Chapter Seventeen

“The spiders!” Melanie wailed, and screamed hysterically.

The instant his eyes alighted on the arachnids, Hickok’s mind made lightning calculations. There weren’t enough rounds left in the Henry to nail them all. Even employing the Pythons wouldn’t insure he could stop the spiders from reaching them, not when they were trapped with their backs to the double doors. There was no room to maneuver, to flee. Which could easily be remedied.

“Save us!” Melanie cried as one of the gruesome abominations stalked toward them, only 25 feet away.

Hickok spun, pointing the barrel at the center of the double doors, at the circular metal lock at the edge of the right-hand door, and fired. The bullet struck the lock with a resounding whang. Without bothering to visually inspect his handiwork, Hickok took a stride and planted his right heel on the right-hand door. Both doors swung outward several inches but wouldn’t open.

The spiders were closing in.

The Warrior braced his legs, then rammed the doors with his right shoulder, throwing his entire weight and power into the effort. There was a loud snap and the doors parted. He grabbed Melanie’s right wrist and darted into a corridor, then handed her the rifle, placed his hands on the doors, and closed them. Expecting the arachnids to make a concerted rush, he planted his feet firmly and tensed for the impact of their bodies against the doors.

But nothing happened.

Perplexed, Hickok tried to peer through the narrow slit between the doors to no avail.

“Let’s get out of here,” Melanie recommended anxiously.

Hickok was reluctant to release the doors. He couldn’t believe the spiders had given up. Maybe, he reasoned, the critters wouldn’t stray far from their webs. Maybe they confined themselves to the factory proper.

“What are you waiting for?” Melanie goaded him.

The gunman glanced to the right and the left. To the right the corridor extended for 70 feet, passing a series of offices. To the left the corridor ran 30 feet to a glass door, surprisingly still intact. Visible beyond the door was a sidewalk and a stretch of blacktop. He nodded at the entrance.

“When I let go, run like your britches are on fire.”

“My what?”

“Run like heck.”

“I’ll beat you there,” Melanie said.

“Ready. Set. Go!” Hickok declared, and relaxed his pressure on the doors. He turned to the left. Melanie was already a yard in front of him.

Despite all the swaying, she could run with sure-footed swiftness. He followed, elated their escape would be so simple, glancing over his shoulder to verify the spiders hadn’t come through the doors. Strange.

He’d figured the arachnids would be a mite more persistent. They’d looked so menacing when he first saw them hanging in their webs on the ceiling.

The ceiling!

Hickok snapped his head up, his hands streaking to the Colts. The ceiling consisted of sheets of white fiberboard. Ten feet ahead a ragged, yawning hole had been torn out, and there, perched in the opening and ready to pounce, was a spider. “Melanie!” he shouted. “Look out!”

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.

“Nope.”

The gunman glared at the three Stompers. “What?”

“She ain’t going nowhere,” Leather Jacket said. “We couldn’t care less if she lives or not. All we care about is having our fun before she kicks.”

Hickok’s eyes became flinty. “You’ll stand around and do nothin’ while a lady dies?”

“Oh, we’ll do something,” Leather Jacket responded, and thrust his hips forward several times. His companions laughed.

The Warrior clenched his fists, his nostrils flaring. He could feel the C.O.P. .357 Magnum riding snugly in its special holster on his left wrist. A distraction was needed, anything to divert their attention so he could draw the derringer. The small gun, only five and a half inches in length and slightly over four inches in height, packed a tremendous wallop. He’d loaded all four chambers with 158-grain cartridges; one shot would knock a man off his feet.

“First we’ll off you,” Leather Jacket said, smirking at the gunfighter.

“Any last words?”

“Yeah. Have you always been so ugly, or did a cow sit on your face when you were born?”

Leather Jacket’s mouth twitched and his eyes narrowed. “Mister, you just made a big mistake.”

“What else is new?”

“I figured I’d waste you quick and painless, but now I’m going to make you suffer,” Leather Jacket vowed.

“How? Are you aimin’ to gab me to death?” Hickok quipped.

Before another word could be spoken, Melanie unexpectedly closed her eyes, groaned, and pitched forward.

The Warrior instinctively caught her, his arms encircling her bosom as she fell, and he let her down to the sidewalk gently, depositing her on her stomach. His forearms were momentarily concealed under her body, and he reached beneath his left sleeve and grasped the C.O.P.

