“I won’t get chilled, my raggedy friends,” he said, admiring his own calm. Suddenly he pointed behind them with his left hand, and at the top of his voice shouted, “Shoot them, friends!”
To his delight and amazement, it worked on the stickies’ stupid brains like a magic charm. Every one of them swung around to stare suspiciously into the pitchy shadows beneath the trees.
Doc drew the Le Mat with the liquid speed of a great shootist and thumbed back the scattergun hammer, squeezing the trigger on the gold-plated, black weapon.
The 18-gauge shotgun round exploded from the wide barrel, starring out at close range, hitting the bunched muties with devastating effect.
The one holding the cane was almost blown in two. The shot ripped into his stomach, splintering his spine, sending him staggering backward, his own blue-pink guts tangling around his ankles.
The two to his left were also hit, one in the groin, the other in both thighs.
The remaining three stickies were totally shocked by the thunderous roar of the handblaster, bemused by the great cloud of powder smoke that enveloped them. They heard their companions’ screams of shock and agony, watching them thrash on the ground, blood spouting across the clearing.
The frail old man who they’d been about to butcher had produced a weapon of the gods.
The only problem with the Le Mat was that it took a few fumbling seconds to change the hammer from the scattergun to the chamber holding the nine rounds of .44s. Doc recalled J.B.’s warning words, repeated many times. “Fire it and run!”
He paused only a moment to snatch up the fallen swordstick, wincing at the stickiness of the warm blood that streaked its smooth, polished wood, then turned and ran back in what he hoped was the right direction.
JAK WAS QUICKEST to respond to the distant boom of the Let Mat, jumping to his feet. “Doc!” he said.
J.B. was a nanosecond behind him, his head turning as he tried to locate the precise direction of the distant shot.
The three hunters froze, gripping their own muskets. “What kinda blaster’s that?” Harve asked. “Like a fuckin’ cannon.”
“That way,” Krysty said, pointing.
Jak was already moving, light-footed, like a wraith through the black shadows under the trees, his own Colt Python .357 blaster in his right hand, looking disproportionately large in his skinny fingers.
“To me, friends!” Doc roared, blundering along, his skin crawling at the expectation of feeling the hungry suckers tugging at his clothes and skin.
He was aware of noise behind him, a thin screaming, like a bullock at the gelding block, running feet, barely audible in the soft leaf mold of the forest’s ferny floor, panting and a high-pitched cursing.
“Stickies!” he shouted, twisting, dodging and ducking the low-jagged branches.
“Coming, Doc!” J.B. replied. Generally he wouldn’t have wanted to give their unseen enemies any warning of reinforcements, but the old man sounded as though he needed encouragement, as well as a voice to aim at in the woods.
A few paces ahead of the Armorer, Jak dropped to his knees and leveled the big blaster. “Go left, Doc!” he yelled, his voice cracking.
Doc immediately dodged right.
Cursing under his breath, the teenager adjusted his aim and fired three spaced rounds at the trio of stickies that was pursuing the old-timer through the trees.
Guns weren’t Jak’s strong point, but he managed to put one of the muties down with two full-metal-jacket rounds through shoulder and chest, the third bullet missing high and left.
Behind him there was the ripple of tearing silk, and J.B. fired a short burst from the Uzi, stopping the other two stickies dead in their tracks, the 9 mm rounds kicking them over in a welter of sprayed blood and splintered bone.
Doc was still running when he reached Krysty, who reached out and grabbed him by the arm. “Whoa back,” she said loudly and firmly. “Safe now, Doc.”
“Walked straight into them,” he panted, steadying himself on her shoulder, waving the swordstick in a vaguely threatening manner. “Are they done for?”
“All dead, Doc. How many did you take out?” J.B. was already reloading the Uzi.