Ryan considered whether he should try to chill the baron, to pay him back for causing the deaths of his companions. Elijah was a stupid, greedy man, typical, really, of the feudal lords who ruled parts of Deathlands by force of arms. Across the room the Redhawk lay beside J.B.’s hat. If he was going to make a dive for a blaster, that would be the one. It was shorter than the G-12s, so it would be quicker to sight
He weighed the pros and cons, but in the end he decided not to go for it The stickies would make a much better job of chilling the baron than he ever
could. Despite Elijah’s warning to keep quiet, Ryan decided he couldn’t miss this final chance to rub it in.
“Seems like we’re all sort of up a tree,” he said.
Sec men guarding the balcony glared at him, as if a few hard looks would make him stop talking.
“We’ve crawled out to the last branch and out to the very tip,” he continued.
“Shut him up!” Skeen said.
Ryan regarded the toadie with contempt. “You better calm down and get your mind around what’s coming,” he said. “Otherwise, you won’t be ready to face it.”
“We still have a chance,” Skeen protested.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Ryan said. “But only if we can learn to fly real quick.”
Roonie-Two looked up at the baron. “Is he right, Poppadaddy? Are we all gonna die?”
Elijah tried to speak, but he couldn’t seem to get any words out. He gently stroked her hair.
“Don’t let them get us, Poppadaddy,” Roonie-Two said. “At least Poonie-Two and Toonie-Two and their babies died real quick. Don’t let the stickies tear me and Roonie-Three apart. Poppadaddy, promise me that before that happens you’ll chill us yourself.”
For the first time ever, Ryan saw defeat in the baron’s eyes, crushing defeat and a terrible sadness. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Elijah was coming to terms with the facts, and the facts were that everything ended here, all that he had worked for his whole life, all his dreams.
“I promise you, gal,” he said as his eyes welled up with tears. “I won’t let them have you.”
“THEY’RE ON THE BALCONY below!” the sec man cried, drawing back from the rail. “There’s a fucking million of them!”
The blasterfire on the twenty-fourth floor started up almost immediately. Ryan had never heard anything like it. It shook the floor under his feet, rattled paintings off walls, vases off tables. Under it, screams were barely audible.
“Chill them!” the baron shouted. “Chill the bastards!”
The sec men leaned out over the rail and sprayed the stickies on the balcony beneath them.
“It’s coming apart, Elijah,” Ryan said.
“Get your blaster,” the baron told him. “One-eye, get your goddamn blaster.”
As Ryan crossed the floor, bullets clawed up through it, a spray of lead that chewed chunks out of the rug and gnawed at the ceiling. Ryan dived for the corner with slugs clipping at his heels.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I believe I can carry one more,” Doc said, wiggling his left index finger The old man was laden down with round and rectangular cans. He held them not only hooked over his arms, wrists, hands and fingers, but wedged under his arms, as well.
J.B. glanced over the row of metal containers that remained along the subbasement wall, checking the labels. He selected one that was nearly full and looped the handle over the old man’s extended finger.
“Can we go now?” Mildred asked. She was likewise1 bent under the combined weight of numerous one-gallon cans. “This stuff isn’t getting any lighter.”
“Go on,” J.B. said as he gathered up his own burden. He followed Doc and Mildred back to the elevator. At his direction they piled the selection of solvents and thinners in front of the elevator opening, alongside the others they had brought on the previous trips.
The clatter of battle rattled down the shaft
“Seems farther away, doesn’t it?” Mildred said.
“It does,” Doc agreed. “Most definitely.”
“The stickies are charging up the tower,** J.B. said, “driving the baron’s sec men ahead of them. It looks like old Elijah’s going to make his last stand on the