Chapter Four –
Twilight descended on the deserted town, green and orange painting the sky a ghastly hue. The muddy brown-gray moon rose overhead, joining the already unfortunate palette. In the distance, Flynn heard the echoing buzz and cough of two stroke motors.
“They’re coming,” Henri said quietly, turning to look at Bruce behind her.
In the last three hours, Flynn had learned the woman was a tailor… among other things. And though the barkeep said nothing of it, he’d learned Bruce was hiding an infatuation, and not doing it well. Whether or not Henri reciprocated, well, he couldn’t have begun to guess… until that moment.
Flynn had never had the time nor inclination to begin a relationship, though he understood why others did. The Lazarai had taken on the archaic notion that women had no place in the military. Flynn hadn’t necessarily approved, but it had made things easier. Fewer relationships to get in the way of taking commands; fewer idiots diving in front of a bullet for unrequited love. He wouldn’t tell Henrietta what she could or couldn’t do, but he hoped there wouldn’t be an issue with her and Bruce when things got hairy. Void help him if he had to lock one of them up as well.
Dusk faded into the darkness of night as Flynn saw the first trails of sand and exhaust following bouncing lights from two-wheeled sand cruisers.
“They must have a landing site far enough away from town that we’ve never seen them coming or going.” Henri scowled as she squinted into the darkness.
Bruce put a hand on her shoulder. “Heaven knows there’s plenty of empty sand to drop a skiff or two. We’ve got enough space here to make a ship’s graveyard for half the Colarium fleet.”
“Nika would kill for that contract,” Chadrick said with a small laugh.
“Who’s Nika?” Putty asked from the back doorway where he stood guard.
“He’s this planet’s resident scrap contractor. The guy is ruthless and will go after absolutely anything. Half the time he doesn’t even wait until it’s abandoned; he’ll pirate a ship right out from under the crew,” Henri said matter-of-factly.
“It doesn’t look like he left, this Nika guy, I mean.” Flynn said, breaking into their conversation and nodding toward the lit façade of the scrap yard’s main building.
Bruce followed Flynn’s gaze and nodded. “He wouldn’t. He’s got a kingdom of trash to protect.”
The riders tore into town on the main drag, but Flynn could hear motors churning out the back as well. He handed Putty a 21st century assault rifle and sent him and Henri to watch the back. The six gun lockers had been secured. Two on each side wall, covering the windows, and the final two in front of the cell holding their tranquilized prisoners. There was no point in keeping them locked up if they were just going to let the sods be killed. And as Bruce had assured him, Refuti’s men would take the easy way out.
Flynn turned back to look at Chadrick. The doctor was administering an anesthetic to the two thugs. He dropped the needles into a red box in his bag and looked up.
Chadrick startled when his eyes met Flynn’s but a smile spread across his face a moment later. “They’ll be out like a light for some time now.” He packed up his medical bag and dropped it next to the unclaimed weapons on the desk.
Flynn refused to blame the man for his convictions, and he recognized that the doctor’s skills were irreplaceable. But he would be useless in this battle until someone was bleeding.
Chadrick sat on the edge of the metal desk, chewing on his lip while he fidgeted with the first aid kit in his hand.
“You might want to take cover in the knee well, Doc. I don’t want a ricochet hitting you.” Henri pulled the chair away and nodded to the space beneath the desk.
As Chadrick did what she suggested, Flynn regretted not having sent him away with the others to the cave system the townsfolk used in emergencies. He thought about thanking Henri for looking out for Chadrick… but thought better of it. She didn’t seem the sort of woman who wanted everything she did pointed out.
In the darkening street, the riders circled. They shot randomly into the air, skidding to kick dust and rocks at the nearby storefronts. Flynn knew the tactic, he’d used it a time or two himself. But these men had no one to scare in the outer perimeters of the town. No hostages to gather. They would not balk, and if Bruce was right about the scrapper and his men….
“They’ll make their demands, and when we don’t hand their buddies over, then maybe we’ll see some real action.” Flynn let out the puff of breath in his chest. It sounded something like a sigh, but Flynn could have screamed for all anyone would have heard over the ruckus their attackers made.
As if on cue, one of the bikes came to a stop, a cloud of brown dust filtering over him in the muted light reflecting off the moon. When it cleared, he held up an antique bullhorn, speaking to the sky rather than in any one direction. “Give us the men you’ve taken hostage and we’ll be on our way. None of you have to die.”
