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Then his knees went, and he folded up on the floor.
Ryan wasn't listening or looking.
Knowing that it had been a perfect killing shot, he was concentrating now on taking out the two
teenagers, neither of whom had yet managed to draw his blaster.
Carl was moving in behind one of them, reaching out to grab at the boy.
"Leave him and get down!" Ryan yelled, leveling the SIG-Sauer. He shot the lad through the side of the
head, the powerful full-metal-jacket round bursting the skull like a ripe melon, showering walls, ceiling
and customers with a thick gray-pink grue of brains, bone and blood.
The other youth had just recovered his balance, his right hand snatching desperately at the butt of his
pistol. His gaze was fixed on Ryan's face, reading his own doom there.
"Don't." was all he managed to say. Then the 9 mm bullet hit him through the mouth, smashing teeth and
ripping his tongue to flapping rags of bloodied flesh, burying itself in the core of his brain.
In less than six seconds, all three men lay dead on the restaurant floor.
"It's over!" Ryan shouted at the top of his voice, overriding the panic. "Hold it, folks. The chilling's done."
Gradually the hubbub abated, the customers who remained standing still, their faces white with shock,
many of them dappled with blood. The wounded man had fallen to his knees, crying quietly, tears
streaming down his chubby cheeks.
"You took them all," Carl said, breaking the silence.
"Had to. They were going to take me."
"Sure," Carl agreed, nodding like a porcelain Buddha. "We all saw that. I tried to"
Ryan holstered the automatic. "I know you did. And I truly appreciate it. Just sorry for all the mess in
here."
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Carl waved his hands. "Don't worry. Soon get it cleaned. And folks'll come packing in once word gets
around."
"Best settle my check."
Carl managed a smile. "Don't mention it, brother. This one's on the house."
KRYSTY HURLED HERSELF sideways, diving behind a padded armchair, shielding her face from the
explosion of shattered glass.
The picture window had been reinforced, but it wasn't designed to withstand an impact like the huge
mutie timber wolf.
The noise of the crash was deafening, and was accompanied by a rush of freezing air from outside. Krysty
was aware of her own voice, screaming out to the others, and Jak also yelling to J.B., Mildred and Doc to
come running.
She couldn't help being aware of the snarling of the pack leader, its breath frosting in the air, and the
howling of the rest of the animals as they readied themselves to follow. Krysty also noticed the rank smell
from the wolf, harsh and feral.
She had no idea where her blaster was, guessing that it had to be on the floor close to the sofa.
The room wasn't that dark, with the bright light of the burning logs, and Krysty pulled herself to hands
and knees, the breath locked in her throat with the terror of the massive brindled animal, standing only a
yard from her. Its shoulders and coat were patterned with blood, and shards of glass continuously dropped
to the carpet from its heaving flanks. Its eyes were like saucers of molten gold, burning into her.
Her only hope was that Jak would be able to get at his own .357 Colt Python. His throwing knives would
be of little use against an animal with such a thick pelt.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that the window had been smashed apart, leaving a gaping hole at its
center, with cracks running from top to bottom and from corner to corner. Even as she watched, a second
wolf braved the gap and landed clumsily in the room, its paws slipping on a loose Navaho rug so that the
creature fell against the piano.
Despite her fear, Krysty drew together the rags of her Earth Mother training, remembering about panic
and about facing wild animals.
She stood suddenly, spreading her arms, her eyes never leaving the yellow orbs of the wolf. "You better
leave me alone, you dumb fuck!" she said firmly.
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Mother Sonja had told her that a positive response would chase away some animals and slow any attack
from the rest. That was what she'd said, but Krysty had never tried it on anything like a giant timber wolf.
For a few heartbeats it hesitated, as though its murderous brain couldn't encompass such a helpless
creature trying to stand against it.
During that brief stasis, a third and fourth wolf crashed into the room, all of them standing and looking at
the woman and the white-haired man. Their eyes turned to the pack leader, as if they were waiting for
instructions.
Jak had reached for his blaster, holding it in both hands, trying to decide what was his primary target. The
pair of wolves that were menacing him, or the huge leader that threatened Krysty?
For several more racing beats of the heart, nothing moved in the warm room.
"Going to charge me, Jak," Krysty whispered, seeing the way the wolf was crouching, its powerful
hindquarters quivering with suppressed tension, its eyes still fixed on her face. A thread of saliva dripped
from its fangs.
The albino leveled the blaster and squeezed the trigger, the explosion releasing all the coiled, pent-up
action.
Though Jak was probably the finest knife man in all of Deathlands, he would have been the first to admit
that he wasn't in the top ranks of shootists. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]