“I’d like to see that shithead chilled,” Mildred said. “Did us some serious harm.”
Ryan sniffed. “Decision’s taken. We’ll get out the back way, if we can, into the big trees and loop around. Head after Doc.”
DOC STARED at the gloating face of Jim Owsley, feeling a biting pain in his heart at the sickening realization that they were finished. He felt sorrow for himself, and a deep misery that Maya Tennant was also doomed. He’d know the woman for only a few hours, but everything he knew about her was good and positive. Now she was minutes from death.
Owsley was only a few paces from them, holding his Hawes Montana Marshal .45 revolver in his right hand, aiming at Doc’s chest.
“Put the blaster in the dirt, you old fuck. Or I chill you and the bitch crone both. Don’t much matter to me, one way or the other.”
Doc dropped the little hideaway in the mud by his feet, still holding the cane in his left hand.
Owsley’s eyes darted around the clearing, staring at the burning house, glancing behind him.
“You see any mutie rats around? Reckon there’s nests of them.”
The woman hadn’t moved at all. Now she edged closer to Doc, laying a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You did your best.”
“Rats! I loathe them. You seen them around here?” The voice was high and cracking.
Doc managed a laugh. “They’re everywhere, Brother Owsley, waiting in the shadows for you.”
“Shut the fuck up!” he roared, waving the powerful brass-gripped blaster at him.
“Forgive me, but you had asked me the question, had you not, Brother?”
A tawny cat strolled out of the wreckage of the little shed, stalking up to the sec man, tail held high, back arched, purring loudly. It rubbed against the legs of Jim Owsley, who promptly shot it through its angular skull.
Maya Tennant screamed.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ryan had been straggling to open the back door of Joshua Wolfe’s imposing house. But the massive earthquake had distorted the entire frame of the building, breaking windows and jamming many of the doors.
“Fireblast!”
“Let’s set our shoulders to it.”
J.B. was at Ryan’s side, pushing at the stout oaken door, but it was immovable.
“Try upstairs windows?”
Ryan shook his head. “Waste of time, Jak. We’ll just walk straight out of the front door. Least we know that it’s open. Everyone on triple red.”
There was yet another savage aftershock. A long-case clock in the hall, which had been already jarred off balance, toppled with a sonorous clanging sound.
Somewhere outside they all heard an old woman scream in fresh terror.
Ryan paused just inside the front door, peering out. “Right. Head for the nearest cover, then on the trail back toward the redoubt. If we get split up, meet there. Don’t stop for anything or anyone. Time to lay down bullets without any questions. Good luck, friends.”
He squeezed Krysty by the wrist. “Stay close to me, lover. Close as you can.”
The storm had faded away almost to nothing, with an occasional flurry of rain running cat’s paws over the surfaces of some vast puddles.
As they huddled together by the door, there was yet another jolting quake that rattled windows and brought the smashing of glass. Ryan grinned reassuringly at Krysty. “Keep the bastards busy,” he said.
“Fire,” Jak muttered, sniffing the air. “Ville could go like tinder.”
Ryan nodded and drew the SIG-Sauer, thumbing back the hammer. “Ready? Here we go!”
THE CAT’S HEAD was blown apart by the heavy-caliber bullet, and its body flopped limply in the dirt at the sec man’s feet. It didn’t have time to make a sound as it died.
Maya stood still, hands reaching up to her face, as though she were about to gouge out her own eyes. Doc touched the woman on the arm, seeking to comfort her, and to restrain her from any violent action.
“Please…” he began.
But it was too little and too late. Maya was launched into a red-mist rage, half running at Owsley, clawing toward the man’s face.
“Murderous, coldheart bastard,” she screamed.
Doc closed his eyes, not wanting to see what he knew was going to happen.