Читать книгу Downrigger Drift - James Axler - Страница 9

“Holy shit!”

“Watch the blasters! Ricochets will chill one of us!”

“Kill the fucks!”

The small room exploded into furious action as the six friends saw what was coming at them.

Ryan hit the back wall with his forearms up and whirled to find a half dozen of the creatures streaking through the gap before the door closed. Doc was already on the offensive, his gleaming rapier drawn from its cane scabbard as he moved to protect Mildred, who had no melee weapon. He immediately drew first blood, skewering one of the beasts as it lunged at him, its fanged mouth gaping and ready to rend his flesh. The long blade pierced its throat and sank deep into its vitals. Even as the mutie died, its paws and legs scrabbled for purchase, still trying to reach the old man.

“Riposte and finis, you hideous fiend,” Doc calmly said as the pig-rat stopped struggling. Pushing aside the carcass with the toe of his boot, he moved to help the others.

Another of the beasts was also down and dying, one of Jak’s knives protruding from its eye. Krysty had met the charge when Ryan had sailed by, lashing out with a booted foot and punting one of the swine back into the corridor, where it was lost in a brown-furred sea of gnashing fangs.

J.B. had drawn his flensing knife, held point-down, ready to slash or stab, weaving a deadly pattern of steel in the air as he faced off with one. Instead of rushing in, it crouched low to the ground, needle-sharp tusks glistened in the white light as it sidled around, looking for the opportunity to strike.

The Armorer bided his time, feinted left, and when the mutie fell for it, lashed out with his foot, slamming the toe into the beast’s ribs, and sending it crashing into the wall with a dull thud. Even as the repulsive creature regained its feet, J.B. planted his blade in the top of its skull, the point razoring through to pierce its jaw, bursting through skin and muscle. The pig-rat squealed once, horribly, as it died.

Whether it was because of his bone-white hair or his already having chilled two of the muties, Jak had attracted a pair of the creatures, squaring off against them with a blade in each hand. They both leaped for him at once, one low, one high, teeth bared to carve into the albino’s flesh.

Jak met their attack head-on, blades blurring as he defended himself. The high one he took out with a slash across the throat, dark red blood spattering as the flying corpse crashed into the wall. The low one he also stabbed, right through the stomach. Writhing on the blade, the beast lashed out with its fang-filled maw, ripping a bloody furrow in Jak’s hand.

“Son of a—!” Whipping the convulsing body off his blade, Jak stomped its skull, crushing it into the floor. “Bastard bit me!”

Ryan didn’t have time to help him, however, as the last pig-rat left was coming straight at him, its maw wide open, shrieking with bloodthirsty rage as it lunged.

Heeding Mildred’s warning, Ryan had already dropped his SIG-Sauer and drawn his panga, bringing it out and around in a ferocious sweeping blow. The mutie met cold steel and was knocked sideways by the force of the blow, its head, the black eyes already dulling, separating from its body, which lurched forward before collapsing to the floor.

Blade ready, Ryan looked around for more, but saw only lifeless rodent bodies, filling the elevator with their loathsome stink. “Everyone all right?”

“Jak got tagged.” Mildred was bent over the youth’s hand. “It’s fairly shallow, but those things live and breed in shit 24/7, and we don’t have anything to wash the wound. We’ll need to find antibiotics in the next day or so, to make sure he doesn’t have blood poisoning.”

“Here, use this.” J.B. passed her a canteen, which Mildred immediately dumped over Jak’s injury, before binding it with a strip torn from his faded T-shirt. She pulled it tight, then blew out a breath.

“It’ll do for now. How about we all get topside. I don’t know about y’all, but I think I’ve spent enough time underground for the time being.”

“Ace on the line with that, Mildred.” After cleaning his blade on his pants leg and sheathing it, Ryan strode to the elevator’s controls, kicking a mutie carcass out of the way as he went. He leaned over to examine the buttons, noting a small slot with two lights above it.