“Turn her over while you’re at it,” Leather Jacket suggested. “Save us the trouble.”

The three Stompers snickered.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Hickok said.

“Oh? What?” Leather Jacket inquired sarcastically.

“Why don’t I do the world a favor and plug you cow chips?” Hickok asked sweetly, and grinned from ear to ear.

Sensing something was gravely amiss, Leather Jacket started to bring the Mossberg up.

Hickok’s hands swept out from under Melanie, his right arm coming up, the C.O.P. gleaming in the sunshine. His first shot caught Leather Jacket squarely in the center of the forehead and flipped the man backwards. In the space of a heartbeat his second shot boomed, and the man carrying the Ruger took a slug in the left eye. The round snapped the man’s head to the left, and he tottered sideways and toppled over.

The last of the trio, the man holding the crossbow, shocked by the abrupt demise of his comrades, tried to throw himself to the left as the gunfighter rotated in his direction. Ht stumbled in his haste, and his finger closed on the crossbow trigger.

But Hickok was still in the act of pivoting, and only his right side was exposed to the bowman. That fact saved his life. His keen eyes saw the bowman’s finger tighten, and he lunged to the right to avoid the shaft. As if in slow motion, he watched the crossbow bolt speed at him and felt a slight tugging sensation as the bolt creased the front of his buckskin shirt and kept going. He also felt his heels catch on Melanie’s prone form, and before he could prevent it, he fell over, landing hard on his shoulder blades. He angled his right arm upward, intending to snap a shot at the third Stomper.

The bowman had whipped another shaft from his quiver and was trying to reload the bow, stooping over to extend the stirrup and placing his left foot on the metal brace so he could pull the string back.

Melanie came off the ground in a rush, her right arm flicking out, swinging a two-foot length of slim, silver chain. The chain arced out and wrapped around the bowman’s neck. He released the crossbow and clutched at the chain, and Melanie heaved with all of her might, causing him to lose his balance and fall onto his left knee.

Enraged, the bowman yanked on the chain and attempted to regain his footing. At the sound of a single shot his right eye dissolved and the rear of his cranium exploded outwards. His mouth wide in stark astonishment, he pitched onto his face.

“Thanks,” Melanie said, “but I could’ve taken the jerk.” She limped to the bowman and began unwrapping her chain.

“Where the blazes did you get that thing?” Hickok asked as he stood.

Melanie glanced at him and smirked. “It was wrapped around my tummy, under my shirt.”

“But you told them you didn’t have one.”

“I lied.”

The gunfighter chuckled. “You’re one tricky lady.”

She removed her chain and straightened, grimacing with the effort.

Her left hand gripped her thigh.

“Is your leg worse?”

Melanie nodded. “It’s throbbing from all the commotion.”

“Then we’d best tend to those bites,” Hickok said, moving to retrieve his weapons. “We were lucky you passed out when you did.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it, dummy. I faked fainting to give you a chance to grab your little gun.”

Hickok paused in the act of reaching for the Henry and looked at her.

“You faked it?”

“Yep.”

“You knew I was packin’ the derringer?”

“Of course, silly.”

“How?”

“I felt it under your sleeve when I was climbing over you at the cockroach nest,” Melanie explained.

Hickok’s estimation of her rose even higher. “Well, I’ll be darned.” He proceeded to reload the rifle and his Colts.

“You’d better hurry,” Melanie urged. “I really am feeling dizzy now.”

“You’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time,” Hickok said, encouraging her. He hoped that the spiders didn’t inject poison into their victims. If she had poison in her system, her fate was sealed. He slung the Henry over his right arm.

“Hickok?” she said.

“I’m hurryin’,” the Warrior responded. “We don’t want to be caught unprepared if more Stompers or critters show up.” He quickly finished replacing the spent cartridges in his Pythons and slid the revolvers into their holsters.

“Hickok?” Melanie repeated weakly.

“I’m ready,” Hickok announced, looking up just as she swooned. He reached her in one bound and managed to get his left arm under her legs and his right about her shoulders. She sagged against his chest, her eyes closed, breathing unevenly, and the chain clattered to the blacktop.

Blast!

Hickok scanned their surroundings, discovering they were on the west side of a parking lot, probably the parking area once used by the factory workers. He spied a shoulder-high hedge to the east, and stiffened.

Pressing through the hedge were dozens of armed men and women.

Загрузка...