Chapter Thirty-Two

 

 

They split up for the recce.

 

Jak went with J.B. and Mildred, while Doc accompanied Ryan, along with Krysty and Carl, whose local knowledge of Harmony, so Ryan hoped, should prove vital in their attack plans.

 

It was around eight o'clock at night when Ryan gave the word for them to start off. The moon was veiled behind banks of low cloud, and there was the threat of more rain.

 

Despite Carl's begging for a firearm, Ryan had refused to let him borrow one.

 

As a result of this rejection, Carl had led the way in a silent, sulky mood.

 

They moved around the outskirts, toward the south, while J.B. and the others circled north. It was agreed that they would all meet back in the cottonwoods in four hours.

 

At midnight.

 

 

 

ENOUGH LIGHT FILTERED through for them to make out the main features of Harmony, most of them familiar to Krysty.

 

"Church," she said, pointing to the spire. "Where we took Sunday services. That's the school next to it, with the bell tower. Our house was up on the bluff. Can't see it."

 

She turned to Carl. "Why can't I see my old home?"

 

"Got burned down. Lightning strike. Years ago now. Came in a dry spell, and there weren't no chance to get water to it. Few other houses went that evening."

 

"Where's the gang holed up?" Ryan asked.

 

Carl hesitated. "Spread in different places. The gas wag and the fuel for it's locked away in a barn out back of the sheriff's office."

 

"Who's sheriff of Harmony now?" Krysty asked. "Used to be big Ed Fisher."

 

"He got bad cancer in his back," Carl said. "Last sheriff's a guy called Ludlow Thompson. Don't know if ?"

 

"Sure, I remember him," Krysty said. "He's only a kid. Sign of getting old when lawmen get younger."

 

"Well, Ludlow won't be gettin' no fuckin' older. One of the stickies ripped out most of his throat, day before I upped and run away. Hope you won't mind if I off some of the fuckheads with my hammer here."

 

Ryan ignored the attempt at sarcasm. "I'd be happy to sit out here and let you chill the lot, Carl. Except it doesn't seem like you've had much success in that line."

 

"And you smartass outlanders goin' to come in hootin' and hollerin' and shootin' off them fancy blasters. And stop the gang?"

 

"Yeah," Ryan said. "We are."

 

 

 

IT WAS EASIER than Ryan had feared.

 

For starters, the gang of killers didn't seem to have any worry of being attacked, either from within the ville or from outside. There were no sentries posted, and they had mostly congregated in the ville's one saloon, the Pot O'Gold.

 

Ryan was able to crawl close to the back of the place, lurking invisibly in the shadows near the outhouses, watching and listening to the singing, the shouting and the breaking of glass.

 

Most of the norms in the gang seemed content to stagger off to bed around eleven, though the stickies remained longer at their funning.

 

But there was time enough to pinpoint where all of them were sleeping. It was noticeable that norms and muties kept apart when it came to living quarters, which wasn't surprising when you considered the vile habits of the stickies.

 

The local folk of Harmony were keeping very much to themselves. Apart from those working in the Pot O'Gold and in a couple of cheap-jack diners, the streets were deserted by nine.

 

Krysty waited with Carl while Doc joined Ryan on a recce along the backs of the houses, marking them carefully for their attack the following morning.

 

Despite his clumsiness and cracking knee joints, the old man did his best, working hard at establishing a mental plot of where the various gang members were stayingand which ones had local women entertaining them.

 

"I fear there could be the blood of innocents spilled on the morrow," he whispered hoarsely.

 

Ryan nodded. It was getting colder, and he had tucked the weighted ends of his silk scarf around his throat. "Could be, Doc. Wasn't there some old pie-dark saying about having to break some eggs before you could cook an omelet?"

 

"Something like that, Ryan. Will we succeed?"

 

"Sure."

 

"Your confidence is powerfully uplifting, Ryan. Back in my days you could have wowed them as a river-crossing preacher offering redemption and salvation from hellfire. A positive Elmer Gantry, my dear friend."

 

 

 

RYAN LED DOC BACK along a narrow alley, his SIG-Sauer ready. He nearly shot off a round as a large black cat seemed to erupt from the ground under his feet, clawing at his legs before darting away into an overgrown orchard.

 

"Supposed to be good luck," he muttered.

 

He'd left Krysty with Carl, figuring that they might appreciate the chance to talk over some of the old times that they shared.

 

When he drew near where he and Doc had left them, Ryan was surprised to hear raised voices.

 

"That was then and then was a long ways ago."

 

"I always hoped you'd come back."

 

"Get your hands off of me, Carl. It was a good moment, and you're just souring up the memory."

 

"Only want a quick"

 

"Quick what, Carl?" Ryan asked quietly, finding the heavily built man was gripping Krysty by the shoulders, shaking her, his drink-dulled face swollen with anger, inches from hers. Spittle was hanging from his puffy lips.

 

At the return of Ryan and Doc, Carl let Krysty go and spun, his fingers clenched. "Nothing to do with you, Cawdor. This is personal for me and Krysty. You don't have what we got."

 

Ryan took a half step in. "That right, Krysty?" he asked. "Carl got an ace on the line, does he?"

 

She pulled away, brushing at her clothes, as though something unpleasant had been smeared on her. "It's all right, lover. Just that good old Carl kind of forgot where he was and when he was. It'll be fine."

