Ryan and Krysty were also cutting a strong swath, each shell from the SIG-Sauer and the Smith & Wesson counting not just for one mutie down, but also for another two or three turning in panic or confusion.
On the other side of the arena, J.B. was chopping down the muties with ease, the short, controlled blasts of the Uzi taking out two or three at a time. In the confusion, he couldn’t tell whether they were chilled or merely injured, but that was unimportant. He and Jak were through to the center, where he shouldered the Uzi while Jak holstered his Python. The wounded behind them were now the responsibility of Doc, Mildred and the sec men.
The Armorer and Jak cleared away the kindling with hands and feet, working at the poles to loosen their grip in the ground, ignoring the smell and sight of the children before them.
“Dark night,” the Armorer breathed, “how the fuck did they get them in here?”
“Who cares? How get out?” Jak gasped, sinews straining as he worked at a pole.
“Jak, watch out!” was yelled from behind him. The albino whirled in time to see a purple-clad mutie, snarling with an unreasoning hatred, throw himself forward with a bayonet blade grasped in his fist. The albino stepped to one side, parrying the mutie’s arm and watching him fall.
The mutie came to his feet in a roll, ready to spring forward once more. Jak was in the process of drawing his Python when he heard a deafening roar beside him, and the mutie’s midsection dissolved into ribbons of blood, flesh, intestine and splintered bone as the grapeshot from the LeMat tore into him.
Doc lowered the blaster beside Jak. “Come, lad, let us get these poor children’s corpses unstaked.”
Jak turned. Three of the stakes were now lying flat, with Dean and J.B. both laboring on two of the remaining three while the sec men from Raw kept them covered.
There was no sign of the other group.
“Fireblast! Where are they coming from?” Ryan yelled above the roar of the chanting and of blasterfire.
“They heard us first, lover, so we’ve got the lion’s share,” Krysty replied over the clashing noise. She could see the other party freeing the stakes and holding their ground.
And as suddenly as it had started, they were through to the center themselves, with Harvey and Downey close behind.
“Where’s Dean?” Ryan yelled to the sec chief, losing sight of his son. Harvey shrugged.
Rankine was pinned down by three muties, his Lee Enfield .303 having been knocked from his grasp by a thrown rock. While Jake and Bodie were in front of him and plowed on regardless, Dean was close enough to spot the three muties descend. They were too close to Rankine for the youngster to risk a shot, so he holstered his Browning Hi-Power and flew at them. A high kick caught one at the point of his jawbone, just beneath the ear, shattering the bone and driving shards of it into his brain.
The second mutie was grabbed by the hair, his head pulled back and a straight-handed chop to the throat taking him out.
Rankine was able to deal with the third mutie himself, grasping fingers reaching the barrel of the Lee Enfield. Pulling it into his grip and grasping tighter, he swung it so that the stock crashed across the mutie’s nose, bloodying his face and throwing him backward.
“Thanks, kid,” the sandy-haired sec man puffed as he struggled upright.
“Thank me if we get out of here,” Dean returned with one eye on the surrounding crowd of muties. Some of them had started to fight one another, confusion and blood lust clouding any reason they possessed.
Rankine and Dean joined the others in the center. Dean joined Mildred in positioning one stake on their shoulders. Rankine and Jake took another, while Ant and Dee took a third.
“Form a circle, fire out when need be, and we head for the main road,” Harvey said. “I know these fuckers. Once we get out of the light, they’ll be too scared to follow.”
“Hope so,” Ryan said shortly. The odds still bothered him. As did the fact that Doc seemed to be choosing the wrong time to get distracted, staring at the painted totem.