“None of us have to die? More than enough of us already have,” Henri grumbled from behind Flynn, but she didn’t look like she was going to make a foolish move.
The thug repeated himself when there was no response, and then turned back to his gang. Shrugging, he stuffed the megaphone into a pack behind him and tore a circle in the road, sending up a plume of dirt and sand.
The once unaimed shots now began to pepper storefronts, shattering windows and thudding into boards. Flynn hadn’t told any of those inside their little bunker to hold their fire – shooting first wasn’t a moral qualm in a situation like this – but none of them seemed inclined to loose the first bullet toward the group of miners-turned-mobsters.
The jail’s front was riddled with as many bullets as the surrounding buildings, and the windows facing the street shattered. The one beside Flynn sprayed him with shards. The riders would know where they were as soon as the real firefight started, but he’d give them time to waste their bullets.
As the circling sand cruisers came into view. Flynn took aim. The leader of the group flew backward off his ride, colliding with the man behind him and falling beneath the second bike’s wheels. Flynn’s gun was cold.
Two more shots felled two more bikers and a ricochet shattered another window moments after Flynn ducked out of the way.
When he popped back up, he saw the top of a small, red cowboy hat below the window. Two gut punchers in the boy’s hands fired into the dust. Seamus looked up at him with a smile and went right back to filling the cloud with lead.
Flynn grabbed the kid by the collar and dragged him in through the busted up window. If the kid got cut up, so be it. The miscreant would have gotten himself killed anyway.
Flynn all but tossed the boy to Chadrick. “What were you thinking, you little brat? You could have got yourself shot.”
“Yeah, and that’s my right.” Seamus spat back, struggling against Chadrick’s hold. “I’m more a part of this town than you are.”
Flynn shot two men as they emerged from the cloud, then looked at the kid, trying to decide if the boy was some cosmic joke, but Chadrick held up a hand. “Leave the boy be. He’s safe enough now.”
“He would have been safer in the caves.” Henri said from behind them, shooting out the cracked back door.
“Yes, but that’s not something we can change right now, and we have bigger problems.” Flynn shot another of the riders, sending his bike caroming into the front of the tiny law office across the street. Splinters of wood and shards of glass clattered in the sudden silence.
A bullet whizzed through the make-shift jail’s door, and Bruce fell backward, clutching his shoulder.
Flynn heard him cursing as he looked at the chunk of flesh torn from his arm. Letting out a growl of rage, Henri closed the distance from the back door to the front and kicked it open, peppering the remaining thugs with bullets.
Flynn only managed to tackle Henri to the ground a moment before the back wall was turned to Swiss cheese. No part of this “jail” had b
een meant for a prolonged siege. Bullets clattered off the gun lockers in front of the cells.
Flynn kicked the door shut, and pushed her toward Bruce. He had a feeling the sheet-white pallor of the barkeep’s face was not due to his own blood loss.
Flynn stood as something whooshed past his head, out the shattered front window. From behind him, Putty yelled, “Everybody down!”
Flynn dropped to the floor with the rest of them, arms over his head to shield himself from the blast. Nothing happened.
Heavy fire pitted the wood structure, sending chips and splinters exploding away like brittle shrapnel.
“What did you do?” Flynn shouted at his brother.
Putty laughed and pointed to a bag from the on top of the desk. “I found a grenade!”
A burst of orange lit the jail and, in the street a plume of fire erupted into the night. The clatter of dirt and debris raining down on the roof echoed deafeningly as the flickering of firelight crept in through the windows. Silence descended upon them.
Flynn waited, listening, and finally poked his head out to look at the deserted street.
“looks like that scared them off….” Putty crept up beside him.
Flynn snorted, but couldn’t disagree. “For the time being.”
“Now what?” Chadrick asked as he hurried to Bruce’s side and began digging through his bag.
Flynn looked down the long, deserted drag. Beyond the dying fire, darkness prevailed. The faint buzz in the distance and the marks of men dragged away told Flynn why there wasn’t a Refuti thug to be left for questioning – or the morgue. Their small stand had worked… for the moment.
He breathed a sigh, though he wouldn’t consider it one of relief. “Now, we wait.”
“For what?” Henri asked from her window on the other side of the door.
“Maybe they’ll drop a white flag.” Flynn knew they wouldn’t, but it was never a bad idea to hope. Hope was often the only thing a man had. And it was good to hope – so long as you were realistic about your expectations.