Krysty heard Ricky shout.His gleeful cry wasn’t needed. The locals’ resolve had withered in the face of the companions’ blasterfire. The front rank—the survivors, who hadn’t tripped or fallen over the dozen or so wounded or dead who had been the mob’s front—had turned and were pushing back into the faces of their fellow locals behind. But the rout fever had already taken root among them, and the men and a few women at the rear had already started running back out of sight around the bend in the road.And at the rear of it all stood Wymie Berdone, head down, shoulders slumped in dejection. The fleeing crowd, growing larger by the heartbeat, split to flow around her to either side. Krysty wondered whether it was lucky that they failed to trample her—or if she’d be luckier if they had.Ryan was right, she thought, pausing to swap magazines in her Glock. After an initial full-auto burst, just to get their enemies’ attention, she’d been firing single rounds.No matter how hot the fire of vengeance-lust burned inside her, the black-haired woman’s days as a successful mob leader were through.
What do You think about Deathlands 122: Forbidden Trespass?
