He staggered and made a last effort to strike at the gloating mutie, but the shock to his system was too great and he dropped the hammer with a thunk on the path.
“Die easy” the mutie hissed, turning away from the doomed man toward the woman.
Krysty had her Smith amp; Wesson half out of its holster, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her dying friend. Carl had dropped to his knees, hands clutching at the gaping white-lipped wound, trying hopelessly to stanch the torrent of blood. His eyes were turned to Krysty, and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly.
The stickie stood over Krysty, his thin cotton pants showing an obvious erection at the thrill of chilling, his gray tongue flicking out like a reptile’s to lick withered, sore-crusted lips. The watery eyes were flooded with hatred and lust.
Krysty dragged at the butt of the short-barreled blaster, knowing with a sick certainty that she was too slow and her race was well run.
The razor angled toward her face, and she had the gun clear.
There was the sound of a shot, and a neat black hole appeared in the chest of the mutie, a little to the left of center. A spray of blood erupted from the creature’s back.
He took two teetering steps away from her, still clutching the razor, face puzzled. “Blaster didn’t shoot” he said, tripping over the corpse of his colleague, and sat down in the path. He waved the razor a couple of times and then simply died, still sitting upright, head dropping onto his breast.
Krysty struggled to her feet, seeing Ryan standing motionless, a hundred yards away, the Steyr hunting rifle still held to his shoulder. The others were grouped around him.
Krysty closed her eyes for a moment, muttering thanks to Gaia that they’d all made it through again.
“Krysty” The voice was no louder than a breath of sea fog against a stone wall.
The relief at being saved, and seeing Ryan and the others alive and well, had momentarily taken her mind from poor Carl.
Death was close, its shadowy cloak poised above the bulky figure.
Krysty dropped to her knees, lifting his head into her lap, ignoring the blood that had slowed to a trickle. The light of life in his eyes was fading, and he tried to lick his dry lips, struggling to speak.
“You saved my life,” she said, feeling tears pricking at the back of her eyes, a part of her childhood dying in her arms. “I’ll never forget you, Carl.” She kissed him on the forehead.
His efforts to speak were futile, but he managed a final half smile before life rushed from him.
As Ryan and the others came to join her, Krysty laid him gently to the earth and stood.
“Over,” she said. “All over, and we can go.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Krysty had insisted on going straight to the armawag, avoiding any kind of contact with the people of Harmony, who had seen their ville turned into a bloody abattoir.
“There must be folks you know,” Ryan protested. “Surely you could just see them?”
“No.”
“But they must realize that we have saved their homes and their families from probable death,” Doc said.
“The whole ville’s running with blood.” Krysty was on the verge of tears. “I told you, all the ones I loved are dead and gone. Or, like Mother Sonja, just plain disappeared. There’s nothing left here for me.”
And she climbed into the armawag and waited for the others to join her.
RYAN TRIED TO COPE with the folks who flooded out of their houses, gaping at the dozens of corpses, unable to believe that the shadow of the murderous gang had been lifted from them. Their leader appeared to be Richard Thompson, brother of the murdered sheriff, and his pleas for them to stay a few days were echoed by virtually the whole ville.
Ryan refused as politely as he could. “You don’t know how it’ll be. Innocent people have been harmed here and hereabouts, and the time’ll come when you’ll all resent us almost as much as the gang of murderers.”
“No, I assure you that”