This isn’t so hard, Geronimo thought. Like shooting ducks on a pond from a blind.
A third red ant started to climb over the dead duo.
Geronimo sighted and fired, the recoil slamming the Marlin’s heavy stock into his shoulder.
The third ant reared and snapped at the ceiling.
Geronimo reloaded, keeping his eyes fixed on the ant.
The third ant was struggling to press past its fallen comrades.
Geronimo shot again, aiming above the insect’s left eye.
The ant abruptly collapsed onto the deceased pair, kicking spasmodically.
No time to lose!
Geronimo ejected the spent round and replaced it. He couldn’t afford to be caught empty when the big rush came.
What was going on now?
There was a bustle of activity immediately to the rear of the three dead ants.
Were they trying to extract the bodies from the corridor?
Geronimo leaned forward, puzzled. Was it his imagination, or were those dead ants moving? They were! They were actually creeping toward him! But how?
The ants must be pushing from the other side, using their former mates as a shield, protecting themselves from the rifle.
Was it possible?
Were ants that smart?
The bodies were about twelve yards away and slowly inching nearer.
The live soldier ants were making an incredible racket.
What should he do? There weren’t any clear targets yet, and he refused to waste a bullet. All he could do was wait, the sweat pouring from his pores, and strive to calm his nerves.
The makeshift barricade was ten yards away.
Had Kilrane and Cynthia made it yet? Geronimo wanted to take a peek, but the glance could prove fatal.
Eight yards.
Geronimo sighted on a head visible above the pile of bodies and fired.
His shot was rewarded with a piercing squeal and the head vanished from view.
Six yards.
Geronimo’s fingers flew as he replaced the round. It wouldn’t be long before the ants made their bid.
The tunnel suddenly went quiet.
Geronimo shifted to his left knee. Where were they? What were they up to?
Something chattered and the prone body on top of the pile was hastily hauled backward, out of sight. Another ant, a live one, quickly filled the gap, scrambling over the dead pair still blocking the tunnel.
Geronimo let him have two shots in the forehead, delighted when the ant froze and slumped on top of the other dead forms.
So far, so good!
Geronimo could see ants moving behind the dead ones blocking the tunnel.
What were they up to now?
A spray of dust settled around Geronimo’s shoulders and he coughed, clearing his dry throat. Kilrane and Cynthia had probably dislodged some dirt near the top of the pit.
The ants congregated on the other side of the bodies suddenly started making a veritable din.
They’re up to something, Geronimo told himself.
More dust fell from above, covering Geronimo’s shoulders.
What were they trying to do, bury him alive?
The ants still in the tunnel sounded like they were throwing the party of the millennium.
A third deluge of dirt and dust descended on Geronimo and caked his clothes with a fine reddish film.
What in the world were they doing? Didn’t they see him at the bottom of the pit?
Geronimo risked a quick glance overhead, intending to discover the culprit.
And he did.
But it wasn’t Kilrane or Cynthia.
It was an ant, its head poking through the pit wall halfway between Geronimo and the top of the crater, just to his right.
Geronimo wheeled, raising the Marlin, realizing he’d been outflanked, outmaneuvered by the crafty devils! They’d dug a new tunnel, circumventing the bodies, bypassing the deceased ants and emerging from the pit wall.
Behind him, there was renewed commotion as the ants tore into the bodies, working frantically to force an exit.
He was trapped!
Ants behind him and ants in front of him!
They had him right where they wanted him.
It looked like he’d never get to see Hickok’s ugly white puss again.
Geronimo aimed the rifle, prepared to acquit himself honorably. He saw Kilrane and Cynthia, to his left, near the top.
The ant above him finally detected its prey and shrieked in triumph.
Chapter Sixteen
Blade whipped his Bowies from their sheaths as the blue G.R.D. charged him. The scaly skin, the fiery red eyes, and the unruly black hair presented a disconcerting aspect, enhanced by the creature’s maniacal countenance. Its bulk alone was intimidating, and Blade knew if he was caught in those massive arms he’d be crushed to a pulp as easily as he could squash a moldy mushroom.
He wasn’t about to give the thing the opportunity.
The blue monster lunged at Blade with outstretched hands, its tapered teeth white in the morning sun.
Blade ducked under the G.R.D.’s arms and pivoted, driving his left Bowie up and in, feeling the point penetrate the chest of his opponent. The Bowie was buried to the hilt before the thing could arrest its momentum, and it savagely wrenched the knife from Blade’s grasp as it spun, clipping the Warrior’s head with the back of its left hand.
Staggered by the glancing blow, Blade stumbled for a few feet, then recovered. He saw Gremlin and the one called Ferret grappling on the grass and Sherry standing nearby with her mouth open in astonishment.
Big help she was!
The blue creature was glaring at Blade, ignoring the knife in its chest, its bony fingers clenched into claws.
“Ox want you bad,” the G.R.D. hissed. “You hurt Ox!”
“So your name’s Ox?” Blade rejoined, grinning. “The Doktor obviously didn’t name you for your brains!”
Ox, livid at the slur, roared and leaped, hurtling through the air and striking Blade around the mid-section, bearing him to the ground.
Blade stabbed Ox’s back as he fell, three times in rapid succession, planting the second knife between Ox’s shoulder blades. His breath was caught short as they crashed on the grass, Ox on top, the thing’s forehead in his stomach.
Ox gripped the second Bowie in his right hand and tore it free of Blade’s grip. “See how you do without little pin,” he sarcastically cracked, tossing the knife aside.
Blade surged against the G.R.D.’s heavier mass, striving to flip the thing over.
Ox, straddling the Warrior, laughed. “Try again, puny man! You can’t hurt Ox!”
Blade, twisting and thrashing, spotted Gremlin and Ferret still locked in combat. Ferret appeared to have the upper hand. It looked as though Gremlin had tripped over a log, and Ferret was on top, flailing away with all his strength.
Sherry suddenly recovered her voice. She faced the cabins, cupped her hands to her mouth, and stretched her vocal chords to the limit.
“Hhhheeeellllpppp!”
Ox glanced up, distracted.
“Shut her up!” Ferret barked, still pummeling Gremlin.
Sherry took a few steps toward the cabins.
“Hhhhheeeellllpppp! Help us! Over here! Hurry!”
“Damn it!” Ferret fumed. “Shut her up now!”
Ox immediately obeyed, forgetting Blade, hastily standing and running at Sherry.
Blade rolled to his feet. “Sherry! Look out!”
She heard him and turned, her initial panic gone, replaced by grim determination.
Blade ran toward them, fearing for her life. She was unarmed, untrained, and the G.R.D. outweighed her by a good three hundred pounds. What could she possibly do against the hulking deviate?
Sherry was in motion, racing toward Ox instead of in the other direction.
The G.R.D. slowed, perplexed by this unexpected development, its dull wit encumbering its exceptional reflexes.