the harridan was too busy laughing at her success. She shouted to Quint, “Done
the green bitch, Keeper! Done the…”
Ryan held the stamped steel pistol in his right hand, steadying his aim with his
left. Engraved along the top of the barrel in tiny italic script were the words,
Schweizerische Industrie-Gesellschaft, J.P. Sauer & Sohn, Eckenforde.
He aligned the leaf front sight with the vee of the back, centering it on the
crowing old woman. He squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession.
Blood appeared among the tatters of leather that hung about Rachel’s body. Her
cap with its tawdry glass beads went flying from her matted gray hair, rattling
in a corner of the room. Her arms flung out as though she was trying to stop a
runaway horse, and she took three tottering steps backward. She sat on a bed
behind her, then rolled onto her side and remained still.
Kicking on the floor, hands to her face, Lori was screaming on a single
monotonous note that grated at the nerves. J.B. and Hennings had both got hold
of their guns and were opening up on Quint, keeping the malevolent old man
cowering behind his makeshift metal barricade. Finnegan had also got hold of his
blaster, and Okie had managed to reach her own bed, taking up the M-16A1
carbine.
There was no sign of Doc at all.
Hunaker was moaning only five paces from where Ryan crouched, his warm pistol in
his hand, awaiting a chance to waste the Keeper. A lake of blood was spreading
slowly from beneath the girl, seeping over the floor.
There was a momentary lull in the fighting. On the television, a kitten appeared
for a moment, in a surreal flash from a century back. Hun’s headphones still
poured out the thin sound of a song about a dock on a bay.
“Ryan.” Her voice was the faintest whisper.
“What is it?”
“I’m done, Ryan.”
At least four bullets had hit her, dead center in her chest, and Ryan knew it.
It would be absurd and dishonest to pretend she would be okay.
“Are you in pain?”
“Not bad. Numb. Mebbe I’ll be gone ‘fore it fuckin’ starts.”
“Could be.”
Another burst of fire from the others ripped into the lockers and walls around
Quint. There was no reply at all.
“Ryan, think you’ll ever get to see Sukie again?” asked Hun.
It was a moment before he figured out who she was talking about. Then he
remembered. Sukie was the pretty little girl who’d joined War Wag One from War
Wag Three just before the shambles of Mocsin. He recalled that Hun had been
paying some attention to her.
“If I see her, Hun, I’ll tell her. Take it easy, now.”
Hunaker was wearing her new black satin blouse with green leaves embroidered on
it. The blood didn’t show on it at all.
“Don’t shoot no more. Keeper says to put up the blasters. Keeper says he’ll
yield.”
Ryan Cawdor stayed where he was, shouting to the old man, “Gun first, Quint.
Then you, hands high as you can get ’em.”
Nothing happened for some seconds. Then: “Keeper says how can he trust you?”
“Do it. You have my word nobody’ll ice you. But throw out the gun first.”
There was a tiny sound from Hunaker, and Ryan looked back to where she was
huddled.
“Hun? Hun, can you hear me?”
There was an unmistakable stillness to the green-headed girl, and Ryan knew she
was gone.
Krysty was close behind him. “Dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t like to think of her dyin’ like that, kind of on her own.”
Ryan looked around and saw there were tears glistening at the corners of the
girl’s eyes. “We all have to, you know.”
“You swear you won’t hurt Keeper? You done for poor, sweet Rachel and little
Lori.”
“That murderous old slut blasted the kid,” shouted Henn.
“Didn’t have to chill Rachel.”
“Come out, old man,” yelled Ryan, the pistol rock steady in his right fist.
“Swear I’m safe.”
“You’re safe, Quint. Come on, before we come and gun you out of there.”
Now they were all standing, all pointing their blasters at where Quint was