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.if he could do something toreturn the favor, he would, although he was suddenlyquite sure that he'd never be able to even things out;he owed these guys his life, a couple times overalready."Ready?" John asked."Wait." Leon turned and jogged back to wherehe'd dropped the sweatshirt.The Spitter by the hatchstood as silent and immobile as a statue, watchingthem.Leon scooped up the shirt and hurried back,slipping a pocket knife out of his pack.He cut off theoffending sleeve, letting it fall, then handed the rest toJohn."If you're gonna be standing still, keep your facecovered," Leon said."Since they don't seem to noticebullets, you won't need to see, to shoot.Once we'reacross, I'll give a yell.And if it's not safe, I'll."The rattling, peremptory calls had started up again,making Cole think of cicadas for some reason, thealmost mechanical ree-ree-ree sound of cicadas on ahot summer night.He swallowed hard, trying topretend to himself that he was ready."Outta time," John said."Get ready to go."He held up the sweatshirt, then - astoundinglygrinned at Leon."My man, you must invest in astronger deodorant; you stink like a dead dog."Without waiting for a response, John put the shirtover his head, holding it open at the bottom so hecould see the floor.He jogged out into the open, hisface down, Cole and Leon both tensing.and there was a rapid patpatpatpat, and the blackmaterial over John's face was suddenly dripping withgreat strings of the poison red snot, and he jerked hishand at them.and Leon said, "Now!" and Cole ran, headdown, seeing only Leon's boots sprinting in front ofhim, a blur of gray rock, his own thin legs as hesprinted.He heard a gurgling cry to his left andducked down even farther, terrified -- and there was the thump of wood in front of him,and then he was on the bridge, flat wooden slatsrippling underfoot, tied with scrawny twine.He sawthe vee-shaped gorge underneath, saw that it wasdeep, that it had been dug into the earth beneath thePlanet, forty, fifty feet.and then he was back on gray land, beforevertigo could even occur to him.He ran, thinking ofhow wonderful it was that all he needed to thinkabout was Leon's boots, his heart hammering againsthis breastbone.Seconds or minutes later, he didn't know, the boots slowed, and Cole dared to look up.The wall, the walland there was the hatch! They'd made it!"John, go!" Leon screamed, taking a few runningsteps back the way they'd come, his semi up andready."Go!"Cole turned, saw John rip off the black hood, sawthe handful of Spitters grouped loosely in front ofhim, six, seven of them, calling once more.John torethrough their ranks, and at least two of them spat, butJohn was fast, fast enough that only a tiny bit hit hisshoulder, at least as far as Cole could tell.Themonstrous creatures started after him in their jump-ing, hopping movements, not as fast but close.Run run run!Cole pointed the nine-millimeter in the direction ofthe Spitters, ready to shoot if he thought he could geta clear shot, as John hit the bridge.and disappeared.The bridge collapsed, and Johndisappeared.SIXTEENJOHN FELT THE BRIDGE DROP AN INCH ORtwo about a half second before the ropes snapped.Heinstinctively put his hands out, still running, thinkinghe'd make it -- and then he was falling, his knees slamming intoa moving wall of wooden slats, his hands clenchingthe second they touched solid -- and all he heard was a whoosh sound, and thenthe knuckles of his right hand crashed into rock, andhe was dangling over a very deep chasm, a slat ofloose wood in his left hand.He'd managed to grip oneof the pieces still attached to the now hanging bridge;both ties that had anchored it to the north side of therift had snapped.John dropped the useless slat, hearing it clatter tothe bottom of the chasm along with several otherpieces that had come untied.He reached up to get abetter grip.and thwack, a gob of red mucous suddenlyappeared in front of him, less than a foot to the rightof his face, sliding down the chasm wall in a meltingrope.- shit on toast -Bambambam, someone was shooting a nine-millimeter, and the rising rattle of Spitters gettingready to spit told him that he definitely needed to getout.He reached up again, his biceps flexing, strainingagainst the fabric of his sweatshirt as he grabbed one of the slats above and pulled himself up.Above, moreshots, closer, and a shout from Leon that was cut offas more bullets thundered.Kick ass, boys, I'm coming.Hand over hand was a bitch, particularly withbleeding knuckles and an automatic rifle hangingfrom his neck, but he thought he was doing prettywell, reaching up for the next handhold -- and hot wetness hit the back of his right hand,and it hurt, it was like acid, burning -- and he let go, flinging the gelid acid away,wiping at his shirt wildly.He held on to the shudder-ing bridge with his left, but just barely, the pain like afire, maddening.It was all he could do to resist hisnatural instinct, to clutch at the screaming woundand with the way his fingers were starting to tingle,he thought he might not have that much longer toworry about it."He's right here!"A cracked, hysterical shout from directly above.John tilted his head back, saw Cole crouched at the lipof the chasm, his work shirt pulled up over his nose,his gaze frantic and scared."John, give me your hand!" He screamed, andreached down as far as he could, flakes of concretefalling from beneath his sliding boots.If he saidanything else, it was lost in another series of explo-sive rounds as Leon worked to hold the Spitters atbay.It only took a split-second for John to react toCole's command, and in that instant he understoodthat he was going to get out.Henry Cole stood all offive-eight and probably weighed one-fifty sopping wet.With his clothes on.What was more, he looked likesome mad turtle hunkered down in the shell of hisshirt.Too goddamn funny.Funny, and touching in anidiotic way, and although his hand still hurt like a sonof a bitch, he'd actually forgotten to feel it for asecond or two.John grinned, ignoring Cole's trembling fingers,forcing himself to concentrate on pulling himself upwith his injured hand.There were more rattling criesfrom behind him but no spit-bombs for the moment [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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