 

"I hope so," Ryan said, staring grimly at the man.

 

"Easy to talk big with a cannon in your hand, ain't it, outlander?"

 

Ryan never hesitated. He holstered the big automatic with his right hand, then stepped in close to Carl, slapping him hard with the left hand, palm open, the sound cracking in the quiet, sending the bigger man staggering back several paces.

 

"Son of"

 

Ryan punched him once with the right hand, deliberately pulling the blow so that it only landed with a fraction of the force that he could have used. It hit Carl in the midriff, just below the rib cage, driving the air from his lungs. He tumbled to his hands and knees, fighting for breath, making strangled, puking noises.

 

"Get up," Ryan ordered, his voice as cold as Arctic pack ice. "Get up now."

 

"Can't Broke somethin' inside me. Bastard!"

 

"You get up or I'll cut your throat where you are. You have to realize how much out of your league you're playing here, Carl. Now, for the last time, get up."

 

Slowly, holding himself tightly as if he feared his guts were going to spill in the dirt, Carl drew himself erect. "Could've chilled me," he said quietly.

 

Krysty spoke for the first time. "Wrong, Carl. If Ryan had planned on chilling you, then he'd have done it without making a mistake. Your mistake was thinking something that happened so many years ago was so important that it still had a meaning now. It doesn't."

 

"I see that now." He managed a watery smile. "Figure I've made a double stupe of myself. Like to say sorry to both of you. Won't happen again."

 

Ryan nodded. "Stick to that, Carl. We'll all get along fine. Now we best get back to meet up with the others."

 

The blacksmith's son took the lead, picking a route between some abandoned cabins, toward the distant stand of cottonwoods. Krysty walked along with him while Doc and Ryan brought up the rear.

 

"Do you trust the village smithy?" Doc asked quietly. "I am minded of the saying about talk being cheap and the price of action colossal."

 

Ryan nodded. "Know what you mean. Seems to me that Carl might be a good man under the liquor and the self-pity. Seeing Krysty again's stirred up feelings he thought long-buried. Could be he'll be all right in the morning." He grinned at Doc. "But I'll be watching my back."

 

 

 

THE RECCE HAD GONE WELL.

 

As far as they were able to tell, they knew the nighttime location of virtually all of the gang, both stickies and norms. Some of them had taken up residence in the homes of the good folks of Harmony, living in uncomfortable proximity. But most were in small groups in empty houses.

 

With a little help from Krysty, and a lot from Carl, they were able to draw up a map of the settlement that showed the network of streets and alleys, and the placement of all the main buildings.

 

Jak had built a small fire in the heart of the trees, having checked that the wind would blow any smoke away from the ville. By its light they were able to draw up their final combat plans for attacking the murderers.

 

Ryan borrowed Doc's swordstick to point out who would go where and what they would try to do there.

 

Krysty suddenly interrupted him. "Sorry, lover, but?"

 

"What?"

 

"Got a question for Carl."

 

"What is it, Krysty?"

 

She hesitated, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. "Been thinking about visiting Harmony for for too many years. Now I'm here and it's really too damned late. The ones I loved best are all gone."

 

"There's still some that would recall you," Carl said. "Dozen or more still living in the ville."

 

She shook her head and patted him gently on the arm. "Past is past, Carl. We'll do what we can to purge away the infection that's destroying the place."

 

"What was your question, Krysty?"

 

"Where's the graves? Tyas and Peter."

 

"On the hillside. Catches the morning sun. Real beautiful. Want me to take you there? Time to do it now, if you wanted. It's way from where the killers are living."

 

"I remember the cemetery. I just wondered if it was still there and if that's where they rested. Now I know, then I can sort of feel easier about it."

 

"You don't want to try and find some of the older folks and ask themask them if there's any clues about what happened to your mother?" Ryan cleared his throat. "Like Carl said, there's time. Not moving until close to dawn."

 

Krysty smiled, her teeth white in the semidarkness by the small fire. "Thanks, lover. Coming home's never like you imagine it. Hills aren't as steep and the roads aren't so long. Church steeple's shorter and the school looked a lot smaller than I remember it. Not the same."

 

"There is a belief that you should never go back," Doc said.

 

"True." Krysty rubbed her hands together as if she felt the cold. "It's true."

 

 

 

THE PLAN WAS TO SPLIT into three pairs.

 

If the gang had all been in one central location, then Ryan would have gone in leading a full frontal attack. But they were scattered in several different buildings, including church and school. So the best bet was to hit in a coordinated series of lightning raids.

 

"If all goes well, then it should all be over and done in fifteen minutes," J.B. said.

 

He was going with Mildred.

 

Jak and Doc were going to circle to the north and come in that way, picking up any of the gang who might try to escape on the highway out.

 

Ryan and Krysty would set the ball rolling, along with Carl.

 

"Best check our chrons," Ryan said. "Moment the shooting begins, it'll be like gasoline on an ants' nest. We all move on the stroke of five. Just be enough light to see our way around by then. And make sure the blasters are all loaded. Anyone got any questions?"

 

Nobody spoke, except for Doc.

 

"Would it be in order for us to try and catch up on a little lost sleep?"

 

Ryan nodded. "Sure. All do the same. And we leave here at four-thirty."