time, her screams were all phony, and she was playing possum to draw them. Until then, they’d been hiding behind nearby spikes, popping off potshots.
But now they were out in the open, surrounding their prey, never imagining that they were her prey.
Krysty twisted in the sand, kicking and thrashing. She let out one more howl of agony, an earsplitting shriek that made the muties wince.
Then she suddenly fell still. She let herself collapse, becoming inert as if she were dead.
Keeping her eyes open but motionless, she lay there as the muties leaned closer, sizing up her condition. They were wondering what to do, if their job was done in this case or if they needed to finish her off.
One of them poked her hip with his toe. The long nail on it jabbed her, but she forced herself to remain still.
Suddenly she exploded into action.
Lashing out her left leg, she drove the heel of her boot into the bare ankle of the mutie who had kicked her. As he squealed in pain, Krysty sprang to her feet.
From that moment on, it was no-holds-barred combat. Krysty was tall and muscular, and could hold her own in any combat situation. She had holstered her Glock for the ploy, and couldn’t draw it before one of the muties would get off a shot.
In a whirlwind of motion, she danced among them with arms and legs flying, chopping them down like a scythe through wheat.
Enraged, one of them came back fast, springing from the ground where she’d thrown him, but his frantic swings were no match for her rock-solid defense. Krysty dodged every blow he attempted, then knocked him back hard with a high kick to the face. This time, he didn’t go down, but she could see he’d blacked out with his eyes open. She followed through with a blow to his chest, and he toppled backward, as straight as a tree.
Just like that, the tables were turned. Instead of three muties staring down at her, Krysty was staring down at them. Every one of them was out cold, and she was still fully alert and ready for more action.
Ryan charged out of the forest of spikes.
“I knew you’d be fine.” He grinned as he reached her.
“I certainly hope you didn’t think I needed help.”
Ryan snorted. “I know better. By the way, we’ve got company.”
A tall blonde in a black leather jumpsuit strolled out from behind a stout pillar.
“She calls herself Union.” Ryan turned and watched as the woman strode toward them. “She helped me out with that automatic longblaster of hers.”
Krysty got an eyeful of her big blaster and nodded once. “Good for her.”
“According to her, this place is called the Shift,” said Ryan. “Though she didn’t tell me much more than that.”
Krysty narrowed her eyes. “Whose side is she on? Did she tell you that much?”
Union looked and sounded aloof to the point of arrogance. “Whoever isn’t trying to kill me, I suppose.”
“And we’re just supposed to trust you?” Krysty asked.
Union shrugged. Krysty could have sworn she was stifling a yawn. “Just don’t try to kill me, and we’ll be okay.”
Krysty doubted it but shrugged in kind. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, though it didn’t, really. She didn’t imagine for a second that Union was worthy of her trust. She didn’t think the woman had any intention of allying herself with them.
But Krysty and her team were in the shit as always, and their options were limited. Trust her or back away—those were the only two choices she could think of at the moment.
“All right, then.” She slumped and rested her hands on her knees. “Let’s table the buddy-buddy stuff until after we put down the mutie army. Agreed?”
Union shrugged as if she couldn’t care less and raised the H&K. “Go time?”
“Suit yourself.” Ryan shrugged, too, then shot a wink at Krysty. “Whatever floats your boat.”
Even weakened as she was, Krysty managed a chuckle at that one.
Just then, footsteps scuffed through the nearby sand. Ryan and Union whirled with weapons at the ready, but it was Jak, not a mutie, who marched out from between spikes.
“Back off the trigger,” Ryan snapped, dropping the Scout’s barrel. “He’s with us.”
Scowling, Union hesitated, then slowly lowered her weapon.
“Who this?” Jak asked.
“I was just going to ask the same question,” Union said coldly.
“Jak, meet Union,” Ryan said. “Union, this is Jak.”
“Union Jak.” Jak’s smile had its own touch of frost. “Have ring to it.”
“Whatever.” Union sighed loudly. “If this is how you people kill muties, it’s no wonder your backs are up against the wall.”
Jak laughed. “You funny! All talk, no action!”
Union glared, then suddenly stomped toward him. “I don’t have time for this.” She paused beside him, her cold stare locking with his bright red eyes. Then she flashed a sexy smile. “So what do you say we go mow down some mutie scum, big boy?” She sashayed past him, her longblaster swaying in perfect counterpoint with her shapely buttocks in the tight black leather jumpsuit.
Ryan watched her go, suitably stunned by the change in demeanor. He glanced at Krysty, who frowned back at him, then turned his gaze to Jak.
The albino shrugged nonchalantly. “What can say?” He raised his eyebrows. “Guess Jak irresistible.” Then he spun and followed Union, disappearing into the forest of spikes.
Ryan stared at his retreating back, hoping like hell that he hadn’t made a mistake in bringing Union back to the group.
Somebody slapped Doc so hard across the face that he woke instantly from the depths of a dream and instantly wished he hadn’t.
In the dream, he’d been spending a quiet Sunday at home with his wife, Emily, and their children, Rachel and Jolyon. He’d felt perfectly content in a way he never did anymore, utterly relaxed and at peace with his life and times.
Now, after that wicked slap, he was fully back in the Deathlands again, face-to-face with the current author of his misery—Exo the candy-loving mutie.
“Wake up, Dr. Hammersmith.” Exo’s high-pitched voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard to Doc. “Time to go, my friend.”
Doc scowled and sat up, becoming aware of throbbing pain all over his body.
