The shooting stopped. A body slumped out of the window, doubled over the sill.
“Good shot,” commended Smacky, “whoever took out that screwball.”
“Nailed that smarmy bastard myself,” crowed Spike.
The situation was completely screwed, Yul concluded. These Mayberries were going to fuck up badly and get everyone killed. If he couldn’t get away from them, he’d have no chance of surviving. He and Cloye could make a break into the ruins, for safety, provided some other menace didn’t catch up with them first. Only a matter of time before those bloodsucker locusts swarmed in and blew the shit out of the bottom of the barrel. He glanced over at Cloye, saw she was taking the situation very coolly, especially after her cat scrap, wiping at her split cheek and flexing her wrist. Smug too. Never one to be intimidated.
A high-circling Orb came angling out of the sky. The thing was spiked like a murder ball on the end of a demon’s mace. Copper-colored, menacing, though the crude armored outer plates were closer to the color of old bronze.
“Holy shit, Smacky!” cried Wilb. “What the fuck is that?”
“A squid ship, what you think? We got ourselves an alien party. Guess Yab was right.”
“Holy Jesus shit fuck.”
Yul sighed. Jesus shit fuck was right. What to do now? What else could go wrong?
Back the other way they loped off, opposite from where they’d entered this doomed square. Ever vigilant, Spike kept Yul and Cloye covered. Not much wiggle room for a breakaway. Even if they could give old Spike the slip, Smacky’d blast their asses in a flash. Whether their new meandering course included commandeering a ship was anyone’s guess. The man seemed impervious to suggestion and had an agenda of his own.
Unfortunately, one that brought them closer to hell. Around a bend came the low whine of a small flying vehicle, an amphibious vehicle, with globular fuselage, and twin AK4 blasters. The thing hovered overhead, covering the four men below as they walked like street kings.
A dark figure in the lead on ground pointed at them. Regers. He mouthed words into a com. The APV twisted and turned as bright fire splashed out of the twin guns mounted on either side of the turret.
Yul dove for cover. On the way he shoulder-checked Cloye out the way. She fell in a heap at the foot of the alley.
Others weren’t so lucky.
Shells sprayed by, reaming the air. The excess bullets skimmed off down the alley.
The APV angled in. Yul gave a cry of warning.
“Now, Mickey, you fuck!” bawled Smacky, ducking behind a rubble pile.
With a grim leer, Mick lobbed the first artillery shell at the incoming APV.
For a moment the air froze. Then kaboom.
A major pressure blast hit the APV dead on and set it spinning out of control to the ground. It lay in a crumpled heap. The pressure wave and fragments from its hull knocked Regers and his crew backward.
The smoke cleared and Yul peered in apprehension. Whoever was in the APV was toast.
Smacky squinted into the sun, signaling Marv and one of his henchmen to poke around the ruined glass and smoking, twisted metal.
“Hody ho. Anything interesting? What’ch you got, Marv?”
“We got one dead Jakru, horns and all, lying in the cockpit.”
“Anything else?”
“Just a fancy assault rifle, an E1 mangled up with cracked stock.”
“That ain’t doing us no good, Wilb. Why even mention it?”
“This fusebox and weapons kit has live ammo we can use.”
“Good man, Marv. Wilb, you get up there and help the man yank it out.” He gestured. “Spike, you and me’ll head over and take out the rest of those gun lords. Don’t want them creeping up on us from the back and blasting us. Spike, you with me?...Spike?”
But Spike lay in a spreading pool of his own blood, eyes staring up, blood draining from a chest wound, pierced by shrapnel.
“Ain’t that a shitter,” said Smacky, scratching his head. Two more bodies lay unmoving, the long-haired brothers. Lace prodded them with a finger, a sniff and grimace, like a curious grade-school kid.
Smacky fiddled with his stock’s firing mechanism. “Fucking thing’s jammed again. Should’ve taken Marv’s weapon.” He looked around, kicked at the dust. The blast had leveled all sign of anything. “Where are those fuckers?”
Yul stared grimly. Anxiety grew in his gut.
“No matter,” said Smacky. “Get those explosives out of the APV. Reckon we’ll need them.”
Yul grimaced at the irony of the adoption of a plan he’d suggested all along.
“Back to the crib.”
“But Smack—”
“Back, you fucks! We take this bomb, rig it up back in the crib.”
Try as they might, they couldn’t find hide nor hair of Regers. They had disappeared in a trail of blood.
* * *
Deakes eyes darted about. “Regers, this is fucking dangerous.”
Regers motioned him on with his gun, ignoring the pain in his mangled half ear, torn by shrapnel, as they crawled on their bellies away from the blast. “Only the good things in life are, Deakes. Damn that crafty Dez, installing egg shell armor on that APV. Last laugh’s on us. Get moving, Deakes. Stay low, you other two,” he rasped back at Vincent and Jennings. “Don’t want them tagging you too.”
Deakes shook his grime-faced head as they rounded a corner. “Ramra dead. Creib dead. Just me, Jennings, you and Vincent now…and Jennings is looking the worse for wear. Want to add three more corpses to the count?”
“Ain’t going to be more corpses if you quit jabbering and we get this job done.”
Vincent grinned through his sweat and grime, “Yeah, Uncle Regers gonna take care of us.”
Deakes gave a hoarse sneer. “Uncle Regers is going to be sucking bug dick before long.”
“Shut up, Deakes. Enough of your vulgar talk. Down!” Regers pulled Deakes’s shoulder. Three
