“He’s gone,” Dean stated.
Ryan could only grunt in reply, both of his hands white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel. Ahead, he could see it was a real forest, just what they wanted. But a mob of stickies was forming between the trees and the companions, almost as if they understood what was happening.
Checking over his LeMat, Doc looked in that same direction and blanched. There was an army coming their way, thirty, maybe forty of the muties.
“Can we go around them, maybe refuel from inside?” Mildred asked, pulling a box of cartridges from her backpack and stuffing them into a pocket. “Rip up the floorboards or something.”
“That would only make us sink for sure,” J.B. grumbled, thumbing rounds into the S&W M-4000 shotgun and laying it aside.
“Gaia, look at them,” Krysty said, staring out the dirty window. “The engine noise must be pulling in every stickie for miles. Mebbe the whole valley.”
“Could live here,” Jak said, opening his Colt Python to check the rounds. Satisfied, he closed the cylinder with a gentle pressure so as not to damage the catch. “Wait for prey, like hellflowers and trapdoor spiders.”
“Lord, I hope not,” Mildred replied, checking the load in her own weapon. “Because that would mean it works, and they eat regularly.”
Doc began to mutter in that strange singsong manner that meant he was quoting somebody from the past. ‘”Lieutenant Broadhead, I’m only an engineer. Here to build a bridge,”‘ the old man whispered hoarsely. ‘”What do I know about Zulu warriors?'”
Finally pointed straight for the forest, Ryan scowled as he saw the stickies stop and just stand there, waiting for the bus to come to them. Was it possible that these swamp stickies were smarter than the ones in the Deathlands? They would find out any minute now.
“Here they come,” Ryan said, arms shaking as he controlled the bus.
As the vehicle sloshed into the mob, the stickies parted and didn’t attack as expected, but started to climb onto the wag, as if trying to drag it down by their sheer weight. Worst of all, it was working. The bus slowed even more, the engine temperature drastically rose and the wag sank deeper into the muck. The engine backfired again, then again, from the buildup of back pressure as the tailpipes became blocked by the quicksand.
To the people inside, the noise sounded exactly like gunshots. The stickies went crazy, hooting loudly and beating the wag with their sucker-covered hands. In a matter of seconds, the bus was coated with them, a busty female hanging off the iron grid covering the front windshield, several walking on the roof, dozens of hands beating on the sheet steel blocking the side windows, making a rumbling noise like thunder. Two muties were tugging on the right-front access door, and several more rode the back bumper, hitting the grid-covered windows and exit door. Then the glass in a window shattered, and arms were thrust into the wag, eagerly searching for prey. But the jagged shards of glass ringing the frame sliced the limbs apart, fingers and suckers raining to the floor, and the stickies fought one another to pull themselves loose, which only worsened the damage.
But with the glass gone, their calls became even louder. Mixed with the banging on the sheet metal it was deafening, and the companions couldn’t talk to one another. As if sensing defeat of some kind, the muties redoubled the attack, smashing a headlight, ripping off the wiper blades and radio antenna, and bits of decorating molding went flying away.
“They’re testing our defenses,” J.B. said, swinging the Uzi to point in every direction. The noise and the hooting masked their numbers, making the thirty sound like a hundred.
“Smart,” Doc rumbled, thumbing back the hammer on his piece.
“Simple animal instinct,” Mildred retorted. “Often, baboons do this sort of thing at zoos to tease the tourists.”
Ryan glared hatefully at the stickie clinging to the glass of his tiny ventilation window. Unable to shoot the thing on the windshield, Ryan hit the horn. The startled female dangling from the windshield dropped off and was run over by the wag. But then a furious male leaped upon the windshield to attack the man and was instantly impaled on the array of knives welded to the iron grid. The slick blades piercing every limb, the dying creature pumped out its life onto the dirty glass, effectively blocking Ryan’s vision of the trees ahead. The one-eyed warrior knew that a crash was imminent, but there was no way he was going to slow.