Downrigger Drift. James Axler

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СКАЧАТЬ over to see the kid convulse and vomit a thin stream of pale bile onto the floor.

      “We’ve got to move now. I think this is our best bet. Hellfire, it’s the only one we got. All right, let’s go over the plan.”

      Ryan scooped up the unconscious Jak and moved him to the other side of the elevator, sweeping mutie corpses out of the way with his boot. “Krysty, you’re on the door. We give the signal, you hit the button. As soon as J.B. and I are out, close it triple-quick.”

      “You just don’t let it hit your ass on the way out.” She smiled, but it vanished from her face as quickly as it had appeared. Her vibrant crimson hair was tucked up tight at her nape, revealing how she felt about this whole idea.

      “Doc and J.B., you’re the firepower. Soon as the door opens wide enough, you both let fly with everything you got. Doc, hold your blaster at this angle.” Ryan adjusted the man’s hands to get maximum spread of the shotgun pellets.

      The old man nodded, his limp, white mane flying around his shoulders. “Never fear, Ryan, I shall endeavor to send as many of the feral scum to hell as possible.”

      J.B. didn’t say a word, only removed his beloved fedora and handed it to Mildred who, not having anywhere better to set it, perched it on her own head, where it sat incongruously over her beaded plaits.

      “That’s the spirit, Doc, but just fire the one round, don’t switch to the cylinder. Mildred, you hang back and grab J.B.’s M-4000 when he’s empty. You know how to reload it, right?”

      Wordlessly, she accepted the round magazine from J.B. and nodded, handing him a wad of carpet strips in exchange. “I got it.”

      “Way I figure it, in less than five seconds, you two shoot, then we scoot. You seal that door tight after us.”

      Krysty’s full lips were pressed tight with concern. “Assuming you find the card, how do you expect to get back inside?”

      “We’ll just knock on the door, and you’ll do the same thing again.” Ryan looked at all of them. “Ready?”

      Everyone nodded. Doc took a tighter grip on his LeMat, carpet strips sprouting out of his ears. J.B. braced the M-4000 shotgun against his hip, ready to spray the corridor. Krysty was poised at the door controls, her face pale. Mildred stood in the middle of the elevator, ready to grab J.B.’s weapon. Ryan folded up a strip and inserted into his left ear, then did the same with his right, feeling the noise inside the elevator fade away into a dull buzz.

      Ryan paused for a moment, removing the carpet from his ear. “Hey, hear that? They’ve stopped.”

      Everyone cautiously removed one of their earplugs to listen. It was now ominously silent.

      J.B. frowned. “What you think that means? They get tired and left?”

      Doc cleared his throat. “More likely, John Barrymore, they are regrouping to plan another method of attack. I recall a fascinating study on the common rat that proved the rodents possessed the ability of meta-cognition, previously found only in humans and some primates—”

      “Skip the lecture, Doc. What the hell are you talking about?”

      With a sigh, the old man stared pointedly at Ryan. “My point, my impatient companion, is that rats are one of the few animals who think about thinking—on an instinctual, primal level they are able to analyze their own thought processes. Beating themselves against the door was not working, so they are now trying to find another way into the elevator. The more salient point is that these mutated animals are probably more intelligent than you are giving them credit for. A dangerous assumption indeed.”

      “Mebbe so, but we’re about to give them the surprise of their lives. Let’s see what your supermuties do when we charge straight into them,” the one-eyed man replied.

      Ryan inserted his wedge of carpet earplug again. “Let’s do it.”

      Chapter Five

      On Ryan’s nod, Krysty stabbed the door button. There was a pause, and Ryan thought the whole plan might go to hell before it even began if the doors didn’t open.

      He felt a tremor shiver through the floor and made sure J.B. and Doc were both ready. He was more worried about Doc. J.B. could be wakened from a sound sleep and be alert and ready to chill in less than three seconds. Sometimes Doc was the exact opposite, snoring through events that would rouse an entire ville. But now he looked more than ready, his eyes alight as he waited to unleash blood and thunder.

      Ryan’s breath hissed through clenched teeth as he waited for the doors to open. His hands itched for a weapon, and he was acutely aware of the oddity of not leading this assault by example. But neither his hand-blaster nor longblaster was suited for the job, and he needed to get into the corridor and on the pipes triple-quick so J.B. could follow before being mobbed by the surviving muties.

      After what seemed like an hour, but was probably just a few seconds, the double doors separated with a squeal, pulling apart to reveal the boiling, furious mutant mass outside. Ryan was counting on a moment’s surprise as the pig-rats took in this new development, and he was well rewarded. As one, the churning crowd all looked up at the suddenly disappearing barrier in front of them.

      But as the muties took in this new development, Ryan’s breath caught in his throat as he stared out at what they were up against.

      The hallway was completely buried in squirming, wriggling pig-rats, crawling on and over one another in their single-minded desire to get to the end of the hallway and the live food trapped there. They were at least five or six deep in the hallway, a living carpet of gray-brown fur, dotted every few inches by a pair of large, black eyes and thousands upon thousands of needle-sharp teeth.

      For a millisecond, everything came to a halt. The mutie rodent host stared up at them, and Ryan and company stared back.

      The moment was broken by the soft chime of the elevator announcing to all that the doors had opened.

      “Now!” he shouted.

      Primed and ready, Doc unleashed his shotgun round first. The concussion slammed through Ryan’s head like a wall of bricks had fallen on him. The cluster of lead balls smashed into the first group of rats, already crouching to leap at them. The pellets ripping away limbs, tearing through faces, pulverizing bodies, disintegrating the point guard in a welter of blood, bone and brains.

      A heartbeat later, J.B. opened up with the M-4000. With each shell containing dozens of razor-sharp steel fléchettes, he laid down a curtain of metal moving at a thousand feet per second, obliterating anything in its way.

      The next wave, already running toward the door, was pulped where they stood, their remains bursting apart to splatter comrades behind them. Encountering little resistance, the fléchette wave continued into the next line, each tiny dart carving into another furry body, and another behind that.

      For a moment, Ryan thought he knew what the sound of the bombs going off during skydark sounded like. The Smith & Wesson’s awesome roar reverberated through his head like the pounding hooves of Death’s hellhorses. His plugged ears trembled in agony, and his skull felt like it had been stove in by a sledgehammer.

      But the gambit worked. For a few precious seconds, the pig-rats’ onslaught was broken as they retreated before the impenetrable СКАЧАТЬ