wasn’t sure of the other wag’s location. Then there was a break in the wall, the chance to hit the wag when they couldn’t see from where the strike would come. Corden didn’t have to tell the wag jockey what to do. Demetriou acted on instinct. He knew that the constant circling was losing his orientation, and thus his advantage. He knew that it evened the odds. And that was something none of them wanted. So he took his chance.
Only thing was, he didn’t bother to tell anyone of his plan. Corden had a split second of warning as the wag appeared from the swirling dust. Chambers was always braced for any dangers. His natural caution and nervousness served him well in this instance. Only Thornton had been blindsided.
And now they stared at the wag in front of them as the dust settled. Now, without the churning of the wags to stir it up, the dust fell rapidly to the ground.
“Shit, thought I’d put ’em on their side,” Demetriou whispered.
“Figured you had, too,” Corden agreed. “Still, gotta work with what we’ve got. Tell you something, that was one hell of a hit they took. Must’ve scrambled their brains a little.”
“Sure hope so,” Chambers murmured.
“Only one way to find out,” Thornton added. His hand had reached for the wag door before Corden had a chance to speak. Corden’s jaw tightened. He was supposed to be the chief here. He couldn’t have Thornton getting uppity and above himself.
“Wait, Sean,” Corden said mildly. The fact that he was so mild was a threat in itself. Thornton and Chambers had run with Corden long enough to know that he was at his quietest before he struck.
Thornton’s hand froze. Corden looked from Thornton to the windshield, taking in what was happening in front of them. As the dust began to lay flat back to the earth, he could see that the figures in the other wag were hardly stirring.
“Yeah. Let’s go, then. But take it slow. We know they’re good. Just a matter of how fucked up Jase got ’em.”
Demetriou giggled. “Fuck ’em up some more.”
KRYSTY GROPED for her blaster where it had fallen beneath the dash, then pulled herself upright. She hawked out a glob of dust-heavy phlegm and blinked heavily. Her eyes were running with tears, and her sight was blurry, but at least the grit was shifting. A wag stood about fifty yards from them. Four doors were opening, and a man was getting out of each, blaster in hand.
She could hear Ryan’s raw, painful breath behind her shoulder. She could sense when he was in trouble, when he was struggling. Now was such a time. Even though Krysty’s ribs felt like knives, her head was clear, and she could feel that he was struggling to clear his own.
She knew without looking in back that the others were beginning to stir. Jak, Mildred, J.B.—they were all moving, but they were slow. As fogged as Ryan.
Doc was an easier proposition. He was at her feet, coughing up the last of the bile jolted from him by impact. With a final spit, he picked up the LeMat and dusted it off with the tail of his frock coat, rising steadily to her level. Clear eyes on the wag a short distance away, he spoke without looking at her.
“My dear, when one’s mind is as apt to wander as mine, it is surprising what concussion can do to focus and center oneself.”
“Glad one of us is,” she murmured.
“Two, I think,” he replied. “We need time. Can we purchase such a commodity?”
“Only one way to find out,” she said, raising her blaster.
“Admirable,” Doc whispered, raising his own.
“THEY MAY BE POSSUM.” Corden gestured to his own blaster. “Shoot first.”
“Takes the fun out of it,” Demetriou snarled with a vulpine grin.
“Ain’t s’posed to be fun. S’posed to be business,” Chambers said from behind.
“Mix ’em up,” Thornton said with a snigger.
“Easy now,” Corden muttered as he stepped forward from the cover of the wag door. It was as much to himself as to any of the others. As soon as the coldheart broke cover, a shot from the wag ahead kicked up dust at his feet.
He fired a volley in reply as he stumbled back to the cover of the wag door. It whined as it hit metal and ricocheted into the blue sky.
“Possum it is,” Chambers said. “Gren?”
“Right, and whoever throws it is an open target, even with covering fire. ’Sides which, we blast that fucker and we lose what we’ve come out for in the first place.”
“So what do we do, then?” Thornton asked.
Demetriou smiled slyly.
“HOW WE DOING?” Krysty rasped as soon as she had snapped off a round.
“Fucked, but not chilled yet,” Jak replied. He had disentangled himself from Mildred and J.B., who were still struggling to clear concussed heads. Like Ryan, whose soft moans bespoke of his attempts to break through the concussive fog, they were temporarily out of action. It was down to the three who had clear enough minds.
“We can keep them at bay, but that’s about it for now,” Krysty said. “Reckon Ryan can get this wag going again?”
“Not likely,” Jak said shortly.
“So we can’t move, but they can,” Krysty whispered. “Big advantage.”
“A predictable one,” Doc countered, “as, I think, we are about to see.”
Sure enough, even as he spoke, the engine of the wag facing them sprang to life.
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS,” Chambers breathed.
“Why not?” Corden countered. “We don’t want them, we just want what they’re carrying.”
“But what if the wag goes up?”
“Won’t hit near the tanks,” Demetriou told him. “Side-on, near the tail. Spin ’em and scramble ’em. They ain’t got the firepower to stop us. Play with ’em a little.”
Chambers sat back, sighing softly. Crazies. Demetriou and Corden. Running with these stupes was doing nothing for his nerves. He felt his stomach lurch in agreement. Stealing and chilling was something he wanted to do because it was easier than breaking your back for Big Bal. Doing it with Corden’s crew wasn’t easier—no way.
Demetriou gunned the wag engine until it roared, put the wag into gear and released the brake.
Chambers closed his eyes as the wag shot forward.
“STUPE CRAZY bastards,” Krysty cursed. There was every chance that the idiots coming for them could total their own wag as much as they could overturn the wag—now a seemingly too flimsy shelter—in which she and her companions were clustered. It was as if these coldhearts didn’t care. Maybe their wag was the stronger. Maybe the front bars on the wag had been put to a test like this before.
