Ritual Chill

As he approached, J.B. threw the door open. The Armorer had been watching and was ready.

As were the others. Ryan, Mildred and Krysty were on their feet. Only Doc remained supine. He was awake, but weak—in passing, Jak noted that Doc was looking around him and seemed to be aware of his surroundings, which was an improvement on before, though was still too ill to join them.

“More than twelve, and more than five hundred pounds. Need gren take ’em out,” Jak gasped as he entered the hut.

J.B. turned to Mildred. “How good’s your throwing arm, Millie?”

“I used to pitch in the junior leagues.” She shrugged, adding, when she saw his blank expression, “I can throw pretty good, though it’s been a while.”

“You’ve got a good eye, that’s what matters. Come with me.” He glanced across at Ryan, knowing that he had assumed command of the situation without deferring to the head man.

Ryan nodded briefly. “You go and do it. We’ll get this place secured.”

J.B. and Mildred slipped out into the night, while Ryan took a look around. There was nothing in the cinder-block hut to use to shore up the windows and door. They would have to rely on standing guard and using their blasters to keep the bears at bay, maybe pick them off. The walls of the hut had withstood the previous attack, but the windows and door had been damaged. Dammit, he wished they had something solid to reinforce those vulnerable spots…

Doc was out of the picture. There were five vantage points, and five of them when—if—Mildred and J.B. returned. He assigned Jak and Krysty a window on each side. One with a shutter so that they could keep a lookout on the action and be prepared. He would take the door.

“Check your blasters, and remember we need to make every shot count if we’re to stand a chance.”

Grimly they checked their weapons, making sure they were fully loaded and spare ammo was easily to hand for swift reloading. Jak had his Colt Python, Krysty her Smith & Wesson .38 Model 640. Both were good handblasters, but would need real accuracy on a vulnerable spot to make a hole in the enemy forces. Ryan favored his Steyr. Its range and accuracy as a rifle would also help him provide covering fire, to try to pick off the bears as Mildred and J.B. made their way back to the hut.

He opened the door a crack and looked out. Under the moon, he could see the duo advance on the bears, J.B. handed Mildred a clutch of grens, then the two of them part in separate directions to get a better angle of throw.

Showtime.

J.B. COUNTED THE FRAG GRENS he carried with him as he and Mildred made their way forward at the double. Enough for four each. At this distance—even getting a little closer—it was a matter of balancing the damage against wasting precious weapons.

“You head to the left, I’ll go to the right. Take it about twenty yards, count ten, then aim for the center of the pack. When they scatter, try and pick at groups with the other three grens. Now go.”

Mildred needed no second bidding. Her heart raced, feeling as though it was going to burst through her rib cage. And despite the cold, she was covered in a film of sweat. She could see her breath frosting on the night air, but it seemed incongruous to her. She ran steadily, judging twenty yards, then turning. She hadn’t dared look at the pack as she ran, concentrating instead on keeping her footing on the treacherous rock surface. A quick glance told her where the pack was and J.B.’s position. He, too, had reached his goal. She counted to ten, then pulled the pin on the first gren, letting go of the spoon and arcing the deadly pitch high into the center of the pack.

It was a fine judgment call. The pack was still advancing and some of the bears were interested in breaking off and following the prey in their eyeline. As such, the grens failed to fall exactly in the middle, landing at the rear of the pack.

But it was close enough to inflict severe damage. The two grens exploded almost simultaneously, sounding as one long roar, drowning out the cries of anger and pain from those bears in line for the fragments of white-hot metal that were scattered in the wake of detonation.

Three were hit full-on by the double blast. Their fur, flesh and a shower of blood splattered over the rock floor and over the other bears. One was severed, the front half mewling in agony as the blood and intestines imploded under a hail of metal, its life ending less than a heartbeat later as its organs were pulped by hot metal. The other two were reduced to a steaming mass of fur and splintered bone, not even knowing what hit them.

Their mass absorbed the brunt of the blast, protecting those in front of them to a degree. There were fewer fragments and their speed was impaired, but they still managed to rip into at least four of the other bears, lacerating flesh and scorching fur, causing the creatures to rear up in agony. They were confused, lashing out in blind terror and fury, their razored claws scratching at the animals in front of them.

For a second, it seemed as though the bears would turn on one another, fighting among themselves and forgetting their prey, clustering in a way that would make them an easy target.

But it wasn’t to be that simple. As both J.B. and Mildred prepared for a second throw, a brace of the creatures broke away. One headed toward J.B., but at an angle that would take him past the Armorer and away from the settlement. The other turned and headed straight for Mildred, though it was doubtful that it registered her presence at that moment. Not that she was going to take the chance. Judging her pitch, she pulled the pin on another gren and threw the bomb in a curve that would take it almost level to the head of the charging bear. Instinctively as the gren flew toward it, the bear raised its head, opened its jaws and lifted itself to catch the gren, as though it were a bird in flight that would provide a light repast.

Mildred hit the ground as the great jaws snapped shut. She didn’t see the gren explode, the bear’s head suddenly disappearing in a riotous explosion of bone, brain and fur. But she felt the jellied fragments of the bear’s head as the outer edges of the resultant rain hit her, carrying with them fragments from the gren that were, thankfully, now dissipated of lethal force.

While this was happening, J.B. opted to deal with his own runaway. The reasoning was simple: the others were still clustered in a group, occupied with themselves. This gave a few moments” respite before they demanded attention. He pulled the pin, let loose the spoon and arced the gren in the direction of the runaway. It hit the bear on the side, rebounding a couple of feet from the soft fur before detonating, the force of the blast driving the creature sideways while obliterating one side of fur, flesh, blood and bone.

J.B. hit the ground to shield himself from the outer reaches of the blast. Only to find, when he scrambled once more to his feet, that the double blast had stopped the bears from fighting among themselves and called their attention to the direction of the source.

Already, the bears were almost on them. To stay and throw more grens would be to risk getting caught by the angered animals. J.B. yelled something incoherent at Mildred and she needed no explanation.

They turned tail and raced for the cinder-block hut as fast as they could run.

RYAN SWORE SOFTLY as he saw them approach. They were making good progress, but the bears’ loping gait was taking them a greater distance with each stride. It would be close, but there was something they could do to help. He directed Jak and Krysty to fire over J.B. and Mildred, toward the oncoming creatures.

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