Chapter Thirty-Five

 

 

Krysty staggered sideways and fell over as Carl pushed out at her with his left hand, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a feral snarl of anger.

 

Her hand was reaching for her blaster, ready to try to take him out when she suddenly realized what was happening.

 

The last two stickies from the gang of killers had escaped from their safehouse and had been hiding in the shrubbery behind her, waiting their chance to strike.

 

Carl had stopped them just as they were emerging at Krysty's back, their suckered hands reaching for her.

 

The lead mutie was grappling with Carl, while his skinny partner was groping toward Krysty, lying helpless on her back in the middle of the overgrown path. There was a hideous smile of triumph on its suppurating face.

 

The fight was short.

 

Carl managed to swing the heavy hammer at his adversary, breaking its upper arm as if it were a dry branch. The stickle squealed and lurched clumsily away from him, the limb dangling helplessly. Belying his bulk, Carl was after it, striking again, this time the blow glancing off the hairless skull and snapping the right shoulder.

 

"You dirty fuck!" Carl panted, swinging again and again, aiming at the stickie's head. Krysty heard the noise, like a thick bowl of soup being crushed, and the creature went down, blood seeping from its open mouth.

 

But the second attacker wasn't done. He had drawn a straight razor from under the ragged shirt and flourished it at Krysty, missing her face by a scant couple of inches. She felt the whisper of its passing and smelted the exhalation of rancid breath from the threatening mutie.

 

"Got your friend, now I'll get you!" Carl roared at the top of his voice, stepping toward the stickie with the clubbing hammer raised.

 

In his newfound pride, Carl failed to look where he was setting his foot and he stepped into the oozing trickle of blood from the dying stickie, his boots slipping, throwing him off-balance for a moment.

 

"No" Krysty breathed, seeing the horror before it had happened.

 

The surviving stickie gave a high-pitched cackle of laughter and swung the razor at the man, catching him across the front of the neck, the steel cutting deep into the flesh, slicing through the sinews, veins and arteries, so that Carl's head drooped forward and blood jetted out, vivid scarlet, into the bright early sunlight.

 

He staggered and made a last effort to strike at the gloating mutie, but the shock to his system was too great and he dropped the hammer with a thunk on the path.

 

"Die easy" the mutie hissed, turning away from the doomed man toward the woman.

 

Krysty had her Smith amp; Wesson half out of its holster, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from her dying friend. Carl had dropped to his knees, hands clutching at the gaping white-lipped wound, trying hopelessly to stanch the torrent of blood. His eyes were turned to Krysty, and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

 

The stickie stood over Krysty, his thin cotton pants showing an obvious erection at the thrill of chilling, his gray tongue flicking out like a reptile's to lick withered, sore-crusted lips. The watery eyes were flooded with hatred and lust.

 

Krysty dragged at the butt of the short-barreled blaster, knowing with a sick certainty that she was too slow and her race was well run.

 

The razor angled toward her face, and she had the gun clear.

 

There was the sound of a shot, and a neat black hole appeared in the chest of the mutie, a little to the left of center. A spray of blood erupted from the creature's back.

 

He took two teetering steps away from her, still clutching the razor, face puzzled. "Blaster didn't shoot" he said, tripping over the corpse of his colleague, and sat down in the path. He waved the razor a couple of times and then simply died, still sitting upright, head dropping onto his breast.

 

Krysty struggled to her feet, seeing Ryan standing motionless, a hundred yards away, the Steyr hunting rifle still held to his shoulder. The others were grouped around him.

 

Krysty closed her eyes for a moment, muttering thanks to Gaia that they'd all made it through again.

 

"Krysty" The voice was no louder than a breath of sea fog against a stone wall.

 

The relief at being saved, and seeing Ryan and the others alive and well, had momentarily taken her mind from poor Carl.

 

Death was close, its shadowy cloak poised above the bulky figure.

 

Krysty dropped to her knees, lifting his head into her lap, ignoring the blood that had slowed to a trickle. The light of life in his eyes was fading, and he tried to lick his dry lips, struggling to speak.

 

"You saved my life," she said, feeling tears pricking at the back of her eyes, a part of her childhood dying in her arms. "I'll never forget you, Carl." She kissed him on the forehead.

 

His efforts to speak were futile, but he managed a final half smile before life rushed from him.

 

As Ryan and the others came to join her, Krysty laid him gently to the earth and stood.

 

"Over," she said. "All over, and we can go."