The Savage Horde

about him?'

'We want you to talk with him,' Cole smiled.

'Go to California? Bullshit!' and Rourke turned and

started walking back down the hillside. He heard the sound of a gun coming out of the leather behind him, wheeled, both Detonics pistols coming into his fists as he dropped into a crouch. He heard the clicking of M-bolts, the different sounding rattle of steel as the bolt of Rubenstein's Schmeisser opened.

Cole had a Government Model A half out of the leather, letting it roll out of his hand on the trigger guard.

'You put your gun away—or I'll kill you,' Rourke hissed at him.

X

'At least let me explain.'

'You wanna explain, I'll be down there—with my friends. You tell me, you tell them. And tell your own people to put their rifles down—or you'll be the first.'

Cole said nothing for a moment, then only nodded. Bolstering his pistol, he shouted loudly, 'As you were!'

Rourke pointed the pistols in his balled-tight fists toward the ground, then lowered the hammers with his thumbs. Every human being had a right to weapons—handguns, rifles, edged weapons—for his own self- defense, the defense of loved ones. Regardless of the unrealistic, immoral laws there had been, regardless of the do-gooders who had tried to make America weaponless and Americans helpless.

But no man had the right to impose his will—with a gun or anything else—by force. It was a lesson Cole hadn't yet learned—as Rourke turned his back to the Army captain and started down the hillside again, he felt that somehow Cole would learn the lesson still. The hardest way there was.

Chapter 6

'John!'

Rubenstein. A shout. Rourke picked up the CAR-from the sling where it hung, starting to run, leaving the bike in the trees, not quite reaching it before he'd heard the call—the shout.

Rourke stopped on the top of the rise, Natalia and Cole were faced off, Cole reaching out to slap Natalia, Natalia's reflexes taking over, catching the hand at the wrist, her body twisting as she sidestepped, Cole sailing up, forward, rolling over, crashing down onto his back. An assault rifle discharged as Natalia started settling her hands on her hips—too close to the twin stainless . Magnums she wore there. One of the troopers' M-jumped in his hands; Natalia spun around, both pistols still in the leather, her hands clutching at her abdomen.

'John . . .' It was like a wail as she sprawled forward, 'Natalia—' He'd felt fear before—but never this fear, He started to run.

Rubenstein was running too, his Schmeisser covering the six soldiers and their commander, 'Natalia!' Rourke screamed it now, feeling the muscles in his arms and back, the tendons in his neck—his eyes—all tightening, his heart pounding in his chest. 'Natalia!' He was out of the trees, running toward her, the woman's body writhing on the ground, the soldier with the M-stepping toward her, the right foot kicking out at her as Cole moved faster than Rourke thought he could have, the pistol he'd pulled twenty minutes earlier coming from the leather again, the base of the frame this time smashing down, Rubenstein half-wheeling, the Schmeisser falling from limp hands, but the hands grasping out for Cole's throat.

'Get him—alive!' It was Cole's voice.

Rourke wheeled, his CAR-coming up, firing a three-round semiauto burst with the CAR-, Cole spinning, falling back. Rourke kept going—toward Natalia. He heard the working of the bolts, saw the muzzles raising—four M-s, pointed at his face.

He stopped, his rifle up and on line with them. 'I'm going to the woman—if you try to stop me, I'll kill you.'

Rourke started ahead, pushing the muzzles of the rifles aside. He didn't care to look at the man behind him. The man beside Natalia—the one who'd shot her—simply stood beside her, his right foot kicking out again—to check if she were dead, Rourke knew.

Rourke snapped the telescoped butt of the CAR-up and out. His body wheeled with it, the metal buttplate at the.end of the tubular stock hammering square into the soldier's face. Rourke's right knee smashed up, finding the groin, impacting against the scrotum, the man's bloodied face going white as he fell.

Rourke held his left hand out, palm outward, the five «t

other troopers raising their assault rifles to fire, Rourke holding his aimed toward them. 'The woman,' Rourke rasped. 'Or your deaths—'

Rourke dropped to his knees beside her, her fingers covering her abdomen, the fingers pale, laced, woven together, blood seeping through between them as he rolled her over.

The eyelids fluttered.

'Rourke—Rourke!'

It was Cole.

'Rourke—you fuckin' shot me!'