"Don't be a stupe, Rick. We've got the blasters. More important, some of us know a lot about chilling. People don't realize that killing is an art like any other. You have to learn it."
"Not me. Sorry and all that, guys. I'll help and do what I can. But I won't kill another human being. Sorry." Rick was adamant.
It was dusk before the first move was made.
"Mote's son an' Zombie," Jak called to Ryan from his place by the window.
J.B. was covering the rear of the building, but with darkness falling it would be easy for the enemy to approach undetected and hit the Rentaroom from any side. Ryan's plan was to move outside as quickly as possible, once the last shreds of light were gone.
"Tell J.B.," Ryan said. "Could be a feint out front here."
"Chill 'em?" asked the albino teenager, his snowy hair tinted crimson by the bloody light of the tumbling sun.
It was tempting to try to get rid of Zombie, possibly the biggest threat on the other side. But Ryan preferred to wait.
"No. Keep back. See if they got something to say to us."
They had.
Joshua Mote stopped about fifty yards away, half hidden by a dusty sycamore on the far side of the street. Zombie stood at his shoulder, carrying a large piece of ragged white cloth that was tied to a broom handle. Nervously he waved it at the watchers in the room.
"You gonna let us near?" Joshua shouted, his voice cracking with nerves.
Ryan eased the window open a few inches. "Could've chilled you by now if I'd wanted to!" he yelled. "Come closer. Say what you got to say. We won't open fire."
"Don't trust them!" Rick whispered, leaning on his stick at the other side of the window. "They'll try to trick you."
"No. They got no reason to. We're here. They know we aren't going anywhere. Not yet. They can wait us out. I figure there's a ring of armed men all around us right now. How can they trick us?"
"I don't know. Wouldn't trust them, Ryan."
It was such a stupid and naive thing to say that Ryan ignored it, concentrating instead on the two men in the street. Joshua Mote flourished a sheet of paper.
"Message from Pa and Ma. They say someone's gotta pay the blood price for Azrael. That's the law here. They say it's time for a new baron."
"Wouldn't be Baron Norman Mote, would it, son?" asked Ryan.
"You shut your..." Zombie said something Ryan couldn't hear, and Joshua spit in the dirt. "You give us the two women and leave, and you forfeit your blasters to the ville. You get an escort to the limits."
"And a bullet through the back of the skull," Krysty whispered.
"Yeah. I know it." Ryan raised his voice. "What happens if we don't accept?"
"Y'all get chilled and handed over to the snakes. They like a lotta fresh food."
"We got long to think this over?"
"One hour, starting now."
Zombie advanced a couple of paces. "We got the place ringed, One-Eye."
"Figured you would have."
"You got no chance."
"No."
"It's a good deal. Best you got. The women won't suffer none. Be over quick. Rest of you ride off without a care."
"We'll think on it."
"One hour, outlander!" Joshua yelled. "Then we come in after you."
Ryan had an almost overwhelming temptation to send the arrogant young man off to buy the farm. His finger actually itched to squeeze the trigger of his G-12. But that would mean having to play the hand out on their terms. It wasn't worth it for the passing satisfaction.
The two men vanished into the flourishing darkness and the street was quiet again. "We got an hour to move," Ryan said.
Carla and Baron Edgar arrived at the rooming house a half hour later. Ruby had made a hasty departure even before Joshua delivered the ultimatum. By now Ryan's group was spread out in defensive positions: J.B. was outside the back door; Jak stood just inside the windows of the first-floor rear; Doc and Lori were covering the two sides of the building; Ryan and Krysty watched for a main frontal attack up the street. The streetlights on Main Street had been switched off, but the companions could hear the throbbing of the ville's generator. The sweet smell of gasoline told them that the processing plant was still working full out, beyond the ruins of the old theme park.
Carla was wearing her riding breeches and a dark maroon shirt. She carried an unidentifiable .32 pistol with polished walnut grips in her belt. Baron Edgar had aged ten years in the past twenty-four hours. His clothes were stained and creased, and he hardly seemed to know where he was.
"We had to come, Ryan. I know they plan to chill us both. We had no choice. Where's John?"
"Out back. Keep away from the window. Let Edgar sit a spell on the bed, by Rick. You're welcome. Things have changed some."
"They know we killed their pet rattler," Krysty told her.
"I heard. I also heard that they say they want you and the blond girl as sacrifices. Josh'll want her for his own use first. And they said they'd let the rest of you go."
"That's what they say. We know what they mean."
"What are you going to do, Ryan?"
When it came down to it, there were only two choices: stay and fight defensively or go out into the night and fight offensively.
The gateway wasn't all that far away, but with the freezie in tow, the journey wouldn't be easy and it wouldn't be fast. But if Mote and his army were attacked, there was a chance that enough of them would be chilled to allow the companions to break free. And to discourage pursuit.
They had discussed it as soon as Ryan, Lori and Doc had returned to the Rentaroom. It had been J.B. who had made the vitally important point.
"Saw them at the feeding, and when the stickies made their move out in the desert. Take out the bikers and one or two others, and you got a pack of white-bellied runners. Most men in the ville can stand behind a wall and pull a trigger. Put them against someone who knows what he's doing and half'll run scared."
It was true, Ryan reflected. Despite overwhelming numbers, Mote didn't have many fighters. The Trader used to say that he'd rather have five men with fire-fight experience than a hundred without.
"Ryan," Carla repeated. "What can you do now?"
"Do?"
"Yes. Can you explain your plan to me?"
"Lady," he said, "I don't have the time."
"But..."
"All right. We go out. Attack the bikers and the Motes where they're set up. Hit anyone hard who gets in our way. Try and burn out the old theme park there, then move out. How's that sound?"
Carla looked across at the baron. The old man was sitting hunched over, hands to his face, weeping quietly.
"Can we come with you? I can use this blaster, and I'll look out for Edgar."
"Why take so much trouble over a defeated baron? It happens all the time in the Deathlands. Barons come and go. You don't have to carry on being loyal to him now."
Her voice was very quiet. "He's my father. Is that reason enough?"
"Yeah. Guess so. Sorry that... Fireblast! You know?"
She half smiled and patted his arm. "Course I know. And now you do, too. You still didn't say if we could come with you."
Ryan nodded. "Whatever happens, I figure it'll be better than staying around for the snakes."
"Ten minutes of the hour left, lover," Krysty said. She sat cross-legged, her back against the wall of the room, resting. Her fiery hair was coiled tightly around her head, ready for the combat to come. She looked amazingly relaxed. "Jak!"
"Yeah?" The boy's voice floated up the shadowed staircase.
"Get J.B. up here. You come up, as well."
"Sure."
"You decided what to do, lover?"
"Yeah. I decided fifty minutes ago. Been examining the plan since then, looking for holes. Looking for anything better. Can't think of anything. So this'll be it."
When everyone had gathered in the room, he outlined his idea.
"Throw them off balance. We go down to the first floor and gather near the rear door. We wait and keep silent. They won't be totally sure if we've sneaked out or not. They'll be uncertain. Won't know whether to come in at us or not. Then, as soon as they finally make a move to attack, we go out like the hounds of hell. Make for the draw that runs parallel to Main Street and outflank them. We try to fire the Heroes' base, then double back along the far side of the street and into the brush. And away. How's that?"