then a shot rang out, a single blast mat echoed within the enclosed space of the campsite.

"Fireblast!" Ryan swore, glancing out into the makeshift harbor. The Foundation men had managed to put down a few of the pirates' boats, but there were still many left. He sheathed the panga and slipped the Steyr off his shoulder. For close work, the rifle also made a good blunt instrument.

The pirates came awake sluggishly, showing the effects of a night spent with the home brew.

Breaking into a run, Ryan spotted Jak and J.B. sprinting for the pirate flagship. Blasterfire started slowly at first, then gained in intensity.

Ryan fired the rifle dry, picking his targets more or less as they were presented. Almost to the water when the assault rifle fired dry, he slung it over his shoulder and drew the SIG-Sauer.

"Got you now, you stupe bastard!" a pirate yelled, stepping out from behind a tree in front of Ryan. He brought up a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun.

Pivoting, Ryan threw himself to the right in a long dive, aiming himself at an A-shaped tent. The shotgun exploded behind him, and a couple pellets struck him in the leg, knocking him off balance.

The tent collapsed when he hit, coming loose from the thin support poles that gave way instantly. Ryan went down in the canvas, flailing for balance, the wound in his shoulder tearing open again. The whine of outboard motors and diesels sounded out in the harbor. The escape plan was to get the hell out of the area as soon as possible. No one figured on waiting.

Ryan rolled, lost for a moment in the canvas. Someone inside the tent surged up against him, trying to get out from under. Still in motion, unable to get free of the canvas, Ryan turned his attention to the shotgun-toting pirate. The SIG-Sauer came up in line with his eye, and he squeezed off three rounds into his adversary's chest.

The pirate managed to pull off his second round, but the spread dug into the ground, throwing up a blinding cloud of mud. The 9 mm hollowpoints drilled through the pirate's chest, tearing huge chunks of flesh out his back. He stumbled back, squatting with a surprised look on his face.

The man trapped inside the tent brought up his weapon, cursing. "Fuck you!" he screamed. "Get off me!"

Still struggling himself, Ryan spotted the shape of the man's head through the canvas. He pressed the blaster's muzzle against the head shape and pulled the trigger twice. Blood blew through the holes the bullets made in the tent, throwing a sheet of crimson and gray across the canvas.

Ryan pushed himself into a run as the dead man kicked out his life, already shrouded in the tent.

Ahead J.B. ran through the water toward the pirate flagship, keeping his knees and the M-4000 scattergun clear. Dean pulled himself over the bow, attracting the attention of the gunner on the flying deck. The pirate turned, bringing his rifle into target acquisition. Dean fired without hesitation, a double-tap burst the way his father and J.B. had taught him.

The pirate slid sideways as the rounds hammered the center part of his body.

Dean slid up the side of the bow and onto the flagship's deck as the corpse toppled into the water. By then Jak was up the side, rolling over in a wet rush of flying water.

Ryan lost them then, turning his attention to his own problems. The ground became spongy underfoot, slowing him. Unable to reload the Steyr, he had to depend on the SIG-Sauer. When the blaster ran dry, he used it like a club and drew the panga.

"Get those bastards!" a loud voice roared. "A case of whiskey to every man who brings me a head!"

Less than ten feet from the water's edge, Ryan spotted a giant of a man flanked by two women manning a .30-caliber Browning Automatic Rifle. The big man handled the machine gun with ease, cradling it on one big arm while one woman kept the belts clear.

"Get them, Brutus!" the other woman encouraged. She gripped a .357 Magnum blaster in both hands, popping off rounds in quick succession at one of the Foundation men dumping mud into a boat's gas tank.

The Foundation man staggered when he was hit in the back of the head, then pitched into the water. Pirates swarmed out into the river, racing for their boats and water bikes.

Ryan halted at the crest of the rise, thinking he might have a chance to reload. A bullet burned along his side, coring through his jacket, ripping through the flesh just above his hip. Warm blood trickled into his pants, bringing a fiery agony with it.

Some of the bullets cut through the branches over the heads of the big man and the two women, tearing leaves loose. The woman feeding the ammo belts to Brutus's BAR ducked and looked back. "You stupe fuckers watch where you're—" She froze when she spotted Ryan.

Seeing the line of pirates charging toward his position, Ryan threw himself forward, at Brutus and his women.

Moving surprisingly fast for a big man, Brutus wheeled around, trying to bring up the BAR. He tore the ammo belt from the woman's hands.

Desperate, trapped and in a hard place and knowing it, Ryan head-butted the big man in the face. Brutus's nose broke with a vicious snap, blood dripping from the flattened nostrils.

Brutus roared with rage and pain, going down backward. His finger lay heavy on the trigger, and the unaimed bullets chugged into the air.

Working quickly, Ryan slashed at the big man's blaster wrist with the panga. Flesh parted in a spray of blood. The heavy blade cleaved the ligaments to the hand, releasing the BAR.

The ammo woman threw herself on Ryan's back, a knife flashing in her hand. Brutus grabbed at the one-eyed man with his good hand, his face a mask of blood.

Ryan moved as quick as a mutie rattler. He jerked his arm back, smashing his elbow into the knife-wielding woman. She shrilled in agony as her cheekbone crumpled. He followed through with the panga, slashing her across both eyes, releasing the liquid cores onto her pale face.

