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wasn't down, and he nearly succeeded in kneeing Ryan in the groin, instead
delivering the blow to his leg.
Ryan's head bobbed as he chewed into the man's flesh. As he finally severed
the artery, there was a great burst of wetness and heat that nearly choked
him. He opened his mouth and pushed away from the yelping mutie, seeing the
lifeblood, almost black in the tunnel's dim light, spout clear to the ceiling.
The dying man was carried away by the surging torrent, his broken arm waving
crookedly as he whipped around a sharp corner and vanished.
Ryan stooped to retrieve the fallen blaster, glancing at the trap in the
ceiling, seeing someone still stooped there. Without hesitation he pulled the
trigger, firing a short burst. There was a cry of pain, and the mutie fell
backward out of sight.
"Any more?" a voice shouted from behind him.
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"Can't fucking tell," he shouted back. Wading toward Krysty, who was stooping
under the low roof a few yards away, it struck him that she was in a peculiar,
lopsided position.
"Took your time there, lover," she called. "Getting too old for all this."
"Didn't know it took long. Shows how time hisses by when you're having fun.
You hurt your leg?"
"No. Had a mutie come after me, but I neck-chopped the little bastard. Knocked
him under water. Then, 'fore I knew it, I had the heel of my boot jammed tight
on the back of his head. He's still down there. Figure he's 'bout had enough?"
"Let go and find out."
Krysty moved away, and the sodden corpse of another mutie rose slowly to the
surface, face up, eyes and mouth open. It began to drift in a circle before
the girl pushed it, allowing the current to carry it off and follow the other
chilled body.
Ryan took Krysty's hand, holding her tight. "Done good," he said, leaning and
kissing her on the cheek. "You get hurt?"
"Some. He had one of them folding spears, like Whitey got. It caught me 'cross
the belly."
"No serious damage& lower down?"
"No. Not that I noticed. Bled a little. The son of a bitching fucker tried to
rip my balls off. That made me real angry."
Krysty stared up at the circle of yellow light. "Could be more of 'em up
there?"
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"I reckon they'll have had it on their toes when the shooting started. I'll
lift you and you take the blaster," he said, handing her the gray G-12
caseless.
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"Water's stopped rising."
"Yeah. But if'n that passage goes above, we can find a way out and mebbe link
up with the others outside. Save us waiting down here. Truth is, I don't much
care for this crawling on my stomach under five miles of mud and stone. I'm an
out-in-the-
open sort of person."
"Me, too, lover."
Ryan steadied himself against the wall of the tunnel, cupping his hands so
that
Krysty could step up, balance and stand on his shoulders. It would give her
the height to look through the open mouth of the tunnel above and blast
anything that moved.
If it didn't blast her first.
Her boots were slippery, and she nearly fell. She grabbed his head to steady
herself, her fingers tangling in his hair, which made him yelp.
"Watch it," he moaned.
"Keep still. You're rocking around like an aspen in a hurricane."
Then she was up on his shoulders. Ryan braced himself, wincing in expectation
of hearing the roar of a gun from some hidden enemy. But all was quiet. She
half turned, the heels of her cowboy boots scraping his ears, which made him
wriggle again, then she pushed upward, and her weight was off him. He looked
up and saw her legs vanishing into the hole above, momentarily blocking the
light.
"Anything?"
Her face reappeared, the long red rags of her hair dangling down, almost
touching him. "Nothing. Come on up, lover."
She reached down, giving him a wrist to grip. In one steady motion, he hauled
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himself up to the higher level. Slumped against the far wall of the tunnel,
which was wider than the one below, was the corpse of the third mutie, its
head more or less pulped off its shoulders by the burst of lead from the G-12.
"Time we got out of this bastard warren," Ryan said, stooping and peering as
far as he could into the dimness. The light at their elbow was a small clay
lamp, with a wick floating in liquid fat.
"I can hear something," Krysty whispered. "Way we came. Could be J.B. and the
others."
"Let's go, then," Ryan said, leading the way, finger ready on the trigger of
the
H&K.
IT TOOK THEM AN HOUR to reach full light and fresh air. Ryan stood in the
entrance to the tunnel, drawing in deep breaths. "That is good, lover. I
wasn't so meant to be a fucking mole. If we ever find another redoubt like
that, I'm going to get right on back into the gateway and move along to the
next stop."
"Me, too."
The sky was an unusual color clear pale blue, with only a few wispy white
clouds streaking across it. From the cold thin air, Ryan figured they had to
be up a considerable altitude. From experience, it felt like around a mile
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high.
At first he saw no sign of another living being. There was the edge of what
looked like a big lake, not too far away, and a lot of mountains all around,
many snowcapped. The wind was from the north, clean and light.
"It's beautiful," Krysty said, putting her arm around his shoulders. "What
Uncle
Tyas McCann would have called 'God's Country,' I guess."
Ryan moved to the sharp-cut brink of a drop and looked down. He turned to
Krysty, a smile on his face, and said, "They're here."
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"Where?"
"Down," he told her, pointing with the muzzle of the mud-streaked blaster.
"All of
'em."
Several hundred feet lower on the sharp, scree-covered slope of the mountain,
five minute figures were visible. One with white hair, stark against the gray
rock. One with yellow hair and one with a clumsy black hat. One round figure
and one with glasses that glittered as he looked up toward Ryan and Krysty.
Ryan held his G-12 above his head, waving it slowly to and fro, signaling they
were all right.
"They're safe," he said. "We all made it."
Chapter Seven
"HE KILLED HOW MANY?"
Finnegan grinned. "Six."
Ryan looked at Jak Lauren, who was shuffling his feet like a kid caught with
his hand in the candy jar. "How did you take six muties all on your own, son?"
"With spear," he replied, flicking the sections in his fingers so that they
blurred into the full-length weapon. Ryan saw that the cane shaft was streaked
with dried blood.
"All six?" It was hard to believe. "What the chill were you doing, Finn?"
"Stopping me from sinking in the water and being drowned. Thank you, Ryan,"
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Lori said, with affronted dignity. There was a little congealed blood around
the corner of her mouth, and a deep purple bruise on the left side of her jaw,
making speech difficult.
"No other way," Ryan said, looking across at Doc to see if the old man
understood.
"
Oh tempora! Oh mores
!" Doc replied. "Means when you're up to your neck in shit, you can't get
along by smelling roses."
Lori nodded. "I suppose I know why you hit me, Ryan. Sorry I made trouble. But
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