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zigging and zagging like he had a rattler jammed up his ass."
Ryan looked at his son. "So, how about this other pirate you saw?"
"Yellow shirt. Tall. Blue pants. Real long knife on his belt. Can't remember
what sort of blaster he was carrying. Last I saw he was down near the sea."
"Anyone else see him?" Ryan asked, looking around the room. "No?"
"There was some thick smoke in the first few minutes and a lot of panic from
Tomwun's folks," J.B. said. "Not saying the kid's wrong."
"Don't call me the kid!"
"Sorry."
Dean shook his head. "Don't believe this. I'm going to go look where I saw him
last." He picked up his massive Browning. "I'll show you."
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He stalked out of the door.
Doc half rose, but Ryan waved him down. "Let it go, Doc," he said. "Just let
it go."
"I wondered if the boy might appreciate some company. There is danger carried
on the wind, is there not?"
"Sure. But still& Leave him be."
THEY TALKED for nearly half an hour, Ryan and Krysty recounting their
adventures in the lost Best Western, the others telling them about the sudden
attack from the foraging band of pirates.
"If they are Yoville's gang," J.B. added. "Can't be certain of that."
"But it's likely. You reckon the bodies and the weapons showed that?"
The Armorer considered Ryan's question. "Yeah. Has to be. Too big a
coincidence if there's some other posse of thugs around the Keys."
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Krysty jumped to her feet, running toward the door. "Dean," she said over her
shoulder.
Ryan was at her heels, the others close behind, everyone snatching up weapons.
"Didn't hear a thing," Ryan said.
"Nor me. Had a flash of feeling. Somewhere over by the sea. Come on."
They ran between the buildings, dodging around some of the open-air tanks,
past the quay until they could see the stretch of sand and the open waters of
the Lantic.
By then Ryan had established a slight lead, with Michael at his heels. But
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everyone was still closely bunched, Doc Tanner lumbering gamely along in the
rear.
They all stopped as they came over the crest of the dunes, seeing a tall
figure in a yellow shirt, with blue pants, holding a long cutlas to Dean's
throat. He was dragging him backward, kicking and struggling, toward a slender
canoe that was beached a few yards distant. The boy's 9 mm Browning Hi-Power
lay glittering in the sand halfway between him and the nearest building.
They were about seventy yards from Ryan and the others, facing them.
"Move an' me spill little one's throat in t'sand. Stay where you is all an' me
let 'im go out in t'water."
The voice was clear, ringing across the shoreline. Dean made an effort to
shout something, but the pirate tightened his left arm around his throat, and
the boy's desperate attempts to free himself became visibly weaker.
"Mildred," Ryan said, turning to face her, "can you take him out?"
She bit her lip, holding the target blaster loosely down at her side.
"Downhill and he's right behind Dean. Could get a shot when he gets him into
his boat."
"Miss him then, Ryan, and he's going to get clean away," J.B. warned.
"I know that," the one-eyed man said through gritted teeth. "But Mildred's
right.
Even with her skill it's a bastard tough shot. Mebbe we ought to wait and "
"That good. You stay still and t'boy mebbe live. Me get'm in boat now."
"Blood on the Cross," Michael said. "I'll go and get him."
"You what?" Ryan said, startled, raising his voice, actually lifting the
SIG-Sauer as the young man began to move swiftly toward the helpless Dean and
his captor.
"Come the fuck back here or& "
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The sand was soft, giving a treacherous footing, but the ex-monk was running
as though he were on smooth ground, jinking every few steps from side to side,
drawing the Texas Longhorn Border Special from its holster and seeming to
juggle with it while he was sprinting toward the pirate.
"You get t'boy dead!" the man screamed, hanging on to Dean like someone in a
quicksand clinging to the last fragile branch above his head.
"Shoot him, Mildred," Ryan ordered. "Now!"
"Who?"
"Fucking pirate."
"Can't. Michael's in the way, Ryan."
"Then shoot& No& "
Already Michael was well over halfway toward the oddly frozen tableau, and
they could also hear that he was singing at the top of his voice.
"He would constant be, against all disaster& "
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"It's a hymn," Mildred said. "God save us all, but the lad's singing a hymn."
"Boy dead, fucker!"
"He's useless with that blaster," J.B. observed quietly. "Useless."
Now they all stood in silence and watched the bizarre drama being played out
in front of them.
Ryan closed his eye for a moment, seeing in his mind the last act of that
drama as he knew it would happen. The cutlass would be drawn across the front
of his only
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child's throat.
Even at that most desperate moment, Ryan began to bring up his SIG-Sauer,
ready to blow away the pirate who had just murdered his son.
He opened his eye onto reality, but it was a reality that made no sense.
Michael had thrown his gun away, heaving it high into the late-afternoon sky, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]