Serpent's Tooth

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 little turd you are,” Kane replied. “You’re just some goon with some fancy guns. You don’t even rank in the ten biggest gangs of bandits I’ve ever fought.”

“He’s telling his man to shoot,” Grant warned.

Kane dived into a shoulder roll, zooming into the open just as a roar of autofire shredded the tin-and-wood hut he’d been hiding behind. Kane and Grant fired their weapons, both drowned out by the roar of the mighty Browning Fifty. Anyone watching, though, wouldn’t have seen Grant’s hidden muzzle-flash, while the Sin Eater’s barrel blazed angrily.

The machine gunner jerked violently, his right forearm disintegrating under the impact of the monster hunting rifle in Grant’s hands. The Fifty stopped its bellow, the gunner’s screams piercing the air as blood sprayed in Lombard’s face.

The men mounted in the trucks looked at the man who’d been at the controls of their crowd-killing device, then at the lone ex-Magistrate getting to his feet, out in the open. A tendril of smoke curled from the muzzle of the Sin Eater. Lombard scrubbed at his eyes, grimacing as the injured bandit wound a cord tightly around his arm to tourniquet the injury.

“You gentlemen think that because Lombard’s with you, you know how to deal with a real Magistrate,” Kane said, walking toward the trucks.

From the grumbles of discomfort among the marauders, he knew that his ploy had worked.

“That’s bullshit!” Lombard shouted. “He’s got to have a partner somewhere!”

Kane ignored Lombard, addressing the rest of the bandits. “Your partners are all dead. I killed them, because Lombard was just too stubborn to realize that he’s second class. Now I’m going to appeal to you, because I hate wasting good ammunition.”

“He didn’t kill the others by himself,” Lombard snarled.

“No, he didn’t,” a woman’s voice called out. Brigid Baptiste strode into the open, Copperhead SMG held against her curvaceous hip. “He had the help of women and doctors. People with no combat training.”

Kane repressed the urge to smile, remembering the steep learning curve of Brigid’s early years at Cerberus, when the young woman had grown from an archivist to an adventurer who was a deadly shot and a tough fighter.

The bandits looked at Lombard.

“So you have a choice,” Kane offered. “Ditch your boss and find somewhere else to hunt, or you can all die where you stand.”

“How do you want him?” one of the bandits asked. “Dead or alive?”

“You fuckers!” Lombard spit. He lunged at the Browning, but Kane and Grant fired at the renegade Mag.

Kane’s bullet plucked at Lombard’s bicep, while Grant’s cannon round smashed the belt of ammunition feeding into the machine gun. The mounted weapon and Lombard spun almost in unison under their respective impacts.

Marauders lunged at Lombard, seizing him tightly.

“Whatever is easier for you,” Kane said, pushing his Sin Eater back into its holster on his forearm.

“God damn you!” Lombard shrieked as his men hurled him over the cab of the truck. He crashed into the dirt road, then clawed swiftly to his feet. Angry eyes glared at Kane, and he tensed. “This piece of shit isn’t so hot!”

“Then prove it!” another bandit shouted. “You got a Sin Eater. Show us you’re worth following.”

Lombard looked around, confused. He eventually rested his eyes on Kane, who stood, arms folded, shaking his head.

“Not a good idea, man,” Kane warned.

Lombard glanced toward Brigid.

“Don’t look at her. She’d just as soon shoot you, but she’s not paying for the bullets,” Kane snapped.

Lombard’s eyes flicked to the Sin Eater on his forearm. One flex, and the autoweapon would rocket into his hand. Kane knew, though, that a fast draw with the hydraulic holster was a perishable skill. The movement would be fast, but getting the first shot on target required regular practice. Lombard was a thief who attacked unarmed doctors, not a master gunslinger who constantly honed his skills.

In the meantime, Kane had just proved his lethality against younger, hardier men. Lombard reached slowly for the straps on his Sin Eater, unfastening them. The machine pistol landed in the dirt at his feet, and Lombard dropped to his knees, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Kane turned to glare at the truckloads of remaining bandits. “Go.”

The new leader of the robber gang looked at the rest of his men. The diesels roared as the wags ground into Reverse, backing away from the edge of the town.

“They’re not slowing down,” Grant confirmed. “They’ve taken the hint.”

Kane walked toward Lombard, pausing only to scoop up the renegade’s fallen weapon. “What to do with you…”

“Grant…” Lombard snarled. “That big ape—”

Kane took a swift step forward and kicked him in the face. The impact split a seam of skin from eyebrow to the corner of Lombard’s mouth. Blood flowed from the fresh gash.

“Talking about my partner like that is always a bad idea,” Kane said.

“You’re crazy!” Lombard snapped. His hands covered his battered, bloody face. “What are you going to do with me?”

“We’ll see if Dr. Phillips needs someone to do grunt work,” Grant said, rejoining his partners. “Though nothing too complicated.”