But then the ceiling fell in for a second time, the lightweight tiles buckling on top of the group of friends as two more of the murderous muties came crashing down into their midst.
One of the stickies bounded forward with a wordless cry, slamming into J.B. before he could raise his scattergun. The mutant’s hand adhered instantly to the side of J.B.’s face, the suckered touch driving a scream even from the stoic Armorer’s throat as he tried to twist away. His wire-rimmed spectacles were slung from his face as he struggled.
Afraid he’d hit one of his comrades in the now tightly fought battle, J.B. took out his Tekna knife and used it against the stickie who was intent on ripping away his face. He slashed out with his blade again and again at the stickie’s arm, hitting a vein that carried what passed for blood in the mutie. A thin film of tacky ichor sprayed out, coating the stickie’s face and upper body.
“Fireblast!” the Armorer cursed, throwing himself back in disgust even as the upper epidermis of his face tore away from the stickie’s finger-pad attachments. With the pain came relief, the pain of freedom much preferable to the horror of being drawn closer to the subhuman mutation.
The moment direct contact with J.B.’s skin was broken, Mildred squeezed off a shot from her pistol, finishing the job J.B.’s blade had started when he cut a hunk out of the stickie’s arm. However, Mildred wasn’t going for the extremities. She went for the head shot, the chunk of lead escaping her blaster with a loud crack as it almost instantaneously entered the stickie’s nasal cavity, entering in a clean, deadly motion and crashing through the lower part of what passed for the mutie’s brain.
The bullet exited the back of the stickie’s skull, punching out in a spray of gray matter and blood and bone. As the grue flew out, it splattered against the back wall of the hallway with a wet slap, narrowly missing Doc, whose swordstick’s blade tip just slid into the eye socket of the second attacking stickie. Doc slid the stick out and back a second time with all of his strength, shuddering when he felt the blade scraping bone in the pulped socket.
J.B. stumbled forward, his normally weak vision seriously compromised by the loss of his glasses and the blood pouring down from the torn flesh of his forehead into his naked eyes. He kept moving, to provide less of a target while keeping his immediate area clear of attackers.
“Son of a bitch!” J.B. cried out, incensed by his handicap, swinging his knife in a searching circle. “I’ll gut all of you bastards!”
In the heat of the battle and confusion, no one even noticed when J.B.’s booted foot came down hard on his dropped spectacles, shattering the already cracked right lens and cracking the left lens.
Across the room, Ryan was involved in his own struggle. The distraction of the pair of muties falling into the band’s midst had given the other three stickies time to advance. Having lost one eye, Ryan was well aware of the fear men possessed when it came to preserving their vision. Taking his cue from Doc’s fancy work with the ebony swordstick, Ryan also went for his opponent’s eyes. Muties, at least stickies, shared this phobia, and the lead one screeched out in terror as Ryan dug both of his thumbs into the freak’s ghastly pale eye sockets and pushed with as much force as he could muster.
Thin blood, sticky and pink, came squirting forth like tiny fountains from the twin thumb gouge. It ran down the stickie’s cheeks like tears and covered Ryan’s hands and upper arms.
The mutie’s tongue came slithering out, long and lank, adorned with dozens of tiny suckers mirroring the ones on the creature’s hands. Ryan bit down hard on the impulse to gag. His adversary’s creature’s breath was unbearable, and the odor coming from the stickie’s burst eyeballs was even worse.
The tip of the tongue brushed against Ryan’s wrist, slithering like a snake over the band of his wrist chron before touching flesh.
The thought of an oral caress from a stickie was too much, even for a hardened warrior like Ryan Cawdor. He pulled his thumbs back and locked his hands and fingers together, swinging them down, then up in a rapid, fluid motion. As he brought the double handful up, he smashed a twin fist into the unfortunate mutie’s chin, slamming the already maimed creature’s mouth shut with terrific force, causing the dumb, blinded bastard to bite off its own tongue.