She slowed and started to turn.
The Pythons flashed up and out, and Hickok squeezed both triggers simultaneously. The shots bored into the creature’s head, tearing through two of its eight eyes, and the mutation recoiled, scrambling upwards.
Three feet from the hole, Melanie halted and gaped at the ceiling, her fear rooting her in place, the Henry clutched in her hands.
Hickok launched himself into motion, hurtling the intervening distance and leaping, his arms outspread, catching Melanie from the rear. His arms looped about her waist, his momentum carrying her forward. The passed under the hole and came down hard. Hickok released her and rolled to his knees.
Not a moment too soon.
The spider had dropped to the floor, missing them by a fraction as it descended, and now it came after them, its mouth opening and closing.
The gunfighter sent four quick rounds into the arachnid’s head and it collapsed. “Out the door!” he barked, pushing erect.
Melanie, on her hands and knees, the rifle lying at her side, went to rise.
A second spider came through the hole in a prodigious bound, angling its repulsive form at Melanie. The mutation landed in front of its dead fellow and darted at its prey.
A terrified screech burst from Melanie’s lips when the spider’s mouth closed on her left leg, its fangs lancing into her flesh.
Hickok stepped to her aid. He glimpsed another spider suspended in the cavity, about to leap, and he swiveled and fired three times. The arachnid shuddered and retreated from view.
“Oh, God!” Melanie shrieked as she felt herself being pulled backwards.
The gunfighter reached her in a bound, holstering the Colts in a fluid motion and stooping to retrieve the Carbine by the barrel. He moved in close, swinging the Henry like a club, slamming the stock into the spider’s eyes. Once. Twice. Three times, and finally the monstrosity let go of Melanie’s leg and rotated, lunging at Hickok. He backpedaled frantically, reversing his grip on the Henry, and levered a fresh round into the chamber. Those glistening, dripping fangs were an inch from his legs when he squeezed the trigger, the rifle recoiling into his shoulder as the heavy slug tore through the arachnid and it stopped dead.
Melanie was holding her left leg and sobbing.
“Quit goofin’ off,” Hickok snapped, seizing her under the right arm and hauling her up.
“My leg!” she cried.
“Move!” Hickok commanded, supporting her as they made for the entrance. He heard a heavy body alight on the floor with a pronounced thump, but he didn’t look back. In two seconds they were at the door. He gripped the knob and twisted, praying the door wasn’t locked.
“They’re almost on us!” Melanie yelled.
Hickok shoved and the door flew wide. He snatched Melanie’s arm and propelled her through the doorway. Right on her heels, he bounded out and flung the door shut. She stumbled and went down on her knees, and he whirled to face the glass door.
A spider’s hideous visage peered at them.
If the arachnids came through that door, they were done for. Hickok knew Melanie couldn’t travel very fast with her injury, and he resolved to stick by her until the end. He waited, scarcely breathing, while the spider eyed them.
“Save yourself,” Melanie said, lying on her back with her left leg clasped to her chest. “I can’t run.”
Hickok said nothing. He stared at the mutation, prepared to fire, every nerve on edge. A tense, awful minute elapsed. Suddenly the spider turned and shuffled off.
A sigh of profound relief escaped Melanie’s lips.
The Warrior waited another minute, wanting to be sure, his gaze glued to the glass door. Except for the bodies of the two mutations he’d slain, the corridor was deserted. Satisfied the arachnids wouldn’t venture outdoors, he stepped to Melanie and knelt by her side.
“Thanks for saving my life,” she said sincerely.
“I didn’t want you to give one of those varmints indigestion,” Hickok remarked.
Melanie mustered a feeble grin.
“How’s the leg?”
“It hurts like hell.”
“Let me see,” Hickok said, leaning over to inspect the wound. The spider had bitten her halfway between the knee and the ankle, its fangs penetrating her calf. Her brown pants had been torn, and there were two neat holes almost an inch in diameter in her flesh. Blood flowed from the bite and dripped down her leg. “Do you know what kind of spiders they were?”
“Big ones.”
“No. Do you know if they’re—” Hickok caught himself.
“Poisonous?” Melanie said, finishing for him.
“Yeah.”
“Nope.”
“Blast!” Hickok snapped. “Well, it’s a cinch we can’t stay here. We’ve got to find some water so I can clean the bites. And I’ll have to cauterize those holes.”
“Do what?”
“Poke a hot iron or stick into those bites,” Hickok explained.
“Over my dead body,” Melanie said.
“It’s the only way to kill any infection.”
“I’m in enough pain.”
“Would you rather be dead?”
She pursed her mouth, holding her left ankle tightly, and shook her head.
“All right. Let’s go,” Hickok said, and slipped his right hand under her left arm.
“You’re not going anywhere!”
The cold words, bellowed brusquely from close at hand, caused the Warrior and the woman to pivot to the north.
“Uh-oh,” Melanie said softly.
There were three of them, all attired in shabby clothes, all leering triumphantly. The heaviest wore a torn black leather jacket and jeans, and in his hands, trained on Hickok, was a Mossberg Model 1500 bolt-action rifle. To his right walked a thin man who sported a Mohawk and carried a Ruger Number Three Carbine. On the other side was a short man armed with a crossbow, a quiver on his back.
“Friends of yours?” Hickok asked.
“No way. They’re Stompers.”
The trio halted ten feet away, and the man in the leather jacket chuckled as he took a bead on the gunman’s forehead. “Shut your faces, turkeys! And drop the hardware!”
With his right hand supporting Melanie and his left holding the Henry by the blued barrel, Hickok knew there was no way he could clear his holsters before they fired. He frowned and slowly lowered the Carbine to the sidewalk.
“Now the fancy handguns,” Leather Jacket said.
Hickok slid his right hand from under Melanie’s arm and reached for the Pythons.
“Not so fast, friend!” Leather Jacket snapped. “Take your time. Use your thumb and one finger.”
The Warrior complied, setting the Colts gently on the concrete.
“Good,” declared Leather Jacket, relaxing and allowing the Mossberg to drop to his waist. He studied Melanie. “You’re one of the Chains, ain’t you?”
“Say no,” Hickok whispered.
“Damn straight!” Melanie stated proudly.
“I thought so,” Leather Jacket said., “I’ve seen you hanging out with them when I’ve been spying.” He glanced at her waist. “Where’s your chain? I thought all the Chains wore them.”
“Not all the women do,” Melanie answered. “I don’t like to wear one because it gouges my hips when I bend over.”
“And what nice hips you’ve got,” Leather Jacket observed lecherously.
Standing on her right foot with her left suspended off the ground, Melanie wobbled slightly and touched her right palm to her forehead.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Leather Jacket.
“Can’t you see she’s hurt?” Hickok snapped. “She was bit by a spider.”
“Will she kick?”
“Once the leg is healed, she’ll kick like a horse,” Hickok said.
“I meant will she die?”
“She could. We’ve got to clean and cauterize the leg,” Hickok answered urgently.