"Die slow, you son of a bitch!" Havel said, scanning for another target.
Whuppt.
The crossbow bolt went past too fast to see, but he could feel the ugly wind of it between face and bowstring as his hand went back for a new shaft.
"Get the fuck in here, you maniac!" Signe shouted.
Havel started out of the killing haze and obeyed, rolling through the empty window nearest him; the light mail in the lining of his long leather coat protected him from the jabbing spikes of glass still in the frame. The inside of the cinder-block building was bad footing, dirt and weeds and rubbish over linoleum, with fallen shelves and racks of videocassettes ready to tangle your feet. Signe was fumbling with the lock of the door, which was metal with a hollow core; Havel reached out and turned the dead bolt himself, twisting with all the strength of his hand and wrist. It shot home with a grating squeal of rusted steel.
A quick look around showed that there were only two windows, and both had shutters that were made up of squares of steel strapwork; the fragments of glass had paper glued to their backs. As Havel grabbed one of the toppled racks he saw why-the garish cover of the videotape showed something highly unlikely involving two women, a dog and a piece of electrical apparatus. He saw a few more covers as others fell from the steel shelving; some made the first look rather tame.
"Didn't think I'd make my last stand in a porno-video store," he grunted.
He and Signe grabbed one of the heavy metal racks and slammed it up behind the door, then added a half dozen more, shoving at them until they were a tangled mass.
"Last stands aren't my inclination anyhow," Signe replied, as they put another in a corner where the sky was visible between the bare stringers of the roof, to serve as a ladder. "But I wouldn't mind killing Crusher Bailey from one."
Havel nodded. "Kendricks, get up there and tell us what you can see," he said.
He considered the interior of the video store as the youngster scampered up the framework, squirrel-agile. Havel sneezed once as dust flew up, smelling of old rusty metal and rat droppings and weeds and very faintly of rotten meat. There was a counter and cash register close to the door-the drawer of the register lay smashed open, mute inglorious testimony to someone being stupid enough to steal money right after the Change, of all useless things. The two small windows looking out on the parking lot and the road were the only openings here, but a door gave out on the other side of the open space; probably to a storage room and office. Signe was thinking on the same lines; she stuck her head through and looked around.
"Windowless," she said. "Just one door, and it's solid with a bar across the inside-it'd be easier to smash through the wall. Nothing here but some bones." A moment later, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light: "Burned bones, human ones. And split for the marrow."
"Let's block this too," he said, and they heaved another set of frames over the connecting door. "Cinder block doesn't have much strength."
Then they took station next to the windows. The bandits were driving off the horses, heading for the trees along the creek two long bowshots to the east; through his binoculars he could see hints that there was a camp there. Havel took a mirror on a collapsible rod from his belt and snapped it open, using the glass to check angles he could not see from the window without sticking his head out.
Well, here's a distraction from our domestic problems, and no mistake, he thought. OK, two behind the pickup, another two behind the planter, and a third pair behind the bed of the overturned SUV. They'll all have something to shoot with, they're there to keep us pinned down while the rest get ready to storm the place.
"Anything?" he called up to Kendricks.
"No sign of Lord Hutton," the teenager said. "But I think I see bandits moving in the field behind the store-there's a big old propane tank about twenty yards out, and some trees. Lot of bush, too."
"Oh, hallelujah," Signe said quietly. "Lordy, but I'll be glad to see Unc' Will and Eric and the rest. Weren't they supposed to be here by now?"
"Yeah, but: " Havel grinned at her. " I still live," he quoted.
"Wasn't that Tarzan's saying?" she asked, flashing a smile back at him. "The ape-man'll save my rosy-pink ass?"
He'd been a Burroughs fan in his youth, and he'd gotten a set to read to their daughters, something Signe and he did together as often as not. It was a partial antidote to Astrid's fixations, at least, to which the young seemed appallingly vulnerable.
"John Carter, alskling," he replied, wondering if she was as nervous as he was. Hutton should have been here by now. "It was the finest swordsman on two worlds who said that."
"Ah, the guy from Virginia who made it with the big Martian bug and produced an egg? You'd be more likely to have a fertile mating with a cabbage!"
"Well, granted, Dejah Thoris was: what did Ken call it? Oviparous? But that doesn't really make her a bug. Or at least I hope not."
"It lays eggs, it's a bird, a bug or a gator-careful! That one's got a crossbow!"
Kendricks ducked and yelled. A bolt slammed into the rusty metal roofing near his head and stood quivering in a stringer. Havel and Signe stepped up to the windows and shot. The crossbowman dove back behind a flat-wheeled trailer cart that bore a powered water-ski and had for nine years. He gave a yelp of fear and they could see bits of him moving behind his cover, enough to know that he was spanning his crossbow.
"Uh-oh," Kendricks said. "Lord Bear, they're bringing stuff back across the fields."
Havel used his mirror-periscope once more. They were carrying planks, boards and a set of bicycles; the whole party disappeared from his view as they angled behind a truck that blocked the way. They kept coming until they were right up against it, too; he could see their feet below the body, far too close for comfort.
That was close enough to hear snatches of conversation, as well as hammering and knocking.
": pile stuff out back and burn them out," someone yelled. "That's quicker. I don't like that flare thing they sent up for shit."
"This meat's more tender raw than roast," said the booming genial tones of Crusher Bailey. "We don't have all day, and we don't want to send up a big signal fire of our own. There's only one man, and a boy and the girl."
"Christ, Crusher, look what they did to Sumter! That's a world of pain. We got their horses. Let's split! If I wanted to be a fucking soldier, I'd have joined the monks or gone to Portland."
A jeering note from the bandit chief: "Didn't know you were a girl too, Willie. Goddamnit, didn't you hear what they had in that cart? That's the price of three hundred horses! With that much, we could buy our way into half a dozen places and live easy."
"How do we know they've really got all that stuff?"
" 'Cause the innkeeper told me, and as long as we can squeeze him, he'll come across right. Now shut up and get to work, or you'll find a world of hurt a lot closer than that door."
There was a thud and a yelp, and Bailey's voice went on: "If this many of us can't take three fucking farmers, we're in the wrong business. We'd have the whole Valley laughing at us once it got around. Move it!"
Interesting, Havel thought. Suddenly conscious of his thirst he uncorked a canteen and drank, leaning over to pass it to Signe. The innkeeper is feeding Bailey information but he's not doing it voluntarily.
"Sorry I got you into it this deep," he said.
"Didn't hear myself saying no," she replied. "Things should have worked smoother than this." Then she took a quick look out the window and set the canvas-covered plastic bottle down. "Uh-oh."