The thought of how virulent the venom would be from such a gigantic reptile made him feel sick. The day seemed to darken and he swayed, closing his eyes.
“Don’t faint on me, Abe,” J.B. warned, pitching his voice as low as he could. “Can’t risk a shot at it from here. Got to move around or wait until it moves.”
The cottonmouth was becoming uneasy. The mangled remains of the burro, one bloodied eye staring up at the sun, were completely forgotten. Another layer curled about Abe’s legs, squeezing more tightly. The head of the enormous snake was sliding toward him, the incurious little eyes staring blankly at its prey. The hissing grew louder.
Abe felt utterly frozen, as if he had been soaked in a deep dark pool of Sierra meltwater. It was only with the greatest effort of will that he managed to stay upright.
Out of the corner of his eye he could just make out the blurred shape of the Armorer, sunshine flashing off his glasses, sidling around to the left, lower on the slope, the scattergun held at his waist.
Now the snake was rearing up, holding itself erect, so that its swaying head was almost at the same height as Abe’s face. The mouth was less than a yard away, and he could taste the carrion corruption of the creature’s cool breath.
“Can you move your feet at all, Abe?”
He was too petrified to answer, contenting himself with the slightest movement of his head, from side to side, hoping that J.B. had spotted it.
“All right. When I say to move, then I want you to try and throw yourself onto your back. Only chance I’ll have of a good clear shot at it without taking your head off as well. Just sort of nod if you understand me.”
Abe nodded. To his mounting horror he realized that the mutie cottonmouth was actually hypnotizing him, the rhythmic movement of its head and upper body making him feel utterly helpless, lulling him, so that he no longer felt too worried about being killed by it. The snake was also aware of J.B.’s slow, cautious flanking movement, its eyes following him.
It made a feinting lunge toward the Armorer, causing him to react instinctively, stumbling away, boots slipping in the muddied grass. Abe realized that if J.B. hadn’t managed to recover himself, he could easily have tumbled five hundred feet down the steep wall of the canyon.
“Dark night!” J.B. nearly dropped the Smith amp; Wesson M-4000 in the dirt, the Uzi dangling from its shoulder strap.
Abe became aware that he’d been holding his breath for so long he was in danger of passing out. He sucked in some of the moist air, tasting the closeness of the great snake. Its patterned scales were rustling around his legs as it moved still closer to him.
“Ready, Abe. Any minute.”
Now the Armorer had worked his way around so that he was almost directly behind the mutie creature, bringing the scattergun to his shoulder and bracing himself in the soft ground. If J.B. pulled the trigger before Abe had thrown himself flat, then the murderous little flechettes would rip his head off his shoulders.
The cottonmouth was becoming more and more agitated. Its shovel-shaped skull swayed faster and faster, eyes blinking, its forked tongue darting in and out more quickly. Its jaws gaped open only inches from Abe’s face, and he could see the tiny translucent pearls of poison clinging to the tip of each of the two large, hooked teeth.
“Now, Abe!” The sudden shout made him start, jerking him from the submissive paralysis.
The tight coils of the snake, wrapped around his ankles, made any sort of movement difficult. But Abe managed it, throwing himself clumsily backward, breaking his fall with his hands.
His vision was filled with the great head of the cottonmouth, looming over him, striking down toward his face.
The thunderous boom of J.B.’s powerful shotgun echoed across the wide canyon.
Abe closed his eyes, arms raised in a futile attempt to deflect the attack. There was a sudden spray of warm liquid, and he screamed as the muscular coils about his lower legs contracted with unbelievable force.