Eclipse at Noon by James Axler

“Sure. Like Mildred says, we’re going to have to break some eggs to make this omelet.”

“Long as you don’t break my leg in doing it. Best try and use your panga.”

Ryan nodded. “My guess, too.”

He laid the rifle out of the way, unsheathing the eighteen-inch steel blade, sliding it inside the double row of teeth, trying to find some way of bracing it so that he could exert the considerable pressure it would need to free the Armorer’s trapped limb.

J.B. was sitting up straight, leg out in front of him, watching Ryan’s efforts.

“Looks like the spring’s got some kind of a lock pin,” he whispered. “Set and braced with a hair-trigger release. Need to open it far enough to be able to set it again.”

“I can see that. Can’t see how to do it. Nothing to set the blade against.”

They rested in silence for several long beats of the heart. J.B. finally patted Ryan on the shoulder. “Got an idea. Use the butt of the scattergun. Put it in and then slide it along until it fits snug. Then I’ll try to hold it still while you push in the panga. Bit at a time. Gain us an inch and then another. And then another.”

Ryan saw what his old companion meant. “Could work. Risk of it slipping and then clamping tighter.”

“Have to take that risk. If I can just hold the M-4000 steady, it should work. And if I fuck up, then it’s all down to me, isn’t it?”

Ryan nodded, his dark curly hair tumbling over his forehead. “Might as well get it started, then.”

“I’m cold,” J.B. said, hunching his shoulders. “Guess that must be shock creeping in on me.”

“Let’s do it.” Ryan took the proffered scattergun and jammed the pistol grip between the teeth of the mantrap, working it carefully in until it jammed in the narrowing gap. J.B. sat frozen and still. There was enough light for Ryan to see his friend’s clenched teeth.

“Now the blade,” the Armorer said. “If I tell you to stop, then do it. Means I’m about to yelp out, and that would likely put us both on the last train west.”

Ryan had carried the long panga for many years now and knew to a hair’s breadth precisely how strong the tempered steel was.

He levered it gently in, while J.B braced himself in the opposite direction, using his free leg, digging it into the damp earth, hanging on to the barrel of the shotgun.

“Don’t think it’d be better try dig out trap?” he asked. “Be easier?”

Ryan paused. “No. Earth gives us pressure. Otherwise have it floating around. Here we go.”

The chain clattered as J.B. suddenly kicked out and gasped. “Rad-blasted painful, Ryan.”

“Have to be done. Unless you want your leg cut off. I could do that.”

“Don’t think Mildred would love me so much if I turned up as a gimp to rescue her. Keep going.”

Ryan decided to go for it in one big push. Not warning his partner, he simply threw all of his weight and strength against the taped hilt of the panga. There was a shudder of movement, and the sound of the teeth grating against the scattergun. Then more movement and a loud click as the safety catch caught once more, holding the powerful trap open.

J.B. gave a muffled half scream and toppled sideways, dropping the blaster, bringing his knees up into the prenatal position and moaning. He reached down to touch the place above the ankle where he’d been trapped.

“Hurts like a bastard,” he breathed. “Would appreciate holding your hand again for a few seconds, old friend.”

Ryan gripped his fingers, feeling the shaking. “Hurts while the blood flows back. Give it a while, then we’ll take a look and see what the harm is.”

They sat together in the cool stillness.

IT TOOK SEVERAL painful minutes to unlace the combat boot and slide it off the swollen ankle. Ryan probed as gently as he could, making J.B. move the injured leg, rotating the foot in both directions.

“How’s it feel?”

The Armorer was leaning back against the bole of a half-grown pine, studiously polishing his glasses, his fedora pushed back on his forehead.