“J.B., you have any problems getting in?”

The Armorer shook his head. “Doors opened slick as sh— Well, slick enough, anyway.”

Ryan jabbed a button with his thumb, but nothing happened except the two lights above the slot came on, blinking red. He hit the other buttons in order, but there was no movement, only the same blink of twin red lights.

J.B. joined him at the panel. “Broken?”

“Don’t think so, looks like sec is still running. Think we need a key card or something to get it moving.”

“Shit.” The Armorer looked around, at the rest of the walls, ceiling and floor. “No access hatch. Hope no one ever got trapped in here.”

“You mean like us?” Mildred asked.

“Jury-rig a work-around?” Ryan asked, staring at the smooth steel panel.

J.B. tapped the metal with the hilt of his knife. “Don’t have the tools to get through this. There’s no screws or seams. Could go through the buttons, but short this panel out, and we’re stuck. Got a bit of plastique left, but the concussion’ll likely scramble our brains besides destroying its guts.” One corner of his mouth quirked up in what might have been the ghost of a grin. “I think we aren’t going anywhere for the moment, unless you aim to take another walk outside.”

“You—” Ryan started to reply when Krysty held up her hand.

“Shh! Hear that?”

Everyone fell silent, straining to pick up what the flame-haired woman was hearing. Then the sound came through the thick doors—the frenzied squeals of the pig-rats outside, accompanied by the thud of dozens of bodies hitting the elevator doors, the pack slamming into the barrier in their frenzy to get at the group.

“Dark night!” J.B. said, taking off his glasses and polishing them on his shirtsleeve. “They sound bastard hungry.”

“They sound goddamn insane, is what they sound like,” Mildred replied. “Well, what’s the story, morning glory?”

Ryan frowned at the woman for a moment until he realized she wasn’t insulting him. The term had to be more of her strange twentieth century slang. He shrugged. “Not sure just yet. We don’t seem to be able to go up, and you know what’s outside, so the mat-trans is out for the time being, as well.”

“So, we’re just going to hole up here a while and wait them out?” Mildred asked.

Ryan picked the cleanest corner of the floor he saw and sat down. “Yup. They should give up in an hour or two. Mutie bastards’ll be off looking for their next meal soon enough.”

“Mildred, my dear?” Doc’s sonorous voice cut across the discussion. “I think you might want to have a look at Jak. Our snow-headed companion appears a bit under the weather, even to my less-than-trained eye.”

All five heads swiveled toward the albino youth, who was huddled in another corner of the elevator, his shoulders shaking. “Don’t worry me. Fine.” He fixed them all with his chilling, red-eyed stare for a moment before his eyes rolled back in his head as he slid down the wall, crumpling in an untidy heap on the floor.

Ryan pushed himself to his feet. “Thought you said he’d be all right for now, Mildred?”

“He should be, damn it.” Frowning, the doctor trotted to Jak and felt his forehead, then grabbed his wrist.

The boy stirred weakly under her ministrations. “Lemme ’lone. All right. Just cold. So cold…”

“He’s got a fever and is burning up. His pulse is also racing.” Mildred took the bandage off his wound. “Jesus H. Christ!”

Jak’s hand was red and swollen, and the slash was dark, puffy and angry looking. It had stopped bleeding, but now oozed a clear fluid. Mildred sniffed, then pulled back, wrinkling her nose. “Sweet-sour stink. Either those little bastards have some kind of venom in them, or their feces is more virulent than I thought.”

J.B. squatted by one of the grisly corpses, probing it carefully with the tip of his flensing knife. “Fangs seem solid, not like a rattler’s, if that helps. Don’t see any kind of obvious poison sac in the mouth or throat either.”

“Thanks, John. Whatever the cause, I have to radically revise my prognosis for him.”

“What do you mean?” Krysty asked.

Mildred glanced up, her brow knotted. “Judging by how fast it’s progressing, instead of a day or two, Jak might have six to eight hours—if he’s lucky.”