body.
The creature used its purchase on his leg to haul itself from underneath the
sole of his foot, clinging on its own injured agony to try to inflict damage
with its dying breath.
The elongated jaws opened, the sharp teeth poised as it moved its head back to
get a good, firm, darting bite at his leg. J.B. regained enough awareness
through the red mist of pain to drop the barrel of the Uzi even farther, until
it was parallel to his leg. He put the snubbed, open end of the barrel against
the creature as the head darted in.
The mutie squirrel sunk its teeth into J.B.’s leg the same instant that he
fired. He’d had enough presence of mind, through the pain mists, to switch to
single shot.
At such close range, he felt the heat of the blaster burn into his leg,
scorching the material of his pants. Not that it was any worse than the pain he
was feeling through the wounds inflicted by the squirrel. If anything, the pain
there was so immense that he felt he would black out at any moment: It was so
intense that his leg was beginning to numb, overloaded with agony.
There was little left of the creature as the slug tore its body to bloodied
shreds. The remnants of the corpse were scattered around the Armorer’s feet as
it splattered onto the ground. Most of the skull had also disappeared in the
blast, only the snout remaining. One eyeball— miraculously undamaged—hung loose
on a tendon. The teeth, firmly embedded in J.B.’s leg, were all that kept it
anchored in place.
“John!” Mildred shouted, her attention drawn momentarily from the attacking
hordes by the action beside her.
She stepped closer to him in a sideways motion, keeping her ZKR trained to pick
off any of the creatures that decided to attack. Eyes still scanning the brush
on both sides, she crouched to where J.B. had fallen. He was sitting upright,
cradling the Uzi with one hand trying to pick the snout from his leg, a glassy
stare coming into his eyes.
Mildred glanced at the wound and winced. “Leave it, John,” she said sharply,
hoping to get through the mist of shock that was fogging his perception. He
stared at her, blankness falling like a curtain over his gaze.
“Leave it,” she repeated, gently pushing his hand away from the wound. “Let me
look at it in a moment,” she said softly.
“Uh-huh,” J.B. replied vaguely.
“How bad is it?” Krysty yelled, casting one eye toward Mildred and J.B. while
she kept vigilance on the brush.
“Hard to tell,” Mildred answered, moving slightly away from J.B. in order to
keep her area of brush covered. “I need to get a good look at it. It’s the leg
he already damaged, and those mother teeth will probably infect the wound.” She
cursed Wallace and his military lunatics, who had removed most of the medical
supplies from her many coat pockets. But they were slack. Maybe she still had
something in there. If not, J.B. was in for a rough ride.
The waves of attacking squirrels had slowly decreased.
“Know we winning,” Jak said to no one in particular as he wiped the blood from
his knives to stop them slipping in his grip.
“Seems to me those little bastards knew our weak links and concentrated on
them,” Ryan commented, taking the opportunity to reload his SIG-Sauer.
“Hell, Dad, all animals know when they’re beat,” Dean said wearily, checking his
Browning. “Just some of us don’t give up.”
Ryan suppressed a laugh. Sometimes he could see so much of himself in Dean that
it was like having a mirror. “More than that, son,” he said, returning to the
subject. “It’s like they knew who was faring best against them, and somehow
targeted the others.”
“If Doc was here, he’d give us a rambling lecture about psi powers against
natural instinct and observation,” Krysty commented wryly as she joined Mildred
at J.B.’s side. “How is it?” she asked, switching her attention to the concerned
woman.
“Not so good,” Mildred answered curtly. “It was bad enough with his twisted or
sprained ankle,” she continued, indicating the way that the Armorer’s flesh was