Serpent's Tooth. James Axler

safety back on. “Any sudden movements and the crows will feast on your eyes.”

      Fargo chuckled nervously. “I don’t doubt that. You must be Domi. Your name is almost as well-known as that of your companions.”

      “Flattery,” Domi said, wrinkling her nose. “In my experience, that usually leads a lie.”

      “I’m just attempting diplomacy,” Fargo returned.

      “Yeah? Well, you’re being diplomatic with the guard dog,” Domi replied. “Follow me, and I’ll confirm with the owner of my house that I was right for not chewing your face off.”

      “Don’t denigrate yourself, Domi. You’re far more than a mere guard animal,” Fargo said as he followed the albino woman. They backtracked the two hundred yards necessary for Domi to retrieve her satchel of scrounged books. He paid special notice to the fact that her small but sinewy hand never strayed more than an inch from the handle of her fighting knife. From the stories that the Millennial Consortium had cataloged about her, the wiry little albino had the speed and skill to pull that blade and separate a man’s head from his torso in the space of a heartbeat. It was an unspoken threat, a warning that Fargo had to keep on his best behavior.

      “You’re on the right path to meet up with my people,” Domi said.

      “Not the easiest, but for me, the safest,” Fargo admitted. “Then again, my trek has been one of great effort.”

      “You can hold the sympathy dirge for someone who actually gives a shit. I caught you sneaking in my back door as a trespasser. Until you get approved by those who I actually do trust, keep your mouth closed,” Domi growled.

      Fargo took a deep breath. She could see that he was restraining an insult. Domi didn’t mind; she didn’t care if strangers saw her as a snarling bitch just one flinch away from gnawing out someone’s entrails. When it came to defending the redoubt and her loved ones, that image was exactly what she wanted to project. A harmless, cuddly defender rarely caused an intruder to shy away from hostile activity.

      “I understand,” Fargo spoke up. “You’re only protecting your family.”

      “Damned straight,” Domi replied curtly. Her tone was meant to shut the stranger up so they could concentrate on scaling the back trail.

      Cloaked in stern silence, they made their way to the redoubt.

      THE SNARL OF DISTANT DIESEL engines reached Kane’s ears as Grant scrounged the dead raiders’ fallen rifles. The powerful Cerberus exile smiled as he picked up a gun that actually looked normal sized in his massive hands.

      “What in the hell is that thing?” Kane asked.

      Grant partially opened the lever action, finding a round seated under the hammer. “A Marlin .45-70. Just the thing for when you absolutely, positively have to kill a wag in three shots or less.”

      Kane sighed. “Should have figured these coldhearts would have wheels.”

      A gun in the distance thundered, corrugated tin roofs rattling as the walls beneath them shuddered under powerful impacts. The Tartarus residents screamed in terror as the distant heavy machine gun raked their shacks.

      Kane grit his teeth. “They’ve got a Fifty…” He scooped up the walkie-talkie, transmitting his bellow. “Lombard! Cease fire!”

      “Cease fire?” the bandit leader asked. “You kill my men in cold blood, and when I look for payback, suddenly it’s 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