And a fourth rat came rushing out of the shadows of the forest, a little behind the group of friends, heading straight toward Ryan.
The mutie resembled a scuttling, burned log, clawed feet kicking up the slimy mud. Its razored teeth were bared, saliva drooling over the matted hair of its muscular chest.
Mildred was quickest to react. She hadn’t holstered her target revolver, but was still holding it by the checked grips, the barrel pointing down at her side.
“Mine!” she yelled, dodging to the right to avoid shooting Doc, bringing the blaster up to the aim. But she hadn’t taken into account the treacherousness of the earth under her combat boots, and she slipped over to her left, momentarily off balance. Triggering off a .38 at the charging mutie rat. The bullet gouged up a chunk of dirt six or seven inches from the questing muzzle, making it jink sideways and hesitate for a moment.
Ryan was reaching for his own blaster as he saw his death closing in on him, crazed yellow eyes fixed to his face, greasy fur glistening with damp.
The moment’s hesitation gave Mildred the fraction of a second that she needed.
Still unsteady, she snapped off a second round at the giant rat, the bullet narrowly missing the base of the skull, where she’d aimed. But it still hit home in the left shoulder, knocking the creature over, rolling and squealing in the trampled dirt.
It was less than six feet from Ryan, and it was simple for him to aim at the writhing creature and put a big 9 mm round through its spine, halfway along its body, paralyzing it.
“Any more?” he asked, surprised at how calm his voice seemed to sound.
Jak and Dean answered simultaneously. “No.”
The last of the vermin was struggling to turn its head to snap at Ryan, and he reached for the big panga on his hip. Shaking his head at the thought of the clean steel being contaminated by the blood and sinew of the vile mutie rodent, he fired another round into the angular skull, chilling it instantly, whistling softly between his teeth as he replaced the SIG-Sauer in its holster.
“Good shooting, Mildred. Thanks.”
She nodded and grinned, shaking her head in wonderment at the size of the quartet of massive rats. “Welcome.”
“Big fuckers,” Jak stated, looking down at the four corpses. “Biggest ever saw.”
“Same here.” Ryan stood still and quiet, listening for any sound of activity from anywhere around them. But the noise of the shooting and the dying animals’ cries had driven the wildlife into silence.
Doc sneezed, blinking as he did so. “Bless me, father, for I have sinned.”
“Don’t start again, Doc,” Mildred warned. “Just seal it in a can, will you?”
“Apologies, my dear Doctor.”
“Now what, lover?”
“Head on for Mom’s place and try her advertised jerky?” Ryan replied.
Krysty smiled, her teeth dazzling in the gloom of the limitless forest. “Yeah.”
The Armorer stopped, head to one side, taking in several deep breaths. “Now, that smells real good,” he said. “Sets the old taste buds tingling.”
“Mom’s jerky?” Mildred said.
“Gotta be.”
Dean grinned. “With baked potatoes or creamed rice or a mess of whipped potatoes or refried beans or—”
Ryan lifted a warning hand. “That’s enough, son. But it sure does smell fine.”
The taste of cooking meat was drifting through the pines from almost directly ahead of them. There was a faint haze of whitish smoke, hanging at the level of the drooping lower branches. As they stood there, grouped close together, they all heard a sudden burst of loud, raucous laughter, sounding about fifty yards away, along the blacktop.
Ryan looked around at the others. “Got to be Mom’s Place. Let’s go and see what it’s like.” He paused a moment. “And let’s keep alert out there.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was a squat log cabin. The roof looked like it had collapsed several times and on each occasion had been rebuilt with a little less care and attention. Moss grew thick between the heavy timbers, and all kinds of fungus sprouted down along the broken guttering.
There was a hitching rail just outside the lopsided front porch, with three spavined mares and a crook-back mule tethered there.