He impaled the first one on the pointed, sharpened end of the tire iron and, howling weakly and coughing blood, it fell limply to the dirt with two feet of metal embedded in its chest. Unfortunately, the tire iron went with it, lodged in bone, and suddenly he was unarmed as the other two Rippers came on. They were less aggressive, of course, having seen their leader so suddenly dispatched, but they didn’t run away, either. At the very least, they wanted the dead one’s corpse.
His eyes never leaving the two circling Rippers, he reached down and jerked at the tire iron, but it was no use; he’d have to brace it with his feet to get it out. He risked a glance at the ground nearby and, spying a good-sized rock, darted down and picked it up.
Feeling a little better for the weapon, crude as it was, he snarled at the Rippers and gave a guttural hiss. “Go away!” he thought. “Leave me alone or I’ll smack you with this rock!” But, utterly devoid of even the basics of language, all that came from his mouth was a series of high grunts and snarls.
The Rippers understood him well enough, though; warily, their haunches up, they backed away to a safer distance, some ten or fifteen feet into the weeds and small trees. Winding up hard, he threw the rock at one of them and then grinned savagely when he was rewarded with a sharp yelp of pain. Quickly, he launched five or six more rocks in the same general direction, but there were no more yelps and he waited for a moment before hearing them slink off into the bushes. Before too long, they’d blended into the darkness and were gone.
Breathing hard, the Kid sat down on the ground next to the dead Ripper and caught his breath. It hadn’t been that much of a fight—not like taking on a Howler or a Screamer, or even a pack of Biters, but it was still more than a little unnerving to wake up in the middle of the night with three predators coming for you. But then he shrugged; why worry about it? He’d won, the Rippers were gone, he’d suddenly acquired some more food, and that was that. At least for now, for this time.
After a long look up at the mysterious stars and the friendly horn of the moon, he slung the dead Ripper over one shoulder, staggering a little at first under a weight almost the same as his own, and, staying alert to anything that might have smelled the blood, scuttled back to his cave to butcher his victim.
Chapter Thirteen
United Motors announces the new technological breakthrough in driving, Magna-Track! With this amazing new system, you no longer need to worry about Random Strip Failures and Line Breakages! Now your autocar will find the Strip, follow it, and deliver you safe and sound, with none of those annoying stall-outs or all that tiresome manual steering. Magna-Track! Now standard on all models from United, including the new Goliath Sport!
Justin came to in almost total darkness with someone’s hand clamped over his mouth. Reacting completely on animal instinct, he flailed crazily, trying to shake whoever it was, but it was no use; his assailant was too wiry and strong to beat and, weakened as he was, he was forced to give up. Then something came to him—a scent, like a mix of flowers and leather—and, confused but suddenly hopeful, he relaxed.
“Teresa?” he tried to say, but only a muffled grunt escaped his lips. Then the hand was removed and a hiss came from the person on top of him and he realized that, against all odds, it was in fact his erstwhile captor.
“It is you!” he whispered. “But how did you get in? What are you doing here?”
“I stealin’ you back!” came the young woman’s urgent whisper. “Now c’mon. We gotta get outta here, right zip.”
His cellmates had by this time noticed the commotion and now rose up in the dark from their cots like phantoms.
“What’s going on?” demanded Nurse Cass. “Who is that?”
“Yaah! They’ve come for us!” squealed Greg, backing off of his cot.
“Shut the fuck up!” hissed Teresa, waving her shotgun their way. “Ya hear? Just stay real, real quiet, hey? Or dooya want them cannibo dudes to hear ya?”
“Yes, please,” whispered Justin urgently. “Keep your voices down! This is Teresa, the one I told you about. She’s, well, she’s apparently here to rescue us!”
The others quieted down some, but were far too excited by this sudden good news to be silent. Teresa, though, wheeled on Justin.
“Not them,” she said stonily. “Just you, Case. Now get goin’!”
“What?” Justin stammered. “You… you won’t help these people?”
“That’s right brain boy,” said Teresa harshly. “They no good to me. Only slow us down. Now quit yappin’ an’ go. Out that window.”
He considered for a moment, but it was never really something upon which he had to decide. Squaring his shoulders, he tried to look Teresa in the eye (not an easy thing in nearly complete darkness) and, keenly aware of the ramifications, said:
“No. I won’t leave without the others. You’ll just have to shoot me.”
There was a sort of shocked pause as no one said anything for a moment, and then Teresa erupted in a torrent of curses and ranting.
“Aw, god shit damn it all to hell!” she hissed. “I shoulda knowed you’d do some doopy-ass shit like this! I go to all this here trouble, bustin’ ya out, and you don’ even wanna go! Is you zaned or somethin’? I mean, damn! These fuckers are gonna eatcha! Dontcha know that? They gonna skin ya like a hopper and cook ya for dinner!”
“I know that,” nodded Justin, swallowing hard. “But I will not leave without Mr. Lampert and the others. It’s as simple as that.”
Seeming to think this over, Teresa turned and took a few angry paces, muttering to herself. Then, out of nowhere, a whole world of noise and light and sudden violence erupted and time seemed to slow to a crawl.
First, the overhead lights, a couple of old but very bright fluorescents, snapped on, nearly blinding him. Then their cell door whipped open, revealing a stocky, brown-clad figure wielding a shotgun.
“What the fuck’s goin’ on in—” roared the man, but before he could finish his sentence, there was a tremendously loud boom from just behind him and the air filled with acrid smoke as Teresa fired a blast that, in less than a blink of an eye, tore open a great bloody chunk of the man’s chest. Ka-Boom! Like a rag doll, spraying bodily fluids, the man lifelessly slumped forward to the floor.
Next, there was a lot of noise, people screaming and whatnot, and some hoarse yelling from outside the building. To Justin, it all sounded like he was wearing earmuffs and he vainly shook his head to try to clear the ringing in his ears from the gunshot and the stinging smell of cordite from his nose.
Then he was moving, shoved along by Teresa, to the other side of the cell, where he saw that one of the small windows was breached; the stout bars had been bent to the sides like they were licorice whips. To his surprise, he saw that he was the next to last to leave; only he, Greg, and Teresa remained.
“Where are the others?” he asked, bewildered.
“A’ready gone!” barked Teresa. “Now go! Out the damn window!”
He went, clambering up and through the aperture. Outside, clustered fearfully around Mr. Lampert, were Erin Swails and Cass. Of Bowler there was no sign. Frantically, Justin turned back to the window, as from within, out of view, there came the loud reports of more shotgun blasts, overlapping and combining into a sort of booming roar. A wisp of smoke came from the window. And then Teresa, bounding like a champion gymnast, came flying out, rolled once on her back, and landed on her feet.