The arm was wizened and covered in open sores, blistered and bleeding. It had crude tattoo marks all the way up to the elbow, in some spiraling and arcane design. As Ryan pulled harder, a face appeared in the dim light of the ville’s outer reaches. It was a parody of a human face, with no chin, a formless nose and eyes that were aligned at a forty-degree angle across the forehead. The mouth was a toothless, gaping maw, opening with a dull croak that threatened to get louder with each breath.
Ryan didn’t want to risk a shot from the SIG-Sauer, alerting the chanting Sunchildren, so he drew the panga from its thigh sheath and sliced down through the night air. The momentum of the razor-sharp blade carried it deep into the skull of the mutie, driving through the softened bone of the skull and cleaving clean through to the palate.
It was just a pity that the momentum stopped before the panga blade tore into the larynx, as the mutie let out a high-pitched and piercing scream as it died. A scream that cut through even the loudness of the chanting.
The scream was followed by an eerie silence as Ryan felt the grip loosen on his boot, freeing him.
SUNCHILD, THE CHOSEN, hereditary leader of the ville, stopped in midchant, arms raised. The muties gathered at the foot of the poles, about to ignite the kindling and fire the sacrifices, looked at their leader, a questioning look spreading across their dull visages. Sunchild, raised in a stagnant genetic pool altered only by mutation, was little more than a drooling idiot, but a drooling idiot with a strong sly streak running through him, and a cold ruthlessness unhindered by any intelligence or thoughts of morality.
If there were intruders, he would add them to the sacrifice, and the gods would gorge on energy, as would his people. He turned and caught sight of a flash of white hair and red eyes burning in a pale face, a flash that was followed by the roar of a blaster and a burning sensation across his shoulder.
He screamed, and his people were suddenly galvanized from their frozen stupor, the chanting beginning again in earnest as they turned back to face the surrounding ville, blades coming to hand.
AS SOON AS the silence hit, Jak took one look at Ant and Dee.
“Something’s fucked up,” Ant whispered.
Jak nodded. “Hit fuckers fast.”
Before the sec men had a chance to register what was happening, Jak streaked forward from cover, skipping nimbly over the detritus of the ville, spread out between the shacks and tents, making for the central arena where the Sunchildren were gathered. J.B. was on his tail, moving on a path that would take him into the center. Mildred was close behind, dropping to one knee at the side of a shack and leveling her ZKR, taking aim to pick off the first mutie to move.
Doc once again took the sec men by surprise, his long thin legs taking him on a path that cut between two tents, the heavy LeMat percussion pistol ready to discharge into the throng of the multicolored enemy.
“Damn, boys, we’re gonna miss the fun,” Blake complained, taking off in pursuit. The twins exchanged glances before raising their shotguns and following.
By the time they had taken their first step, Sunchild himself had already seen Jak, and taken the slug from the Colt Python .357 in the shoulder, the grazing blow taking a chunk of bloody flesh from the top of his shoulder joint and sending him spinning as the momentum of the slug drove him around in a circle before collapsing.
“THAT’S FUCKED things,” Bodie breathed as Ryan withdrew his panga from the now chilled mutie and returned it to its sheath as he turned, raising the SIG-Sauer to the first of the muties that came toward the group, following the direction of the cry.
The roar of Jak’s blaster and the scream of Sunchild momentarily halted the onrush, and some of the muties turned, their chanting stopping.
“Now!” Harvey screamed, coming from cover. He and Downey started to fire, picking their targets and watching the muties fall as every slug hit home. Bodie, Jake and Rankine also came from cover, firing as they advanced, taking steady steps with each discharge, cutting through the muties.