The barman didn’t even have to move. He jammed the twin barrels up into the man’s groin from below and pulled the twin triggers, firing both the 12-gauge rounds at point-blank range.
Much went unnoticed amid the general bedlam of noise and dying, but not this killing.
“Fireblast!” Ryan exclaimed admiringly.
“Gaia!” Krysty said, in appalled amazement.
J.B. shook his head, interested in the technical side of the two shots. “Dark night!”
The force of the double blast lifted the disfigured man off the bar, giving the momentary illusion that he was floating in space, a bizarre miracle of yogic flying.
But the illusion was marred by the blurring welter of blood and flesh that steamed out from the man’s groin. The shots totally destroyed the genitals, ripping unhindered into the lower part of the abdomen, opening a gash larger than a man’s fist through which loops of ragged intestine, gray and pinkish yellow, began to tumble.
In a deathly muscle spasm, he fired both the derringers, drilling two neat holes in the cracked plaster of the ceiling.
His flailing, flopping corpse landed back on the bar, almost on top of Clinkerscales, who calmly pushed the slimy mess off onto the floor and reloaded his scattergun.
Six were dead or dying, three of the gang remaining alive.
Less than eight seconds had passed since Jak had pulled the darts out of the board.
When death comes easy, it comes fast.
Mildred and Dean took out the seventh killer. He’d taken refuge behind the piano, trying to shoot at Doc. Mildred couldn’t get a clean shot at him but the boy, farther round, was just able to see the man’s kneeling leg.
Holding the Hi-Power in both hands he fired twice, narrowly missing the first time, putting a 9 mm full-metal jacket into the exposed ankle at the second attempt.
A scream of agony soared above the general chaos, and the man staggered sideways, giving Mildred the easiest of shots with her ZKR 551 Czech target revolver. At twenty-feet range there was no way she was going to miss, drilling the big Smith & Wesson.38 round into the center of his chest, putting him down in the bloodied sawdust.
Krysty had retreated toward the stairs, trying to take in everything that was happening. One of the last two survivors suddenly appeared. Seeing that their cause was irretrievably doomed, he pushed her aside and ran for the second floor and a chance of escape out of one of the bedrooms.
“No,” Krysty said quietly. She leveled her short-barreled pistol, putting two rounds into the middle of the man’s back, stopping him in his tracks, only a couple of steps from the landing. His body jerked under the impact of the.38 rounds, nearly throwing him on his face. He recovered his balance, gave a long, gasping sigh, straightened and toppled backward down the staircase, landing by Krysty’s feet.
“One left,” Ryan muttered, looking around the saloon and seeing only the panic of the living and the stillness of the dead. “Where is-”
Then he found out.
An arm crooked around his throat and he felt the sharp tingle of cold steel against his neck. A tiny worm of warmth trickled down across his chest.
“A move and the one-eyed bastard gets it. Him and me are walking out together.”
Ryan was surprised by the stupidity of his attacker, who seemed totally oblivious to the fact that his victim was still holding a powerful automatic blaster in his right hand.
“Nobody fuckin’ move or else I’ll slit his throat open.”
“Then you get to die slowly and painfully,” J.B. called, distracting the man and giving Ryan the moment he needed.
It was a very small movement. He edged his right hand behind himself, until the muzzle was touching the body of the would-be killer. At the same time Ryan lifted his left hand a little, up toward his chest.
Synchronicity was important if he wasn’t going to find he’d chilled his enemy but also lost his own life. He squeezed the trigger and felt the blaster buck, sending a sharp pain up to the elbow, where he hadn’t been able to brace the SIG-Sauer properly. Simultaneously he’d swept up his left hand, forcing the straight razor away from his throat, then stepped forward, turning and putting another round into the wounded man’s chest.