LITMIR.BIZ

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gets it.”

      There was a startled cough of surprise, and Jak’s mouth twitched as the thought of what the expression on Krysty’s face had to look like right now. When she spoke, her voice was lower and rough.

      “My kid? You got a funny sense of humor if you think I’d lay claim to that puling whelp. Little bastard’s been nothing but trouble since I found him six weeks ago. Now the son of a bitch’s got me trapped and cornered, so you can have him for all I care. I just want to get out of this in one piece.”

      “I think that’s something we can talk about later, but just in case, I’ll gonna keep your little buddy here. Koons, get in here and see if you can rouse Johnny.”

      Jak heard footsteps approaching from outside, and another person entered the room, crossing in front of him to behind the counter.

      “Ah-ah—don’t even twitch toward that blaster. See where this is pointed?” Jak felt his head being wrenched back and quickly closed his eyes in case the other man was looking at him. The circle of metal pressed hard into the skin over his temple, but Jak hadn’t heard the hammer being cocked—yet. “I’ll vent his head if you move the wrong way. Come out from over there and stand right here. Dammit, Koons, you almost let her get the drop on us.”

      “Thought you had her under control, ya stupe. I got my own problems right now. Johnny ain’t looking too good—breathin’ shallow and fast. Got a lump on his head the size of my fist, seems like.”

      “Shit.” The man hawked up a wad of phlegm and spit. “You lay Johnny out, bitch?”

      “He didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.”

      Jak felt the man behind him shift his weight. “Nukeshit, I knew this was gonna be more trouble than it was worth.” Cracking open one eye, he peeked out through his lashes to see Krysty with her hands up, standing in the middle of the room. Sounds of movement came from behind the counter as the second man tended to the third one.

      “If we don’t get him back pronto, he’s gonna die. Might not make it anyway.”

      Jak opened his eye farther, willing Krysty to look at his face, to know he was conscious. At last she did, but betrayed no reaction upon seeing his intense stare.

      “All right, let’s bind these two and take them both back. If there’s more, the other team should take care of them. We got enough.”

      “Look, can’t you just let me go?” Krysty stepped forward, her hands held out beseechingly.

      “Nukin’ hell, bitch, stay right where you are, or I’ll pull this trigger and spray his brains all over the room!”

      While she moved closer, Krysty arched one eyebrow at Jak in an unspoken question. Jak rolled his eyes, indicating what he thought of her query.

      Krysty shrugged at the threat. “All right. It’s your funeral.”

      “What—” was all the coldheart got out before Jak’s right hand shot up and grabbed his captor’s hand, levering the large blaster away from his temple before he could shoot. At the same time, the albino lowered his head against the man’s forearm, gagging for a moment as his air was cut off, then powered it backward with all his strength, slamming the back of his skull into the man’s nose. His right leg shot straight out ahead of him, then snapped backward, smashing his heel into the man’s knee. Lastly, a twitch of his left wrist had dropped a narrow, leaf-bladed throwing blade into his hand, the tip of which adroitly found its way into the man’s abdomen, under his rib cage, penetrating deep into his stomach.

      Separately, any of the attacks would have been disorienting or crippling at the least. Together, they were an onslaught that spelled the man’s doom. Too stunned from his crushed nose to squeeze the Python’s trigger, he let his hostage go as he found himself falling to the right, his crippled knee unable to support his weight. The heavy blaster was plucked from his hand as he toppled over, suddenly aware of the sharp flash of pain blooming in his side, draining all his strength away as if it was leaking out along with his blood. The last thing he saw was the weird albino kid leaning over him, a thin, dripping blade in his pale hand, and those eyes, those slitted, red eyes, underneath that shock of white hair gleaming like some kind of demon….

      Jak opened his throat with a slash, and the man’s eyes dulled, glazing into the sightlessness of death. Blaster in hand, he turned to see that Krysty hadn’t been idle while he was freeing himself. In one graceful bound, she had leaped on top of the crooked counter just as the third man’s head had popped back up at the commotion.

      “Trey—” he began before Krysty’s muscled leg lashed out in a devastating front kick, the silver point of her boot catching him right in the lower jaw. The crack was loud in the silence as the bone shattered under the impact. The man spun and fell to the ground, clasping his hands to his ruined face as he rolled around, grunting and whuffling in pain. Without pausing, Krysty jumped down behind the counter, there was another crack, and then silence. She came out from behind it with her blaster in hand.

      “Let’s go.”

      “Works for me.” His voice was hoarse, and Jak stepped carefully as a brief wave of nausea hit him, making him see stars and blackness for a moment.

      “You all right?”

      “Yeah, let’s get back camp. Seen men and stickies. Warn others.”

      “Stickies? Where?”

      “Pulled guy’s face off next building. Blew its head off ’fore his buddies got drop on me and brought here.”

      “Shit, we better get back double-quick. Come on.” The tall redhead and the lean, white-haired teen slipped out of the room and back toward the campsite, leaving only the dead and dying behind.

      Chapter Four

      Knife gripped between his teeth, Ryan squirmed into the small tunnel, which seemed solid, if tight enough that his shoulders brushed the walls on both sides. He wouldn’t shoot from here—the position was too confining—but it would give him enough cover to scan the area ahead and try to spot the sniper.

      Levering himself forward on his elbows, he powered up the slight slope, staying low to the ground so the Steyr longblaster wouldn’t get caught on the makeshift roof above his head. When he reached the top, the one-eyed man made sure he wasn’t visible by anyone outside, sheathed his knife again and took out his new toy, which he’d found in the redoubt. He carefully unwrapped the bundle to reveal a black plastic and metal tube a bit over a foot long and four inches in diameter. Ryan took off the soft rubber cap at one end and hit a small button covered by a protective rubber cap. He heard the high-pitched whine of the rechargeable battery coming to life, then placed the device to his eye and gazed out on a transformed world.

      The moonless night had been replaced by an eerie, lambent green as the night-vision scope amplified the invisible infrared light it was projecting more than twenty thousand times, turning the darkness into neon-green day. Ryan scanned the high points first, adjusting the 4x zoom to try to pick out any sign of movement.

      At first, he didn’t see anything. The guy might have left when night fell, he thought, but kept looking anyway, staring at the ruined hulks of buildings as if he could bring out anyone inside by sheer force of will. Long minutes passed without any sign of life. About to give up, Ryan decided to give it thirty more seconds before turning off the device to preserve the battery. He kept as still as possible, examining every aspect of the building he had chosen, from its empty windows, which looked like gaping, glowing eyesockets in the night-vision scope’s lens, to the pole sticking off the roof, attached to the side of the building by a length of wood.

      Ryan blinked and refocused on the “pole,” pushing the magnifier to its maximum limit. He took one last long look. The man with the longblaster had camouflaged his position to look like part of the building, indistinguishable from the rest of the crumbling rubble. Ryan frowned. Whoever these guys were, they were well-trained, much better than the everyday, ragged bands of coldhearts.

      He

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