and as he did so he felt the cords at his wrist tear and snap. He wrenched his
arms around, pain blazing up from his wrists, and caught Strasser’s open coat,
clutched it, heaved, the panic and terror that was flooding through his system
at the thought of that insect more than enough to send the gaunt man crashing
into Kelber’s legs. Kelber disappeared from view and Ryan smashed a fist into
Strasser’s gut, deep, powering it in, before pulling himself away and staggering
to his feet. Only a grab away from him, a handgun lay in the mud. As he reached
for it and held it, the thought flared through his brain that there was probably
mud up the blasted barrel, but he was past caring.
He swiveled, firing at Strasser as he swung, and Strasser was flung back,
winged, the bullet skinning one shoulder. He hit the mud, slid, scrabbled
sideways on his knees and one arm like some ungainly spider that had lost some
of its legs. He was soaked to the skin, filthy with mud. His teeth were bared,
his eyes blazing with hate and fury at what he’d lost.
Ryan advanced two steps, the automatic in his right hand, his body aching and
his head throbbing. His teeth, too, were bared, but in a terrible grin of
triumph.
Strasser croaked, “Bastard! All that hardware! You must be insane!”
“Just wary of crazies like you, Strasser,” Ryan said, his voice icy. “There are
self-destruct mechanisms throughout the fleet. In every truck and land wag and
buggy, automatically running if a switch is not thrown every hour, or as soon as
a vehicle is safety locked from the inside on a four-hour fuse. If there’s no
one there to throw that switch—or if there is, but they’re all dead—bang!”
He was aware of Kelber close to him on his left. He seemed to be having
difficulty getting up, or so it appeared. He was on his knees, both hands to his
throat, making ghastly gobbling noises. One hand went out to Strasser. It looked
as though he was pleading, begging Strasser for mercy. His eyes were almost
popping out of his head and Ryan could see the whites of them clearly.
The beetle, he thought—what the hell happened to the beetle when I banged
Strasser into him?
And then he laughed out loud, a harsh and chilling sound even to him. So perish
the wicked, he thought.
“Your friend. I think he swallowed the beetle.”
Kelber, still on his knees, scrambled toward Strasser, pleading, imploring. Ryan
couldn’t imagine why—Kelber ought to know by now there was no help there, no
pity in the gaunt man—but he could imagine those tusklike mandibles sinking into
gullet flesh so determinedly that no amount of hawking and gagging would clear
the filthy little bastard out. The hell with the pair of them, he thought, and
fired at Strasser.
No sound but a metallic click.
No round.
He realized it was Strasser’s gun and the eight-clip had been all used up. He
hurled the weapon at Strasser, and the heavy automatic struck the gaunt man full
in the mouth. Strasser squealed, fell back, spitting blood and bits of tooth.
Ryan made to jump for him but Strasser was back on his feet again, sprinting
away, clutching his shoulder, his long legs stabbing at the ground, boots
splashing into puddles.
At that moment Kelber gave forth a high-pitched bubbling wail of pain and terror
and stark, beyond-the-last-ditch horror. He pitched sideways, still screaming,
and Ryan saw black blood welling up out of his mouth like dark chocolate. Kelber
lay on his back, his body twisting and writhing, his legs kicking in the air.
His screams died sloppily as he began to drown in his own blood.
Ryan flung himself around and jumped for the short ladder to the door, knowing
that the seconds were clicking away, nearer and nearer to a total wipeout. He
wrenched open the door and fell inside. There was a faint and musty smell to the
interior. He felt a prickling at the back of his throat, but nothing more. He
yanked the door shut, on personal full-auto now, sheer survival the only