Downrigger Drift - James Axler Gold Eagle

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justice. About eighteen inches long, each had a low-slung body covered in wet, dung-slicked fur. Their front legs ended in sharp claws, but as they moved, Ryan saw their back legs were porcine, right down to a pair of pointed hooves. Their faces combined the ugliest features of both species, with large, black eyes over a flat, porcine nose and a mouth filled with sharp, gnawing teeth, capped by a double pair of up-thrusting tusks about two inches long. The noise they made as they appeared out of the muck was a cross between squeal and a snort, a high-pitched sound that grated on Ryan’s ears. The small pack seemed more curious than anything, although he didn’t like how close a few were getting.

      Jak had a throwing blade raised in one hand, his Magnum blaster in the other. “Take out?”

      “Let me.” Ryan braced his SIG-Sauer in his hand and squeezed off two shots, the silencer reducing the shots to a muffled cough. The 9 mm bullets tore into the nearest mutie and sent it writhing into the slime, its scream of agony cut off by the second round.

      Although the two pig-rats nearest to the body immediately tore into the carcass of their former brethren, the rest of the muties did something unexpected.

      As one, all eight or nine of them fell silent, sat up on their hind legs and stared at Ryan with unblinking black eyes. They were joined by a half-dozen more, all of whom watched the interlopers with the same inscrutable expression. Feeling a prickle of unease between his shoulder blades, Ryan tried to keep his eye on all of them at once, an impossible task, he soon learned.

      “Ryan—” the albino began.

      “Yeah, time to go.” Keeping his pistol trained on the growing mob, Ryan took a careful step backward, then another. “Take one out, blade only.”

      Jak’s hand flicked and it was as if one of the larger muties suddenly sprouted a steel horn from its side, the blade carving deep into its vitals. Again, a pair of its fellows set upon the wounded monster, but the rest, now at least two dozen strong, all kept their eyes on the two humans. As if receiving some kind of silent signal, they all tensed at the exact same time.

      The pig-rat at the head of the pack threw its head back and squealed, a bone-chilling sound that reverberated through the corridor. A moment after, the rest of the colony followed suit, the resulting noise so loud Ryan could barely think.

      He and Jak had the exact same thought at the exact same second: “Run!”

      Turning, they tore through the muck in great leaps, only a step or two ahead of the flowing mutie tide swarming after them. Jak ran so fast he appeared to be skimming the top of the crust, his feet touching so lightly he didn’t break through. Ryan, on the other hand, didn’t have that luxury, and had to power his way through the shit with each step. He knew one slip meant certain death, as the horde would be upon him before he could rise. The furious chitter-squealing of the pig-rats thundered in his ears, drowning out the shouts of encouragement from the rest of the group, who had reached the safe haven of the elevator. Seeing Krysty’s face taut with fear as she held her hand out to him spurred Ryan to even greater speed.

      Jak had pulled ahead and slipped through the doors with ease. Ryan was a couple of yards behind, and right after to him were the muties, so close he thought he could feel their grotesque fangs snapping at his heels. Four yards to go…three…two…

      With a final great bound, Ryan soared through the air and into the small room. “Close the bastard door!”

      J.B. was already slapping at the button, and the doors began to slide shut. But before they could seal completely, the vanguard of the swarm was upon them.

      Chapter Three

      “Holy shit!”

      “Watch the blasters! Ricochets will chill one of us!”

      “Kill the fucks!”

      The small room exploded into furious action as the six friends saw what was coming at them.

      Ryan hit the back wall with his forearms up and whirled to find a half dozen of the creatures streaking through the gap before the door closed. Doc was already on the offensive, his gleaming rapier drawn from its cane scabbard as he moved to protect Mildred, who had no melee weapon. He immediately drew first blood, skewering one of the beasts as it lunged at him, its fanged mouth gaping and ready to rend his flesh. The long blade pierced its throat and sank deep into its vitals. Even as the mutie died, its paws and legs scrabbled for purchase, still trying to reach the old man.

      “Riposte and finis, you hideous fiend,” Doc calmly said as the pig-rat stopped struggling. Pushing aside the carcass with the toe of his boot, he moved to help the others.

      Another of the beasts was also down and dying, one of Jak’s knives protruding from its eye. Krysty had met the charge when Ryan had sailed by, lashing out with a booted foot and punting one of the swine back into the corridor, where it was lost in a brown-furred sea of gnashing fangs.

      J.B. had drawn his flensing knife, held point-down, ready to slash or stab, weaving a deadly pattern of steel in the air as he faced off with one. Instead of rushing in, it crouched low to the ground, needle-sharp tusks glistened in the white light as it sidled around, looking for the opportunity to strike.

      The Armorer bided his time, feinted left, and when the mutie fell for it, lashed out with his foot, slamming the toe into the beast’s ribs, and sending it crashing into the wall with a dull thud. Even as the repulsive creature regained its feet, J.B. planted his blade in the top of its skull, the point razoring through to pierce its jaw, bursting through skin and muscle. The pig-rat squealed once, horribly, as it died.

      Whether it was because of his bone-white hair or his already having chilled two of the muties, Jak had attracted a pair of the creatures, squaring off against them with a blade in each hand. They both leaped for him at once, one low, one high, teeth bared to carve into the albino’s flesh.

      Jak met their attack head-on, blades blurring as he defended himself. The high one he took out with a slash across the throat, dark red blood spattering as the flying corpse crashed into the wall. The low one he also stabbed, right through the stomach. Writhing on the blade, the beast lashed out with its fang-filled maw, ripping a bloody furrow in Jak’s hand.

      “Son of a—!” Whipping the convulsing body off his blade, Jak stomped its skull, crushing it into the floor. “Bastard bit me!”

      Ryan didn’t have time to help him, however, as the last pig-rat left was coming straight at him, its maw wide open, shrieking with bloodthirsty rage as it lunged.

      Heeding Mildred’s warning, Ryan had already dropped his SIG-Sauer and drawn his panga, bringing it out and around in a ferocious sweeping blow. The mutie met cold steel and was knocked sideways by the force of the blow, its head, the black eyes already dulling, separating from its body, which lurched forward before collapsing to the floor.

      Blade ready, Ryan looked around for more, but saw only lifeless rodent bodies, filling the elevator with their loathsome stink. “Everyone all right?”

      “Jak got tagged.” Mildred was bent over the youth’s hand. “It’s fairly shallow, but those things live and breed in shit 24/7, and we don’t have anything to wash the wound. We’ll need to find antibiotics in the next day or so, to make sure he doesn’t have blood poisoning.”

      “Here, use this.” J.B. passed her a canteen, which Mildred immediately dumped over Jak’s injury, before binding it with a strip torn from his faded T-shirt. She pulled it tight, then blew out a breath.

      “It’ll do for now. How about we all get topside. I don’t know about y’all, but I think I’ve spent enough time underground for the time being.”

      “Ace on the line with that, Mildred.” After cleaning his blade on his pants leg and sheathing it, Ryan strode to the elevator’s controls, kicking a mutie carcass out of the way as he went. He leaned over to examine the buttons, noting a small slot with two lights above it.

      “J.B., you have any problems getting in?”

      The Armorer shook his head.

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