off-limits? Fuck you, Kane.”
“Damn it, Lombard! These people aren’t involved in our fight!” Kane growled. “Stop shooting. You want me or the meds, we can make a deal.”
“Deal?” Lombard broke out, his laughter rattling as if captured in a tin can. “Where’s the cold bastard who executed ten simple businessmen?”
“There’s no profit in killing these refugees. How much is that ammunition costing you?” Kane asked. “You want business? Fine. Even killing three people per bullet, there’s no way your temper tantrum is worth the trigger pull!”
There was silence on the other end, and thankfully, the Fifty mounted on one of Lombard’s war wags remained silent, as well. The only sound left was a chorus of frightened sobs. Thankfully, there were no cries of agony anywhere, but the Cerberus champions realized that the gunfight only moments earlier had sent the Tartarus inhabitants to cover. Kane glanced at Grant, then nodded. The two men knew that Kane was going to have to put himself in the line of fire to prevent an all-out slaughter. Of course, that meant Kane would have to rely on his partner’s marksmanship. Grant took his borrowed monster rifle and a belt stuffed with spare ammunition, then disappeared into the maze of houses.
Phillips rose from where he put the finishing touches on securing a bandit prisoner’s bandage, wrapping his slashed-open face. “We have to check for dead or wounded from that blast.”
“No,” Brigid said, placing a calming hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “From the general tone, there are no cries of mourning indicating a death, nor calls for help. However, if you stray from this area, the next time Lombard’s men do fire that cannon, there’s a chance that some of you could be harmed.”
Phillips grimaced, protest already flashing in his eyes. “But—”
“You and your people are too valuable,” Kane added. “If Cobaltville is to have any hope of maintaining and improving on what little shred of civilization remains, then it needs smart healers. Stay put until I clear everything.”
Phillips looked between Kane and Brigid. Given the penchant for bickering that they displayed, to see them in such solid agreement pounded the message through to the healer. “Be careful…”
Kane handed Grant’s Copperhead to Brigid. “If things go rotten…”
“I’ll escort the medical staff to safety,” she replied, accepting the rifle. “Watch yourself, okay?”
Kane nodded, then jogged to the road. Over the Commtact implant, he heard Grant give a solemn whisper. “They’re in my sights.”
“What have they got?” Kane asked.
“Thankfully, just old military-style transport trucks. Nothing like the armored Sandcats,” Grant said. “I wouldn’t be able to punch a hole in one of those. These aren’t quite as hard skinned.”
“But they can still mount a heavy machine gun,” Kane said.
“Only one,” Grant replied. “The other truck has to make do with riflemen in the back.”
“How many?” Kane asked.
“Five split between the two vehicles,” Grant told him. “And there’s literally someone riding shotgun with each driver.”
Kane figured the odds. From the drone of the diesel engines of both trucks, he was getting close enough to eyeball the bandits and their transportation. “We’re going to have to make these bandits very afraid.”
“The old ‘one Magistrate, one riot’ strategy?” Grant asked. “I feed you intel and back you up with sniper shots, making you look like the baddest ass on the planet.”
“That’s the one,” Kane answered. “Where’s Lombard now?”
“Standing next to his machine gunner. He’s got an automatic rifle of some form,” Grant said. “He just reached for his radio.”
“Kane! Come out and play!” Lombard shouted over the airwaves.
“I have been,” Kane answered. “You’re the one hiding behind the trucks. Now I’m thinking that it’s time for me to quit being so kind and gentle.”
“Kind and gentle?” Lombard asked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about it’s time to stop playing with you and just put you down like the rotten little turd you are,” Kane replied. “You’re just some goon with some fancy guns. You don’t even rank in the ten biggest gangs of bandits I’ve ever fought.”
“He’s telling his man to shoot,” Grant warned.
Kane dived into a shoulder roll, zooming into the open just as a roar of autofire shredded the tin-and-wood hut he’d been hiding behind. Kane and Grant fired their weapons, both drowned out by the roar of the mighty Browning Fifty. Anyone watching, though, wouldn’t have seen Grant’s hidden muzzle-flash, while the Sin Eater’s barrel blazed angrily.
The machine gunner jerked violently, his right forearm disintegrating under the impact of the monster hunting rifle in Grant’s hands. The Fifty stopped its bellow, the gunner’s screams piercing the air as blood sprayed in Lombard’s face.
The men mounted in the trucks looked at the man who’d been at the controls of their crowd-killing device, then at the lone ex-Magistrate getting to his feet, out in the open. A tendril of smoke curled from the muzzle of the Sin Eater. Lombard scrubbed at his eyes, grimacing as the injured bandit wound a cord tightly around his arm to tourniquet the injury.
“You gentlemen think that because Lombard’s with you, you know how to deal with a real Magistrate,” Kane said, walking toward the trucks.
From the grumbles of discomfort among the marauders, he knew that his ploy had worked.
“That’s bullshit!” Lombard shouted. “He’s got to have a partner somewhere!”
Kane ignored Lombard, addressing the rest of the bandits. “Your partners are all dead. I killed them, because Lombard was just too stubborn to realize that he’s second class. Now I’m going to appeal to you, because I hate wasting good ammunition.”
“He didn’t kill the others by himself,” Lombard snarled.
“No, he didn’t,” a woman’s voice called out. Brigid Baptiste strode into the open, Copperhead SMG held against her curvaceous hip. “He had the help of women and doctors. People with no combat training.”
Kane repressed the urge to smile, remembering the steep learning curve of Brigid’s early years at Cerberus, when the young woman had grown from an archivist to an adventurer who was a deadly shot and a tough fighter.
The bandits looked at Lombard.
“So you have a choice,” Kane offered. “Ditch your boss and find somewhere else to hunt, or you can all die where you stand.”
“How do you want him?” one of the bandits asked. “Dead or alive?”
“You fuckers!” Lombard spit. He lunged at the Browning, but Kane and Grant fired at the renegade
