Czech-made ZKR 551 revolver to prove itâJak was all about blades. At any given time he had a dozen or so knives hidden on his body, both for close-quarters fighting and throwing. He was ace with them all, and he loved getting the chance to use his skill.
Ryanâs head snapped around in time to see the grounded Mississippi Queenâs first mate and chief shipwright pick up their captain by the elbows and carry her onto the bank, sending big splashes of water into the twilit air. There were four or five others in the shallow water that he could see, including Doc and Ricky, helping unload the boat of whatever Arliss deemed necessary.
Another thunder crack ripped from Jakâs Python. Ryan saw a plume of water spurt up about ten yards downstream of the boat. The craft was beached at an angle of about forty-five degrees, with the keep of its prow driven into the soft soil of the beach, and its stern pointing west. Trace had ordered Nataly to bring her in that way to facilitate loading and unloading. The actual channel of Wolf Creek got steep fast, they told Ryan, who had no reason to doubt them.
They know their trade, and we know ours. There wasnât a nuking thing any of us could have done to stop us from winding up here, stranded on some forsaken shore in the middle of a nuking strontium swamp, he knew.
The one-eyed man hated the feeling of helplessness their bombardment had pounded into him. Into all of them, he knew, crew and companion alike.
He was already running toward the shore, transferring his panga to his left hand and drawing his SIG Sauer P226 handblaster with his right. His boots wanted to sink into the firm but moist soil. It was just this side of being straight-up mud. Out in the stream, Ryan could see what looked like random snags disturbing the waterâs oleaginous flow, except that they hadnât been there before. They were strangely bumpy. Some of those bumps showed glabrous gleams. And they were moving.
âFireblast!â he burst out. There had to be a dozen of the bastards. More. How did so many get so close without Jak noticing them? he wondered.
Then he saw what seemed like a mostly submerged log, but with eye-bumps on the near end, slide out of the lower weeds in the water by the far bank, sculling with faint side-to-side strokes of its tail.
The bastards were cunning, he thought. They snuck up on them.
âMildred!â Ryan yelled. âStay in the nuking boat!â
The physician froze with one leg over the rail. The last of the stragglers in the water had made the sanctuary of the bank. Clearly, Mildred didnât realize the big Nile crocodiles could swim quite easily in water as shallow as that surrounding the hull.
Jak fired again. Ryan could see thrashing in the water this time, and he spotted a pink tinge in some of the splashes. A couple of the âsnagsâ diverted toward it. Apparently these bastards werenât above making a meal out of one of their buddies.
But the others headed for the bank like starved ville rats offered a feast by their tyrant baron. Blasters were coming out among the people onshore, although they hesitated to waste ammo on such dubious targets.
When she was about four feet from the water, Trace shook off her helpers. Then she turned back to the creek.
âWe should be clear as long as we keep away from the water,â she said. âWe just need to figure out how to drive these bastards off so we can work on getting the Queen under way again.â
âAt least weâve got plenty of ammo,â Arliss said. Though the Queenâs crew preferred black powder blastersâindeed, preferred fleeing to shooting, whenever the option offeredâthey kept a hefty store of all kinds and calibers of ammunition in the hold. It was something they could always trade, and be pretty sure of catching a profit, too, almost regardless what they traded for it.
âRight,â the captain said. Despite her horrible wound, she seemed strong and in command of herself. Ryan knew what it felt like to step up in emergencies, disregarding your own wounds. If he hadnât shown that knack early on, heâd never have made it out of Front Royal alive, after his brother Harveyâs treachery cost him his eye and left him with a scar down his face.
âI saw,â Doc said, stepping toward her tentatively with his outsize LeMat wheel gun in his knobbly-knuckled hand. âI am not sure it is safe to stand so close to the water, Captain. These Nile crocodiles have a reputation as being quite aggressive.â
She waved him off with her stump. âLight some torches,â she commanded. âI bet they donât like fiââ
In the midst of a big wave of water a huge, pebble-scaled form erupted from the creek. Tooth-daggered jaws opened what seemed a whole yard wide. Before anyone could react, they snapped shut on the captain around her waist.
âHold fire!â Ryan shouted. He tucked the SIG back in its holster and charged.
The croc was a monster, at least twenty feet long. It was shaking Trace in its jaw like a dog with a rat as it backed toward the water.
Ryan reversed his panga. Gripping the hilt with both hands, he took a running dive toward the immense reptile.
The wide-bladed panga was not meant for stabbing, especially, but it did have a point. He aimed to bring that down on the spine behind the horrorâs triangular skull.
But the croc was heaving too much. The panga sank into its neck a full six inches as Ryan landed half on the croc, half in the water.
The croc whistled in pain and fury, but it did not open its mouth and release its prey. Instead it started to roll away from Ryan, either in a premature death roll meant to drown its captive, or more likely as a simple animal reflex to get the injured site away from the thing that had caused it unexpected pain.
Trying to mute his own awareness of the scaled, toothy horrors that could be wriggling toward him with their bulging eyeballs fixed on his legs, Ryan maneuvered himself to straddle the beast. He wrenched the broad blade free with the same effort it would have taken him to deadlift an engine block.
The croc had made a tactical mistake. Its back was armored well enough to shed bullets that hit at any kind of angle, if the crocodiles and gators heâd tangled with before were any guide. But its pale belly was vulnerable. As soon as Ryan saw the flash of yellow hide, he plunged the panga down again.
It sank into the beastâs chest, between its scrabbling forelegs. He twisted the blade, hoping heâd hit the heart. Then again he didnât know where the nuking thing was located.
The crocodile roared. Meaning at least it opened its jawsâmeaning it let Trace go. Ryan was in no position to confirm that fact, though, because before he could yank the panga free, or even let go of the handle, the monstrous creature had sped up its rollâdragging Ryan right along with it as if he were a rag doll.
For a moment he felt the crushing sensation of incredible mass on top of him. The thing had to have weighed a ton or more, at that size. The air was blasted out of his lungs in an involuntary yell. Had the mud beneath not been so soft, taking him into its slippery embrace and cushioning the weight, the behemoth surely would have crushed him to death.
The beast kept rolling. When the unendurable weight came off Ryan, he managed to let go of the pangaâs hilt and somehow get one boot and one knee planted into the muck.
He
