He drew his Civil War-era handblaster from its holster, the LeMat, and ran along the face of the building, away from the rushing water. Doc found the Steyr longblaster where he had hidden it. As he shrugged into its shoulder strap, he saw shadowy figures hurrying toward him from the base of the mountain. He primed the LeMat’s shotgun barrel, ready to spray any enemies with smoking shrapnel.
“Do not come any closer!” he warned, aiming the old blaster at the running figures.
“Doc! It’s us!” someone shouted back.
“John Barrymore,” Doc said with relief, lowering his weapon. “And Ryan! Is everyone else all right? Did they all make it away safely?”
“We got lucky,” Ryan told him. “Just scrapes and bruises. Come on, see for yourself. They’re waiting for us.”
“I trust our carny friends were not so fortunate,” Doc said as they moved toward the hillside.
“We saw a few of them go down in the flood,” J.B. said. “The rest are somewhere on the other side of all that water.”
“The baron is probably under it by now,” Doc said. “He is no longer a matter of concern.” The old man unslung the Steyr and handed it over to its rightful owner.
“Glad you picked that up,” Ryan said, giving the stock an affectionate slap. “I feel naked without it.”
“Do not try to fire it before you check the bore,” Doc warned him. “The muzzle is probably blocked with dried mud.”
As they neared the foot of the slope, figures rushed out of the shadows to greet them. Doc received a hearty slap on the back from Mildred and a kiss on the cheek from Krysty. Jak nodded to him, a silent yet eloquent acknowledgment of his courage and heroism.
When the congratulations were over, they got right down to business.
“Are we still danger?” Krysty asked. “Should we try to move out of here tonight?”
“The pool seems to have stopped its activity, at least for the time being,” Mildred said. “No more storm clouds. No more spores. But there’s no guarantee that it won’t start up again before it’s run completely dry.”
“How long before the lake is empty?” Dean said.
“That could take all night,” Ryan said. “There’s no way of telling how deep it is. ”
“We can’t leave here,” J.B. told them. “Not in the dark. Not knowing the terrain. Not knowing where the rousties went. We’ve got to hunker down and ride it out until sunrise.”
“J.B.’s right,” Ryan said. “We’ll take turns standing watch. Dean, Leeloo, Doc and Krysty can sack out first. We’ll wake you in three hours. We move out at dawn.”
Doc stood with Ryan and watched young Dean escort the little girl to a safe, relatively comfortable place among the boulders. After they had sat down, the boy removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She curled up with her head against his chest and his protective arm over her.
“The reports of chivalry’s demise appear to be greatly exaggerated,” Doc said.
“He’s a good boy, with a good heart,” Ryan agreed. “And he’s going to grow into an even better man.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
At first light, Ryan led the companions to what little was left of the ville’s square. The roaring river had become a feeble creek. The shantytown was gone; the blockhouse full to the ceiling with standing water. They jumped down into the muddy channel the torrent had left behind, and moved in fighting formation with weapons drawn to the other side. When they climbed out of the riverbed, they found nothing to shoot at.
There was no sign of life.
Ryan and the others had been hoping that the Baja Bug had survived the flood. The little wag, even if overloaded with bodies, would have made it much easier for them to get back to the interstate. But the Baja Bug had vanished. Somewhere downstream it was overturned, perhaps buried in mud.
The companions had no choice but to walk out, to return Leeloo to Bullard. They voted unanimously to take the route past the burning pool. When they reached the bank where the evil had first touched them, they stopped and stared for a long time at what was revealed. The bottom of the lake was gray, a solid mass of lusterless gray that followed the contours of the bedrock beneath.