Wretched Earth Read Online Free PDF Page B

trailed from the
shotgun tube fixed beneath the barrel of his enormous LeMat wheel gun.
    “Now that I have your attention, boys,” Doc called in a
surprisingly hearty voice, “I yield the floor to Ryan Cawdor.”
    To Ryan’s left, Jak stood with his .357 Magnum Colt Python
revolver aimed at the mob. J.B. had checked his Smith & Wesson M-4000
shotgun at the gaudy door, as Omar’s rules required. But he’d drawn the mini-Uzi
from beneath his leather jacket, and held it leveled from his hip.
    Several wag drivers yipped in alarm and danced as hot buckshot
rained down on them. Doc’s shotgun had enough punch to take off a man’s face or
chop up his guts at arm’s length. But fired straight up it didn’t throw the
double-0 balls high enough to do more than give a whack when gravity inevitably
brought them back down.
    Ryan didn’t draw his own SIG-Sauer handblaster. He didn’t want
to escalate the situation.
    All the wag drivers started talking at once. The LeMat’s
volcanic roar had knocked the fight out of them. Now they were all tripping over
one another to explain how they were just having themselves some fun with this
skinny kid for talking crazy, and then these bitches came and jumped them… .
    Krysty moved forward to help Mildred, who in turn was helping
the skinny little dude holding a well-crushed pair of specs in one hand. He was
the worse for wear.
    The wag drivers paid no attention to them. They seemed to have
had a bellyful of the two wild women.
    “All right,” Ryan snapped. “The fun’s over. Nobody’s chilled
yet.”
    He swept the crowd with his lone ice-blue eye. “What do you say
we keep it that way?”
    The wag drivers looked at one another. He could read their
thoughts plainly on their faces and in the set of their shoulders, without need
of any mutie mind powers, which he surely didn’t possess. This wasn’t fun
anymore. He suspected for those who’d come to grips with Mildred and Krysty, it
had stopped being fun considerably earlier.
    He frowned at Mildred. “This was your doing.”
    It wasn’t a question.
    Though she was bent over from the exertion and a fair amount of
pummeling, she straightened and braced her shoulders. “They were beating up this
poor skinny kid for no reason. Kicking him around like a soccer ball.”
    Ryan shrugged. “Not our business. Minding other people’s is a
good way to wind up staring at the sky.”
    “Fine. You didn’t have to back me up, anyway.”
    “Yes, we did, Millie,” J.B. said mildly. He still had his Uzi
out, in case some of the mag drivers got frisky again. “You know we’ve got to
back each other’s plays. That’s why Ryan doesn’t want you jumping into every
swollen river to save every stranded calf. You know what I mean.”
    “Why, John,” the stocky woman said, her deep brown eyes
lighting, “that’s almost poetic!”
    Ryan raised a brow and looked at Krysty, who shook back her
scarlet hair.
    “She did what she thought was right, Ryan. So did I.”
    He felt a hand pat his shoulder, and glanced back to see Doc’s
prematurely aged face hanging over him.
    “Give it over, Ryan,” the old man said. “This is a fight you
can only lose. Especially if you win.”
    Ryan was about to retort that the statement made no sense, then
it hit him that it made total sense.
    “All right,” he said. “That bullet’s out of the muzzle of the
blaster, anyway. Say goodbye to your stray and let’s head back inside. No point
freezing our asses off in this wind when the stove’s hot inside.”
    “Can’t he come with us?” Mildred asked.
    The kid hung back. His narrow face was puffy and turning color.
“Truth is,” he said, “I’m not even supposed to be here. Me and my friends were
attacked. Lost everything.”
    “That why those slaggers were thundering on you?” J.B.
asked.
    The kid shook his head. He had a shock of dark hair like an
untended garden, and prominent ears. “No. I was trying to warn them.”
    “Warn?” Jak asked.