The other woman brought her pistol up from less than ten feet, both hands wrapped around the butt. The muzzle sight centered between her cold, hard eyes.

Stepping into Brutus, Ryan hefted the SIG-Sauer, slamming its butt into the side of the big man's face. Flesh peeled back to reveal bone, covered quickly by blood. Ryan raised his arm again and levered his forearm into Brutus's sweat-soured armpit. Using sheer strength, he spun the pirate around as a shield just as the woman fired.

She screamed in rage when she saw what Ryan had done, but she kept firing until the revolver emptied.

Brutus's body shivered with the impacts of the bullets. His yells turned to sibilant hissing as the rounds perforated his lungs.

Shoving the dead bulk from him, Ryan sheathed the panga and SIG-Sauer, then scooped up the BAR from the ground. The woman dropped her blaster and grabbed for a .22-caliber target pistol tucked in her belt at the back.

Firing the BAR from the hip, Ryan stitched a handful of the heavy rounds across the woman's breasts, punching through her heart. He knelt and quickly attached another ammo belt from the plastic box, then turned back to the line of approaching pirates, aware of the ground pocking around him.

He fell forward onto the ground, the BAR levered in front of him. The bipod at the barrel's end flipped out at his touch, and he squeezed the trigger, keeping it down and chewing through the belt and a half of ammo as he raked the line of pirates from left to right.

Bodies—both dead and wounded—dropped out of the line of pirates, leaving long and frequent gaps. The charge broke before the echo of the BAR'S barrage faded away.

Ryan threw down the weapon and ran out into the water, heading toward the flagship. He ejected the empty clip from the SIG-Sauer, pocketed it and shoved a fresh one in.

A pirate on a water bike roared at Ryan, bringing his blaster to bear.

Lifting the SIG-Sauer, Ryan shot the man in the face from ten feet out. The water bike spun out of control, the throttle stuck even after the dead man toppled from the craft. It slammed into a nearby outboard, striking the engine. Both vehicles erupted in a black-and-orange explosion.

Ryan slogged through the water, ignoring the heat wave that roiled over him. Twin white spumes spurted out from the rear of the flagship.

"Dad!" Dean yelled. He maintained a low profile as he fired the Hi-Power at the pirates following Ryan into the river. "Hurry!"

Donovan hauled himself aboard the flagship, dripping wet and slipping across the deck. J.B. stood on the flying deck, working the controls. Only one of the other Foundation men had made it to the vessel.

Ryan ran as best he could, his breath burning his lungs. The river, even with the gentle current here, made the going hard. The water rose to his chest by the time he reached the flagship. He reached up and caught the built-in stepladder, then pulled himself aboard.

Donovan emerged from belowdecks.

"You find it?" Ryan asked.

"It's there."

"Hang on," J.B. roared over the twin diesels.

Ryan nearly fell as the Armorer threw the engines to full ahead, too much weight shifting to his wounded leg. His boots, filled with water, hampered his movements, as well.

Already mired by the weight of the space-station section aboard, the boat wallowed in the river like a mud pig on a hot day as the screws churned the water. Then it gained speed as it moved forward, rising inches as the hull hydroplaned.

Several of the pirates made their way toward the vessel.

Taking the brief respite to reload the Steyr, Ryan shouldered the rifle and started firing. He aimed for people, as well as exposed engines, creating instant havoc among the pirates.

Bullets holed the flagship and chopped long splinters from the deck, revealing the white wood beneath. More bullets whined off the brasswork and cracked through the Plexiglas windows on the flying deck.

Ryan reloaded and watched J.B. shove the shotgun forward. The Armorer fired, then grabbed for the wheel again.

"Dean, Jak," Ryan called out.

"Yeah, Dad," Dean answered.

"Yeah," Jak said.

"Hold the position here. I'm going up topside with J.B." Both youths nodded, and he crossed the deck as fast as he was able. Bullets chased him up the ladder to the flying deck.

Once there, Ryan peered out at the harbor. Several of the pirates' vessels sat stranded in the water, put out of commission by Jak, Dean and the Foundation men. But several more of them cut through the water. Seven of the boats formed a blockade line across the narrow mouth of the harbor. The pirates aboard them opened up with their weapons, creating a sheet of bullets that slapped into the flagship in a savage tattoo.

The remaining pieces of the Plexiglas windows on the flying bridge disintegrated, and the frame warped under the sustained assault.

"Dark night!" J.B. said, removing his beloved fedora.

"If your hat gets a hole in it," Ryan observed, "it'll probably be in your head, too." He took the time to reload the Steyr.

"On the off chance it isn't," the Armorer said, "I want to keep the hat of a piece. What do you want to do with the blockade?" He kept the lever at half speed but maintained the course toward the boats.

"Pick the weakest point," Ryan said, "then run over them."

"Could lose this boat," J.B. warned.

"Stay in this harbor much longer," Ryan said, "they'll shoot it out from under us anyway. They're picking up on accuracy."

"Noticed that. Do it now?"

"Now." Ryan pulled the Steyr into position, staying only enough above the edge of the Plexiglas window to see his targets. He kept the rifle's barrel off the frame, trying to keep it steady with his body.

"Between the third and fourth boats?" J.B. asked.

"Yeah." Ryan squeezed off a shot, missing the outboard engine on the third boat from the left by inches. The water spumed up a foot high. He fired again, getting closer, then waited a moment as J.B. buried the speed controls.