Stickies were bastard tough to chill.
A few in the Bullard ville audience—perhaps those who had lost loved ones to this particular subhuman species—actually booed the miraculous survival, but everyone else cheered the spectacle. Some folks rose to their feet to clap as the entire acrobatic troupe took their waggle-weenie bows in the spotlight.
As thrilled as Leeloo was by the performance, in the pit of her stomach was a small knot of dread. She couldn’t tell if the cannon miss had been on purpose or not, but she thought it hadn’t. And that gave her the distinct feeling that the outcomes of the carny’s acts weren’t set in stone. That anything at all could happen, at any time, this afternoon. It was scary, but the fear made it all the more exciting.
The carny master waved an arm toward the wings. Grunting from the strain, masked roustabouts pulled and pushed a trailer bearing a tarp-covered cage into the center ring. Alongside the trailer, four beautiful, long-legged women danced and mugged for the crowd. From the rear, their nearly invisible costumes made it look as if they were naked but for thigh-high, high-heeled, black leather boots.
“Lesser carnies drag around carloads of snakes,” the Magnificent Crecca bellowed. “They brag about how many deadly reptiles they’ve got and expect you to part with your hard earned jack. I’ll tell you this for free. Numbers don’t matter. It’s size that counts. There’s only one snake in this carny. It’s been here since the very first ticket was sold. Bullard ville behold, Wolfram’s Worm!”
The tarp was thrown back, revealing the twelve-foot-long, three-foot-wide mutie rattlesnake. Worm slithered into a vast, diamond-backed coil and, hissing like a volcanic steam vent, struck at the inside of the bars. At the impact, the cage rocked on its trailer. The snake’s dripping fangs looked like a pair of back-curving, yellow scimitars jutting from its upper jawbone.
“The good thing about Worm,” the carny master said as he jumped on the front edge of the trailer and tiptoed along it to the middle of the cage, “is that he only eats twice a month.” He had to shout the last part over the buzzing roar made by the snake’s huge rattles.
Leeloo sucked in and held her breath as Crecca took hold of the pin that held shut the cage door.
Everyone in the audience saw him grip the pin, and everyone knew what was going to happen next.
They couldn’t believe their eyes, but they knew it was going to happen.
“The bad thing,” the carny master said, “is that it’s a week past his dinnertime.”
With that, he jerked the pin from the hasp and leaped out of the way as the barred door swung open. Worm was a lot faster than he looked. He was out of the cage and on the ground before anyone could even scream.
Then everybody was screaming.
Bullard ville’s mothers grabbed for their children; Bullard ville’s menfolk went for their blasters.
The folks closest to the rear started to run for the exit.
Dean was up in the blink of an eye, thrusting his body between the huge snake and Leeloo. With his feet shoulder width apart, he held the cocked, nine mill Browning in both hands.
“Don’t shoot!” the carny master yelled over the din. “Everyone stay right where you are! Stay where you are and no one will be hurt. Everything is under control. The snake charmers are in position.”
With that, the recorded music changed to something slow and sinuous, flutes and drums, drums and flutes.
Even the spectators halfway out the door stopped and turned to look.
Leeloo grabbed hold of Dean’s arm; she couldn’t help it.
The four beautiful norm women had surrounded the giant rattler, which now sat coiled in the middle of the center ring, its yard of rattles raised, buzzing mightily, its flat boulder of a head shifting as it tasted the air with a black forked tongue as long as a bullwhip. The snake charmers never stopped moving, never gave Worm a solid target to lock on to.
Even so, perhaps out of anger and frustration, the snake struck anyway. It launched itself forward, mouth agape, hollow fangs oozing thick streamers of poison.