The shot that rang out in the air was deafening in the enclosed space of the locked room. Ryan’s ears rang, and the smell of cordite filled his nostrils. The slug from Harvey’s Colt Magnum Carry blaster was a .357, powerful despite the snubbed barrel. At such short range—and the sec chief was only a few yards from the mutie leader’s head—the power and destruction of the shot was awesome. Sunchild’s head seemed to explode like an overripe melon, his skull splintered by the explosive power that erupted as the bullet entered through his left eye and pulped his brain, the displacement at such velocity carrying an incredible motive power. The exit wound was so large as to take the back of his skull from off of his vertebrae, the gray tissue of his brain and the red of his blood forming a fine mist that sprayed out across the room, splattering Downey, Blake and Jak, who were behind and on either side of the seated mutie.
One second it seemed to Ryan and Doc that Sunchild was looking at them, his eyes strangely clear and lucid, his mouth formed into a word, about to speak. The next his head was nothing more than a blur of bone, flesh and gore, spreading out like a geyser.
“Fireblast! What the hell was that for, you triple-stupe son of a pox-ridden gaudy?” Ryan yelled, rounding on the sec chief.
“Don’t push it, Cyclops,” Harvey answered in a calm voice betrayed by only the slightest tremble. “Damned fool was spreadin’ shit, demoralizing my men. Can’t have that. Right, boys?” He looked to Downey and Blake, who were wiping themselves off as best as possible.
Like Ryan, Doc and Jak, they were only too well aware that Harvey was the man with the unholstered blaster. Nonetheless, they didn’t sound too convinced.
“Sure,” Blake said hesitantly.
“Whatever you say, Harv,” Downey added, his face betraying a confusion at his chiefs action. There was a moment’s awkward silence before Doc spoke.
“Well, my dear sir. I shall be most interested to hear you repeat that explanation to your baron…”
JENNA HAD BEEN standing, railing at Dean, when she went into convulsions.
He craned his head as much as possible, straining against his bonds, and could see that she was frothing at the mouth, moaning softly with the whites of her eyes showing.
Straining his muscles as much as possible, Dean was torn between hoping she was somehow dying, and hoping that she would recover. The latter because he would be trapped, with only Harvey knowing where he was. He didn’t want to be left here defenseless with the sec chief, as Harvey had no reason— unlike Jenna—to keep him alive.
He pulled at every restraint and one at his wrist loosened.
As he worked to free his hand, Dean had to be careful. Jenna may come around at any moment, and he may have to cover his actions. There was a good chance that she wouldn’t spot his deception unless she checked carefully, as the loosened restraint was on the opposite side of the bench to that on which she had fallen. Unfortunately for Dean, this just made it harder for him to loosen the leather restraint and also crane his head in the opposite direction and take in Jenna’s condition.
The tendons on his neck stood out, the sinews strained and popped, but the youngster kept his head toward the prone woman, watching for the barest movement that would suggest a return to consciousness. All the time, he worked his wrist, until the leather was loose enough for him to slip his wrist right out. Carefully, and with an infinite caution, he brought his free hand over to work at the restraint on the other wrist.
Jenna moaned softly, the timbre of her voice changing as she slipped back into the everyday world.
Dean’s heart raced, rising to his mouth. He thought he might vomit, such was the rush of adrenalined surprise at her voice. Yet, acting on an instinct already honed in dangerous situations, he moved with an ease and grace that surprised himself. His arm moved back across his body to its former position, his hand slipping back into the restraint and assuming a pose of being tightly bound. His head snapped back on his neck so that he was looking up at the ceiling. To all intents and purposes, he seemed to have moved not a muscle since Jenna had had her fit.